Hostage (19 page)

He used a clean bath towel, folded over her shoulder, using both hands to put pressure on the entrance and exit wounds and stanch the bleeding.

“Through and through,” she murmured. “At least you won’t have to dig for a bullet.”

“Lucky you.” His voice was grim. “What the hell happened?”

“Wrong assumption, remember?” She was watching him, half lying on the couch, slightly propped up as he had been only a few days before. Her jacket was lying in a heap on the floor nearby, and he had exposed the wound in her shoulder by simply tearing her sweatshirt open from the collar down her arm and through the left wristband.

“I didn’t hear any gunshots,” he said.

“That’s because . . . the bastard didn’t use a gun. He used a bow. Probably a compound bow, to have so much power. And an arrow with a . . . blunt end. Forget what they’re called. Meant to go all the way through game animals, like deer or elk. Pierce vital organs without doing . . . much damage to the hide.”

“Jesus. What, he used up all his ammo shooting at me?”

“Maybe so. Doubt he expected to do much shooting if . . . the plan was to lay low. Hell, maybe I just caught him starting out on a hunting trip.” She sucked in a breath, the first real sign of pain, then said, “Hey, when you get me to stop bleeding like a stuck pig . . . get Cesar cleaned up, will you? He just about carried . . . me back here.”

Luther glanced over his shoulder to see the Rottweiler sitting near Callie’s jacket, his gaze intent on his mistress—whose blood definitely stained his normally glossy coat. The other three dogs were still and quiet, not quite as tense as before, but not relaxed.

Probably the smell of blood,
he thought.

“I will, don’t worry. Just try to stay still.”

“He tried to warn me,” she murmured. “Cesar. He was bothered, but didn’t . . . seem to know why. Just anxious. Wanted to come back here. But I had to see that blood again. And . . . you were right. That’s where . . . the bastard had me in his sights. I didn’t see him. Cesar was worried and . . . I sort of leaned over just a bit to touch him. That’s when I got hit. If I’d been standing straight . . .”

The arrow probably would have gone through her heart.

“No warning shot this time,” Luther said. “He meant to kill you.”

“Yeah.”

“What about the energy?”

“I could feel it. I’m almost positive . . . it’s in him. Maybe
is
him. Whatever he is now.”

“You felt it through your shield?”

Callie nodded. “Pressure. And something dark. Weird to feel something . . . dark. But that’s how it felt. I pulled the arrow out . . . knew it hadn’t hit anything . . . vital. And hard to stay . . . low and move with the damned thing . . . sticking through me. I held on to Cesar and . . . stayed low. Let him guide me. Hell . . . almost carry me.”

“Do you think Jacoby followed you?”

“I think he’s not done. Better get me patched up as soon as you can.”

“He’s not going to put an arrow through this cabin,” Luther said, with a nod toward walls constructed of actual logs. “Only two small windows, and those are curtained, plus blocked from most angles by the roof over the porch. No shot.”

“He could burn us out,” Callie said. “If all he wanted was the two of us dead. But . . . that’s not what he wants. What it wants.”

“You sensed more even with your shield up?”

“Yeah. Hunger. For strength, for power. Negative energy takes. Remember? It takes. This thing takes. More than memories.”

“Callie—”

“Your abilities have more power than you know, Luther. But he knows.
It
knows. It got a taste earlier. And it wants more.”

“More?”

“Its plan. Its end game. I don’t know what that is, but I know there’s a goal. And it needs your strength and power to reach that goal.”

The memory of coming back to himself holding a knife to Callie’s throat was enough to spur Luther, but all he said was, “Listen, I know some rough-and-ready first-aid, but nothing close to your skills. All I want to do is get the bleeding stopped, pack the wound and bandage it securely, do what we can to ward off shock, and get you to a real doctor as fast as I possibly can.”

She leaned her head back against the pillow. “It’s a long hike off this mountain.”

“It’s a shorter one to Jacoby’s cabin. And his truck.”

“If there’s any reason in that thing, any ability to think about tactics—and with a goal it
has
to have that—it’ll know. I’m wounded, you’re not fully recovered, and Jacoby is probably the one who disabled my Jeep, before he totally lost control. Before the dark energy became so . . . palpable. I think he could have gotten that close without us knowing. Without even Cesar knowing.” She caught her breath, clearly in pain, then added, “It’s narrowed our options.”

“And maybe set a trap. Yeah, the thought had occurred.” He checked her wounds, still bleeding but sluggishly now. Time to do what he could to dress the wound so that Callie could be moved. It made his stomach drop to realize he could do something to make her condition even worse, but he had been on too many battlefields not to be a realist.

Do the best you can and move on. Survive.

Still watching him, Callie said, “Either way, we’ll have to get past him. Or go through him.”

“I’m not picky.”

“He got in your head before. What makes you think he won’t do it again the first chance he gets?”

“Because this time I have an edge,” Luther said.

“What?”

“This time, I know what he can do. And I’m ready for him.”

* * *

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
Bishop asked.

It was DeMarco who replied, his voice
almost
as impassive as it usually was with most people. “We understand, Bishop.”

“Not so sure I do.” Hollis’s voice was fainter over the speaker in the conference room, as if she were a bit farther away from the phone on their end. “I mean, concentrating on closing a door the way I concentrate on opening one, I get. I think. I visualize an actual door, and then see myself opening it. Or closing it. But I don’t understand why the four points have to be opened and then closed before we can do what we’re supposed to at the center. Just to release some energy and then narrow access to it all?”

“In part. You also need to replenish your own energy, and once you’re away from the center and can channel some energy from the other doorways, you’ll accomplish two goals. Closing down everything but the center, and gaining enough strength to seal the vortex permanently,” Bishop replied.

“Am I going to hate this?”

Before Bishop could answer, DeMarco said, “Channeling so much energy when her abilities are unstable? Bishop, have you lost your mind?”

“If I’m right, it could go a long way toward stabilizing Hollis’s abilities, which is an opportunity she’s never had before now.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not. Hollis, you have to be at the center of the vortex, and for you to be effective that vortex has to be a manageable size, not spread out over thirty acres or more.”

“Okay, but . . . Where is the energy coming
from
, Bishop? I know Reese talked about the geography of this place, but isn’t a vortex a bit like a black hole? Not with gravity but, like you said, basically a huge doorway. I mean, it has two sides, right? We have energy swirling here, but at the center it has to be going somewhere or coming from somewhere else. Doesn’t it? Oh, shit, don’t tell me it goes through Diana’s gray time.”

Considering the tension and even urgency he had uncharacteristically used at the beginning of this phone call, Bishop’s voice was calm now. “No, this is a different kind of doorway. Geography helped form it on both ends. And for decades, maybe for centuries, it remained stable. On your side, spirits not ready to move on, or too weak to completely fight the natural pull of the vortex to remain there, stayed. Held hostage by a force they had no way to fight.”

“And on the other side?” DeMarco asked.

“It’s all about balance. The other side is negative energy, dark energy. And for a long time it was confined to a very small area.”

“Until?” DeMarco’s voice held the tone of a man who intended to get his questions answered.

“Just as on your side of the vortex, the right—or wrong—person arrived at a certain location with a certain set of abilities. He was drawn there unconsciously, long before now. Led there. He thought it would be a safe haven for later, when he knew he’d need one. Only his mind is too weak to fight what he found waiting there for him when he returned, was already open and receptive to the dark energy, and now it’s got him. It’s got a vessel, and a need to grow stronger, and to do that it needs to produce more dark energy.”

“How?” Hollis asked, not sure she wanted to know.

“The only way negative energy can be produced. By evil acts.”

* * *

LUTHER HAD WONDERED
absently whether Jacoby’s dogs would be willing to leave the cabin, especially if they had run from whatever now completely ruled their former master. But when he had Callie on the litter that was harnessed to Cesar, the dogs rose from their beds and came to join them near the front door.

“Easy, guys,” Callie murmured. “Just stick close.”

“Think they understand you?”

“I know they do.” Still pale but curiously serene, she looked up at him with an odd little smile. “It’s one of my things.”

Somehow, that didn’t surprise him. “So you’re a true dog whisperer, able to communicate with them on a psychic level?”

“Not just dogs,” she said. “Some other animals too. Clearest with Cesar after years of practice. Luther, Cole Jacoby is gone, and the thing that looks like him is very, very powerful. You’re a new telepath with a cracked shield, and it wants your power. Just how do you expect to be able to get past him? Because I trust you don’t mean to fight him?”

Luther checked his weapon for about the third time, stalling because he still wasn’t at all sure how he would be able to do anything to fight all the negative energy surrounding what had been Cole Jacoby. He wasn’t even sure he could shield his own mind from the negative effects of being anywhere near it—except that he had never before in his life felt anything as powerful as the absolute determination to make damned sure he couldn’t be used to hurt Callie in any way.

Not again.

And just to help guard against that, both his big hunting knife and her gun were within her easy reach on the litter. He didn’t dare give up his own gun, but the promise that he would
only
use it against Jacoby was like a mantra in his mind.

When he finally holstered his weapon and looked at her, he was saved from having to reply at all.

She was staring straight ahead at the still-closed door, her very dark eyes oddly fixed, a tiny frown between her brows.

Luther wasn’t exactly sure how he knew that to pull her focus would be a mistake, but it was another thing he was absolutely certain of. So he merely waited, watching her, noting without really thinking about it that all the dogs were watching her as well, clearly not disturbed but intent.

It felt to him like forever but was probably no more than two or three minutes before she blinked and shook her head, as if throwing off a dizzy spell of some kind.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered. “I wonder how long he’s known he could do that if he had to.”

“Do what?” Luther asked. “And who?”

“Reach me telepathically—with my shields up.” Her tone was even, but there was an edge to it. “Bishop.”

“What, he got through just now?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

Callie checked her watch, tapped it with a frown and cursed absently, since it was clearly stopped, then said calmly, “We need to wait about five minutes before we head out.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m told whatever’s controlling Jacoby is about to be distracted in a very big way. And should give us a window to get to his Jeep and get the hell off this mountain.”

“What kind of distraction?”

“The kind only Bishop could orchestrate.”

TWELVE

A Jeep borrowed from someone at the stables had been sent to the house, requested by a clearly baffled but polite Anna Alexander, and DeMarco didn’t speak until he and Hollis were in it and were heading, by compass, toward the north side of the property.

“Feeling better?” he asked then.

Hollis looked down at their linked fingers, then ahead at what was basically a wall of forest looming as they neared. “The farther we get from the house, the less weak and shaky I feel. It’s easier to concentrate now, to focus. And it looks deserted out here.”

“It
is
deserted.”

“I mean no spirits.”

“Yeah, I was reasonably sure you meant that. No living people, either. A few horses to our west, but since this is a pasture, I’d expect that.”

Hollis honestly wasn’t sure if he was trying to be funny, but given what she knew of him, she decided not.

“Remember what Bishop said,” DeMarco reminded her. “Concentrate ahead of us, at the edge of the woods. The Jeep’s compass says we’re heading due north.”

“I’m staring, but so far I don’t see anything,” she said. “Hey, did you get the feeling Bishop was expecting something like this?”

“No,” DeMarco said. “I got the feeling he was expecting
exactly
this.”

Hollis had to force herself not to glance at him so she wouldn’t break focus, but something in his voice told her Bishop was going to have some explaining to do when all this was over.

Always assuming, of course, that even DeMarco was able to . . . persuade . . . Bishop to explain himself.

Which really wasn’t at all likely.

“So you think this is one of his master plans?”

“Don’t you? I’d bet anything you like on the probability that he has another team on the other side of the vortex. Probably as much in the dark as we were.”

Hollis winced. “Where the negative energy is? I’m guessing that is not a pleasant or safe place to be. Man, I wonder who drew the short straw for that assignment.”

“Somebody who didn’t know what they were walking into.”

She hesitated, still staring ahead of them at the forest, but was driven to say, “Listen, I get as pissed at Bishop as any of us when he does this sort of thing, but there’s always a method to his silence. He puts the right people in the right places at the right times. He’d never leave any of us in danger without multiple backup plans, and you know it.”

“One of these days he’s going to go too far. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Let’s talk about it later,” she suggested. “Because . . . there. I see something. Keep going straight.”

“How far?” he asked, slowing the vehicle.

“Bishop said the electronics in the Jeep could be affected, so stop at least twenty yards out from the trees. What I’m seeing is to the right of that really big oak tree.”

DeMarco continued on for another minute or so, then stopped the Jeep. He used his left hand to put the vehicle in park and turn off the engine, since his right hand was securely holding Hollis’s left.

“Close enough?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“What do you see?” All DeMarco could see were trees.

“There’s a funny kind of shimmer in the air beside that tree. Almost like an aura, but with nothing visible at the center.” She kept her gaze on what Bishop had told them would be a doorway. “Damn, he was even right about the color. It’s silvery, but shot through with dark streaks.”

DeMarco looked at the stopwatch hanging from the rearview mirror, something also borrowed from the stables. “Almost time. It’ll probably be easier for you to climb over the console than for me to.”

“I’m afraid to look away even for a second,” she confessed. “If I lose the doorway, I have a horrible feeling this whole thing falls apart. And if there’s a team on the other side of the vortex, I’m guessing they need me to do my job in the worst way.”

“Don’t think about that. Don’t worry about saving other asses Bishop put on the line. Whatever happens, this is on him.”

“And I thought
I
was pissed,” she murmured.

“Like I said, he’s gone too far. Okay, since this is a nice working Jeep without a top, just stand up, and you should be able to almost step over the console.”

Hollis wasn’t at all sure about that, but she followed his instructions and managed not to make a sound of surprise when he somehow got his free arm around her to help her across the console and out of the Jeep. Without at all breaking her focus.

“You’re sort of handy to have around,” she noted lightly, still intent on that shimmering doorway.

“I try.” He paused, then added, “If we start walking now, we should be about three feet away from that tree with about a minute to spare.”

Suddenly even more nervous, Hollis said, “I know we have to start at a specific time, and I know we have to be at the fifth and final door at a specific time—and there’s a lot of driving and distance in between, even assuming I can do this as quickly as Bishop believes I can. Hell, even assuming I can do it at all.”

“All you have to do is follow your instincts. I won’t let go of you no matter what.” He began to lead her forward. “Just concentrate on opening the door, hold it open for one minute, then, when I tell you it’s time, concentrate on closing it.”

“I hope the clock in your head is a good one, because I can’t judge time when I’m dealing with normal spiritual energy, much less something like this shit.”

“The clock in my head is accurate to the second,” he said calmly. “I’ll let you know when to close the door.”

“Okay.” Hollis stopped suddenly. “Close enough. I hope. Jesus, that thing is . . . I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Get ready,” DeMarco said. “On one, open the door. Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one.”

Hollis was never sure how she could do what she could do, but in that instant, she just did what she was told.

She opened the door.

The shimmering halo she stared at seemed to pulse, then grew larger until it was a good seven or eight feet top to bottom, and at least four feet wide. And its center was no longer empty, but swirled with every color imaginable. Swirled, sparkled, crackled—and then all the colors shot out toward Hollis.

She had no time to brace herself, and afterward confessed that there had probably been no way to do that anyway. It was like being hit with a blast of hot air, except that it tingled and tickled and stung and stroked, all in the same timeless moment. It washed over her and through her, and she felt the power of it somehow join with her own strength, increase it, felt her doubts and uncertainties fading and a new and startling clarity surround her.

“Get ready to close the door, Hollis.”

It was almost an intrusion, that voice, and for a heartbeat she considered ignoring it. But her new clarity of mind told her that was a dangerous thought, a deceptive thought, and she concentrated instead on preparing to close the door she had opened.

“Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one.
Now.
”

With a confidence and ease that surprised her, Hollis closed the door.

The shimmery halo returned, shrank, and, as she watched it, shrank to only a glowing point no larger than an orange. Then vanished.

“Hollis?”

Hollis took a step back, abruptly keenly aware of her fingers linked with DeMarco’s, of a connection that was much stronger now, even as she absorbed all the other new sensations.

Strength such as she had never felt in her life. Power she knew with absolute certainty she could tap into as she had never done before. And that strange, compelling clarity of mind and even of vision; she could literally
see
more clearly than she ever had before.

“Wow,” she murmured. “And that’s just the first door.”

“No time to bask,” DeMarco said, leading her toward their borrowed Jeep so they could hurry to the preselected eastern point of the giant compass they had superimposed over the property surrounding Alexander House.

East. The second door.

Again, that would take them some distance out from the house and the more manicured gardens, not pasture this time but still far enough away that Hollis couldn’t see a spirit or possible spirit for at least a hundred yards.

“I wasn’t basking,” she protested. “I was . . . marveling. Did you
see
that? I mean, was it visible?”

“I saw your aura,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Sort of silvery. Here, back over the console. Remember, we don’t break the link now until after the final door is opened and closed. And from this point on we have to hurry if we have a hope of closing the vortex.”

“Silvery?” Hollis did as he suggested, nimbly scooting across the Jeep’s center gear console and into the passenger seat. “Interesting.”

“Why?” He got the Jeep started and headed for the nearest pasture gate, so they could continue moving toward their eastern compass point, their path a wide circle around Alexander House.

She hesitated, then said, “It’s just that your aura looks like that when your primal sense kicks in. The one that warns you when a gun or other weapon is pointed your way.”

“So maybe you’re tapping into something primal,” he said after a moment.

“Or all that energy is changing me. Again.” She thought about it, then shrugged. “Well, it feels like a good thing. So far, anyway. No nosebleed, no headache, and I don’t feel the least bit tired. Energy to spare. I almost wish Bishop hadn’t told me I’ll need all the strength I gain at the four points in order to open and close the final door.”

“I’m glad he warned you. It’s out of character for him, but I’m glad he did it.”

“I wonder why,” Hollis muttered, suddenly uneasy. “He doesn’t act out of character often, but when he does, it’s usually as good as a giant red warning flag of trouble.”

“A warning of something worse he didn’t warn us about?”

Hollis untangled that in her head. “Yes. Maybe. Just . . . let’s hurry and do this.”

“Hold on,” DeMarco told her, meaning it literally as he pushed the Jeep’s speed over the uneven pasture terrain.

They couldn’t break the link even for a second.

Not until it was over.

* * *

AT FIRST, LUTHER
thought that the woods around the cabin were just unusually quiet; he couldn’t even hear birds singing, which was odd, and even odder was the muffling sense that made him want to yawn widely, as if to equalize pressure in his ears. Then he realized, abruptly, that it wasn’t the woods or anything in him. It was Callie.

Cesar stopped even before he did, halting the litter no more than thirty yards from the cabin. He didn’t seem disturbed, nor did the three dogs following the litter closely. They simply looked at Luther and waited.

Luther looked at Callie. “What’re you—”

With only a faint thread of strain in her voice, Callie said, “Bishop said I could do this. And what Bishop says we can do, even if we’ve never done it before, we find we can do.”

“Are you shielding me?” he demanded.

“Sort of. Patching the crack in your shield and . . . making the whole thing stronger.”

“Bishop told you to do that? In your condition? Goddammit, Callie, that’s crazy.”

“Jacoby is about to be . . . really distracted. And while he’s distracted, we have to slip past him to that truck.”

“Callie, I don’t need—”

“It’s not just for you. He’s . . . already sensing us. I’m just trying to . . . make him work for it. We have to distract him on this side. For just a little while longer. It’s important.”

Luther swore under his breath and bent to give her a handkerchief. “Your nose is bleeding. Callie—”

She held the cloth to her nose, but her voice remained clear and calm. “We’ll argue . . . about this later. Remember my condition. Weakened. Not sure how long I can keep this up.”

“Jesus. Is your insane boss trying to get you killed?”

A ghost of a laugh escaped her. “Never. Or you. We’re just trying to fix . . . something that could destroy . . . more than we could imagine.”

“According to Bishop.”

“Well, he’s usually right, especially . . . about . . . stuff like this.”

“I think he has you all hypnotized into believing that.”

“Can’t hypnotize a psychic. You know that. We need to move. Now. And you might want . . . to make sure I stay conscious. Not sure I can hold this on automatic.”

Luther swore again, this time not so quietly, but turned away from Callie and walked beside Cesar as the powerful dog resumed pulling the litter carrying his mistress, and the silent group of man, woman, and dogs moved deeper into the forest toward the cabin rented by what had once been a man named Cole Jacoby.

And was now something so dark and twisted there was only one word to describe it.

Evil.

* * *

HOLLIS AND DEMARCO
were out of the Jeep and walking toward the third compass point, south, a point that fell between the stable complex and the extensive “rear” gardens of Alexander House, when Hollis stopped abruptly and half turned to look behind them.

“Oh, wow,” she murmured. “Creepy. Very creepy.”

With the minutes counting down in his head, DeMarco turned to look as well, but all he saw was the slightly winding flagstone path that allowed the more athletic of guests to walk from the house to the stables, through the gardens that would be beautiful in spring and summer. Beyond that lay the covered pool and surrounding recreation areas, deserted to his eye, and beyond those the house itself.

DeMarco saw nothing unusual or out of place.

“What?”

Hollis cleared her throat. “They’re . . . all looking this way. The spirits. In the gardens, around the pool, at the tables. Everywhere I can see. They’re all just . . . standing there. Looking this way. Watching us.”

DeMarco imagined that would look creepy. “Are they moving toward us?”

“No. Just facing this way. Like they’re waiting. To attack. Like a zombie apocalypse. Man, I’ve gotta stop watching horror movies.”

“Why would you?” DeMarco asked as he got them moving again toward the third compass point. “You basically live in one.”

“Don’t remind me. Okay, concentrating . . . This is getting easier. I see the doorway.”