The Burning Time (19 page)

 “Blood of the Lord, Blood of the Living...”

*   *   *

Cyrus Christian wanted to laugh. Root’s purpose was obvious; just as obvious was the fact that the old fool would never complete his spell on time. Smiling, Christian turned to the last page of his own incantation.

*   *   *

John felt the dark powers growing inside the church and knew he only had one chance. He had to skip to the end of the spell and hope for the best. Raising his hands and face to the sky, he shouted one last line.

“Cast away the darkness and let the power of Evil be swept away!”

*   *   *

Christian looked up in surprise as thunder roared overhead. “No! He wouldn’t dare—”

Bright light filled the room and the building shook. Books flew from the shelves and the ceiling lights exploded. The alien tentacles squealed high-pitched exclamations of pain and drew back into his chest.

Christian lifted the ancient tomb and prepared to recite the last lines of his spell. But before he could speak, an arrow of lightning crashed through the window and struck him in the chest, knocking the book from his hands and sending him flying across the room.

*   *   *

John slowly rose from the ground, his vision filled with purple afterimages from the multiple lightning bursts that had struck the church. The force of Christian’s evil energies was gone, although he had no idea for how long.

Danni and Mitch.
He had to get to them before Christian could mount another spell. John entered the church and found himself in a short hallway with several doors. The first two led to a small kitchen area and a bathroom. The third looked to be a secretary’s office.

The fourth was locked, but he noticed a wisp of smoke trickling out from beneath it. With a cry, John shouldered the door open and burst into the room.

It took him a moment to understand the scene before him. Danni lay naked on the floor next to an overturned chair. Mitch was also on the floor, tied to a second chair. Across the room, Cyrus Christian was curled in a fetal position, his chest smoking, his clothes torn and charred around the edges. None of them moved, and for a moment John feared the worst. Then he saw Danni’s chest slowly rising and falling.

John hurried to Danni and wrapped his jacket around her. As he did so, he noticed the red rings scattered across her body, some still oozing droplets of blood.

He opened himself to one of the Old Ones.

Things had progressed further than he’d thought, if Christian was already wielding that kind of strength.

Danni moaned, and John helped her to a sitting position.

“Are you all right?”

She stared blankly at him for a moment, and he feared his spell might not have broken Christian’s connection after all. Then she blinked and her face came alive.

“Thank God you’re here! It was horrible. He was going to—”

“Hush.” John put a finger to her lips. “I can imagine what he was going to do. But we don’t have time. He’ll wake soon, and we need to get you and Mitch out of here. Help me untie him.”

Even though tears were running down her cheeks, Danni nodded and started working on the ropes binding Mitch’s feet while John took out his pocketknife and hacked at the ropes around the boy’s arms and chest.

Mitch woke up just as they finished freeing him.

“What...?”

John shook his head. “Later. You and Danni have to get out of here.”

John helped Danni up and half carried, half dragged her to the door, pushing Mitch ahead of them with his shoulder. When they reached the hall, he shifted her weight to Mitch, who staggered back and only kept himself on his feet by pressing his back to the wall.

“Mitch, get her as far away from here as you can. I’ll be out in a minute.” Before the boy could say anything, John closed the door on him. His plan was to finish Christian off once and for all, but when he turned around, his nemesis was already rising to his feet.

“All you’ve done is postpone the inevitable,” Christian said, raising his hands. “In a moment, you and the boy can both watch as Miss Anderson feeds my Gods with her body and soul.”

His back to the door, John spread his arms and prayed the old priest hadn’t exaggerated the powers of the ancient cross. “Come then, Coyote. Let us see what you can do.”

“I’ll roast your bones for dinner!” Christian shouted. “Ab-Durhad! Malefica prisinium ya-no-tho-mae-ta! Cladig ru-ni-ya! Abhorum!”

The preacher brought his hands together in a clap that resounded like thunder and shook the walls hard enough to send cracks racing across the plaster. The windows imploded, filling the air with razor-sharp shrapnel. A bolt of impossibly-black lightning arced across the room, heading right for John’s the chest, while Christian howled mad laughter.

John remained expressionless as a second explosion occurred inches from his body and the dark lightning reversed direction, striking Christian in the stomach and knocking him to the floor, his eyes closed and smoke rising from his clothing.

John clutched at the doorknob as all the strength left his body, burned away by the effort it had taken to repel Christian’s attack. The cross, now nothing more than a charred piece of wood, crumbled to ash and fell to the floor. He took several deep breaths, wiped a rivulet of blood from his face, got his shaking legs under him, and went into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.

Mitch had managed to drag Danni almost to the back exit. Keeping one hand on the wall for support, John hurried to join them.

“Mitch, listen carefully.” John paused as his vision dimmed momentarily. He took a breath and then continued. “I’m going to bring Danni’s car around. Get her outside. You’ll be safe; Christian won’t be bothering anyone for a while.”

Without waiting for an answer, John exited the church and made his way across the parking lot to Danni’s Mustang. A quick swipe of his hand under the back bumper was all it took to locate the spare key she kept there in a magnetic case, for emergencies.

I think this qualifies,
he thought, as he collapsed into the driver’s seat. His vision blurred again and for a moment he saw two of all the gauges. Then his sight returned to normal and he fumbled the key into the ignition.

Gotta hurry. I’m barely going to make it.

When he reached the back of the church, he pulled right onto the grass by the door, just as Mitch and Danni emerged. They climbed into the car and John headed for Danni’s house. Only when they were inside and he’d brought Danni clothes to change into did he allow himself to collapse onto the couch.

“Is Christian dead?” Mitch asked. “Did you kill him?”

John tried to speak, could only shake his head no. Once again, he’d failed to bring down the Trickster. But it would be days before Christian got his strength back, and John took some satisfaction that during that time he’d pose no real threat to them.

And that will give me time to recover, and find another way to defeat him, he thought.

Then he passed out.

*   *   *

Cyrus Christian slowly pulled himself from the floor. Every inch of his body felt bruised and battered. Several parishioners were staring through the missing windows, but he paid them no mind. The most important thing at the moment was to retrieve his grimoire and hide it before someone else came across it. He found the book under his desk and quickly dropped it into the bottom drawer. Then he looked around the room, surveying the damage.

Damn John Root to hell! It will take me days to regain my strength. I—

He paused as he noticed something on the door. A closer look revealed it was streaks of blood on the knob and wood.

I wonder...

Christian dipped a finger into the blood and brought it to his tongue. Not Danni Anderson’s, which he’d tasted through the mouths of the Spawn. No, this was older. And male.

That meant the blood belonged to John Root.

Using a piece of paper from the floor, Christian wiped up as much of the blood as he could, then carefully folded the paper and shut it away with the grimoire.

“Now we’ll see who has the power, John Root. I have your blood.”

And blood is always best for magic.

John opened his eyes and found bright sunshine streaming into his bedroom, warm and comforting against his face. It took him a long moment to figure out what the other sensation was.

A cool breeze blowing across his skin from the open window.

Forcing his body into movement despite his protesting muscles, he got out of bed and looked outside.

Large patches of blue fought the omnipresent black clouds for dominance of the sky. Tree leaves fluttered as the gentle wind flowed around them, and for the first time in days, the air didn’t drip with humidity.

If he didn’t know better, John would have sworn Hastings Mills had returned to normal.

“Hey, John! ‘Bout time you got up!”

John glanced down and saw Mitch standing in the yard, a familiar red plastic bag in his hands. The sight of the sack sent John’s stomach rumbling. The only place in town that used red plastic bags was Gustavson’s Deli.

Which meant fresh sweet rolls and coffee for breakfast.

“I’ll be right down,” he called to Mitch.

“Better hurry. Danni said she was gonna eat yours if you slept any longer.”

John didn’t waste time replying. When it came to food, Danni Anderson rarely delivered an idle threat. He pulled on his pants from the previous day, reached deep into his black bag to retrieve a clean T-shirt from his own house and then hurried down the stairs, not even bothering with shoes or socks.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Danni greeted him. She was pouring orange juice while Mitch doled out the coffees and rolls.

“What time is it?” John asked.

“Almost ten. I’ve never known you to sleep so long.”

Danni’s tone was bright and cheerful, but one look at her face and John knew it was an act. Dark smudges hung below her eyes and her smile didn’t make it past her lips.

“The last few days have been...trying...on all of us,” John said, grabbing a cheese Danish from the plate. “But before we discuss any of it, I suggest we eat.”

“Sounds good to me.” In contrast to his sister, Mitch looked honestly happy.

Perhaps it’s because no harm came to them, John thought. Then he noticed the way the boy was looking at him, and he realized the truth. Hero worship. It was bad enough before. But now I’ve saved them from the big bad monster.

The problem with hero worship was, sooner or later, all heroes fail.

Like I did yesterday. They don’t even know. They think I went there to save them. But by saving them, I lost the bigger battle.

Of course, there hadn’t been any choice. That was the problem with being on the side of good. If you started sacrificing people to achieve the final goal—giving up the pawns to capture the king—eventually you ended up no better than the evils you fought against.

Suddenly, John didn’t feel so hungry. But he ate his Danish and drank his coffee just the same, savoring the double mule-kick of caffeine and sugar.

And when breakfast was over, he told them everything.

Beginning with his great-grandfather.

“So, you’re telling me that your family has been trying to stop this...Trickster, for over three hundred years?” Danni asked, her skepticism unmistakable in her raised eyebrow and incredulous tone.

John nodded. “Give or take. After he destroyed our town, much as he’s doing to yours, my grandmother vowed to put an end to his mischief. Of course, that is not my exclusive job, nor am I the only one attempting to impede the Other’s progress”

“I don’t get it. What are you, some kind of supernatural policeman?”

“No.” John rubbed his forehead, trying to think of the best way to explain what he—what his family—had always done. “Let me ask you a question. Have you ever heard of country magic?”

“I’ve heard of country-fried chicken,” Mitch said with a sly grin. He’d been silent up to that point.

Probably, John thought, because he’s already seen some of what I can do, and more of what the Ancient One can do. He already believes. For him, the rest is just filling in the blanks. But Danni, she’s an adult, and this is all new to her.

“Hush, Mitch,” Danni said. “No, I haven’t. What is it?”

“I guess you could say it’s like voodoo. It’s got bits and pieces of religion and spells and herbal magic from all over. Down in the Carolinas, we got it from the Native Americans, plus the slaves, and we added in anything that had come over from Europe with our ancestors.”

“Are you talking black magic? Sacrifices, drinking blood?” Danni looked shocked to think John might be involved in anything so violent.

“Some people use it that way,” he admitted. “But my family has always steered clear of the dark magics. There’s a price to pay for using them. Each spell eats away a little piece of your soul, until there’s nothing left.”

“Is that what happened with Reverend Christian?” Mitch asked.

“No.” John gave an emphatic shake of his head. “The thing you know as Cyrus Christian is just a shell. Inside lives a being composed of dark energy. He is a servant of Chaos. The Trickster is known by many names. Coyote. Kupua. Kokopelli. Amaguq. He exists to bring disorder and sorrow to the world.”

“Why?” Danni posed the question before her brother could.

“To prepare the way for the Elder Gods to enter our dimension. Eons ago, humans fought a battle with the Old Ones, and used their magics to banish the Gods back to the outer realms. Since then these creatures—call them Gods, or aliens, or whatever—have been trying to return.”

“You mean, if you don’t stop Christian, he’ll open the doors for these things? How bad are we talking?”

“Bad,” said Mitch, obviously remembering his encounter with the Hellhounds.

“Mitch is right. It would be bad. That thing you saw coming out of Christian’s chest was but a tadpole compared to the monsters lurking on the other side of the Barrier. The ancient texts describe them as unspeakably horrible and larger than the greatest whales. Their servants and offspring are frequently mistaken for demons in religious writings; thankfully, it is only those miniatures of the originals that can make it through the Barrier, and even then only through the use of powerful spells.”