The Dark Communion (The Midnight Defenders) (20 page)

I forced myself to let go and backed away from the glass, as much in fear and shock at what I’d seen as my own weakness.

Whatever it was, it was old and powerful. And it scared the shit out of me.

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25

I thundered back through the living room and pushed my way through the front door, stopped on the porch steps and scanned the front yard and street. Nadia had been leaning against my hood, and as I crossed to her, she said, “You look like crap. What happened?”

“Which part?”

“The part that gave you two black eyes and a bloody nose?”

Before I could answer, Anderson called, “Swyftt!!”

I stopped and turned to see him approaching at a light jog from the side of the house. “You find anything, son?”

I shook my head.

“What happened to you?”

I shrugged. “I’m tired. Gonna head home and get some sleep. Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “We tried, right? We’re getting out of here, too, head back to the station, see if we can’t put some pins on a map and discover a pattern. If we plot out the homes of the missing children and the houses where their bodies were found, with any luck, we’ll find where this bastard’s been hiding.”

I nodded. “Good luck with that.”

As I turned to go, he said, “Mr. Swyftt?” I turned back to him. “We got a positive ID on that body from the house. You’d asked me, so I wrote down a name for you.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a little slip of paper. “Don’t know if it means anything to you.” He handed it to me.

“Douglas Pearson,” I said. “Pearson. Pearson.” Then I got it. “Pierce.”

Anderson lifted an eyebrow and looked at me. “Julie Easter had an imaginary friend named Pierce,” I said. “Her parents said that he gave her a stuffed bear. We found her body in the house with Pearson.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that Julie’s imaginary friend wasn’t so imaginary.”

I turned and got in the car. As I started the engine, Nadia thanked the detective and climbed in as well. Once we were driving, she said, “So now what?”

“We have to find out where this thing is taking the kids. And it sounds like we have to do it before Anderson and Stone.”

“Why not clue them in?”

“Too fucking dangerous. Besides, Stone would never believe me.”

“Probably not.”

We drove a few blocks in silence.

“What I saw in there,” I said, “was ancient and powerful.” She met my eyes. “I don’t know what we’re up against. I was too weak by the third flash to get a proper reading, but the small glimpse I saw…” I shuddered just from remembering. “Was pure fear.”

“It’s been taking its toll on you. It’s getting harder to read things, isn’t it? That’s why you’re so tired lately.”

I shook my head. “Not all things. Surface readings are okay. It’s the deeper readings.” I took a deep breath. “Maybe I am slipping. I’m losing my mind. I’m losing control of my ability. It isn’t like it used to be.”

“I know,” she said with a nod. “Just be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?”

She stifled a nervous laugh.

I didn’t say anything else. We drove for a while, the only noise the sound of the engine and the tires on the road, the soft hum of the radio. Eventually, Nadia said, “Fear.” I glanced over at her. “That’s what you said. That this thing was pure fear.”

I nodded.

“What if it’s a Bogey?”

“I…” It was so obvious. The terror I felt at the house, the preying on children. Bogeys fed on emotion, their preferred meal being fear. They dealt phobias like cards and played at scare tactics like fucking hopscotch. It explained the flash I got from the door and the ancient power felt: they were some of the oldest and deadliest of the Korrigan. Only one thing didn’t add up. “Bogeys can’t possess people.”

She was silent a moment. “I don’t know. There’s gotta be something else we don’t understand.”

We pulled up to the house, drove around back where a modest fire was burning in a small, stone pit beside the barn. I got out of the car, saw no one, and then a brown lump of fur came bounding forward out of the shadows.

It nearly collided into me, and as Nadia came around the car, she laughed. “It’s just Thai,” she said, bent down and patted her thighs and said, “C’mere boy.”

He rubbed his massive weight against her legs like a cat and wagged his tail as she scratched the top of his head.

She took a knee, rubbed him more eagerly, and he licked her face. She laughed. I watched for a minute and moved to the door. Before I got to the stairs there was a loud, shrill whistle and Thai leapt past Nadia into the grass and ran off toward the barn.

I turned to watch him go and stopped as a dark figure stepped into the glow of the dim firelight. Nadia waved, and the figure came closer.

As he neared the El Camino, I could make out the shaggy head and broad shoulders of the groundskeeper. I didn’t rightly know how old he was, sometimes he seemed in his fifties, other times he appeared just older than Nadia. In the moonlight, his skin was smooth, youthful, his wild, white hair framing his face like the mane of a lion. He was wearing a grey thermal shirt and soiled, brown jeans. On his shoulder he carried three long 2x4’s of treated lumber.

“I heard a noise,” he said. “I should have known it was you.” He stood tall and spoke confidently, looked me in the eyes with such intensity I had to turn away. His eyes sparkled silver like I’d never seen before.

Nadia smiled at him and said, “Crestmohr, how are you?”

He nodded. “I am well. Your necklace is pretty.”

Her hand went absently to her neck, and she said, “Oh, thanks. It was my…my Father’s.”

Crestmohr looked at me.

“Her other one,” I said.

He nodded. “You must feel him closer when you wear it,” he told her.

“I…,” she stammered, momentarily speechless. “I do. How did you…”

“I recognize the design.”

I motioned to the boards he carried and said, “Are you building something?”

“I’m lining the stables in Gopher Wood. The storm last night spooked the colts.”

“And the Gopher wood calms them?” Nadia said, a bit confused.

Crestmohr nodded, and when he didn’t offer any explanation, I took it upon myself to say, “It’s what Noah used to build the ark. Had he used any other wood, the lions would have torn the hind-quarters from the gazelles before it was raining hard enough to turn the wipers on.”

“That’s an image,” she said.

“It has a sedative quality,” Crestmohr said.

“And you just happen to have some lying around?”

“I keep a small supply in the barn.”

“When you finish, would you like to come inside for some tea?”

He shook his head. “Thank you, no.” He turned back to the fire and said, “I am a hunter. My place is under the stars.”

“There’s not much to hunt out here, is there?” I asked.

He turned to me, his eyes soft and shimmering. “When the night is right,” he said. “You of all people should know that, John Swyftt.”

I gave him a funny look, and he smiled at me warmly. Behind him, I could see the two dogs, both of them just watching us, their tails wagging eagerly. I watched them and said, “Thai and Taboo. Those are unusual names.”

“They’re unusual dogs.”

“How do you tell them apart?”

“Taboo has a dark mask around his eyes.” He looked at them and then at me. “Are you a dog person, John Swyftt?”

I shook my head. “I had a hamster once. I’m not much for animals. I guess because so many of them try to eat me.”

He smiled. “Not the good ones.”

“You should keep more of that Gopher Wood on you,” Nadia offered.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s not like you can just buy it at the hardware store.”

“Well, Crestmohr…”

“Yeah,” I said, studying him. “He’s an unusual sort of fellow.”

“I’ve been told that before,” he admitted. He held my gaze with his own, kind and unblinking. I thought about looking away, but was afraid that would show weakness.

“I think this is the longest conversation I’ve ever had with you,” I said.

“Well, you should talk to him more,” Nadia said.

Crestmohr nodded, smiled faintly, and looked away. “I’ve got a stable to tend,” he said. “I’ll let the two of you get inside.” Then he looked at me. “You know where I sleep, John Swyftt. You don’t have to be a stranger. Neither the dogs nor I bite.” He smiled and turned to go.

“Bye,” Nadia said quietly.

“Good night, Ms. Prince,” he said without turning.

When we were both inside, I said, “Did that bloke just solicit me for sex?”

“What?”

“You heard him. ‘You know where I sleep.’ ‘I don’t bite.’ That bullshit.”

“You’re paranoid.”

I shook my head. “That was weird.”

“What was weird about it?”

“We’ve lived here ten years, and he’s never just come up and started talking to me.”

She shrugged. “He talks to me all the time.”

“He would with you,” I said. “He was your babysitter.”

“Crestmohr’s a good guy. You should give him a chance. He’s harmless. And he definitely wouldn’t ‘solicit you for sex.’”

“So what’s his deal then?”

“What do you mean?”

As we walked through the kitchen, I took my jacket off and hung it on one of the stools at the counter, opened the fridge, took out another piece of streusel cake. “He’s obviously not human.”

She laughed. “Of course he is. What makes you say that?”

“The way he looked at me. Those…eyes.”

“You think he has pretty eyes?” She grinned.

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s okay. He does have pretty eyes.”

I shook my head and took a bite of cake.

“You’re being ridiculous, Jono. I know him. He’s my friend. We go riding. He tells me stories about his people. You know, his dad was full blood Chinook?”

I shook my head. “I don’t have time for this right now. I have to go talk to Ape. We’ll talk about this later.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You just don’t understand him.”

“You’re right about the second part.”

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t human.”

I walked from the kitchen and wound my way through the rooms and hallways to the grand staircase and took the stairs two at a time. The upstairs was even darker for the lack of windows, but I didn’t bother with a light switch. After all my years in the place, I could find where I was going with my eyes closed. Moving quickly and quietly, I passed by several doors, going instinctively to the one I needed.

I tried the knob, but it didn’t turn. Locked. I took a breath and rapped my knuckles against the wood.

Nothing.

“Oh-kay,” I said, knocked again, harder this time.

A weak voice said, “Jono, go away.”

“I will not. I’ll stand right here, mate, until you open this door.”

“You’ll be standing there awhile.”

That didn’t make me happy. I considered my options, but didn’t think paying to replace the door would benefit me, should I choose to kick it in. Besides, I might damage something else.

I dropped to my knees in front of the door and pulled out my lock picks. “Fuck you, Ape. And fuck your fortress of solitude.”

If he heard the clicks in the lock, he did nothing to deter me, and in a few short minutes, I was able to turn the knob and push the door open.

The study in the Towers’ manor was larger than most living rooms – maybe 800 square feet – with vaulted ceilings and a sky light. All four walls covered in bookshelves from shoes to rafters, every shelf stuffed to bursting with books on every topic from do-it-yourself home repairs to eighteenth century French literature to Wiccan tomes on herbal recipes. Whatever you were looking for, if you couldn’t find it on the shelves, you could access the internet from the large high-tech computer that sat on the antique wooden desk in the middle of the room. A few high-backed armchairs scattered along the walls, and a giant oriental rug dressed the otherwise hardwood flooring.

Ape was sitting Indian-style in the center of a mine field of scrapbooks and photo albums, shoeboxes of postmarked letters, all open to some favorite passage, some deeply sentimental image. There was a look of mourning somewhere between his puffy cheeks and red eyes.

Cool jazz was playing softly from the computer speakers. Ape usually listened to Sammy Davis, Jr., Dean Martin, and the rest of that Rat Pack shit; it wasn’t much of a stretch to hear something like Louis Armstrong.

I closed the door behind me and walked closer. He didn’t look up from the picture frame he held in both hands.

“So I just got out of jail,” I said. “Seems my best mate abandoned me in a vandalized sporting goods shop when the police were knocking on the front door. I was cuffed in the back of a squad car and interrogated by Stone. We lost another kid, and the worst part is, I never got my lobster dinner, but you probably don’t care about any of that, do you?”

There was silence for a minute before he said, “Jono, shut up.”

I smiled.

“It’s not always about you. Tonight, I had to put a bullet in the head of my favorite uncle because he tossed me around like a ragdoll and tried to use you like a chew toy. Because somehow he came to be in league with some immortal evil and was convinced to befriend little girls and then run off with them into the night.” He sighed. “But you probably don’t care about any of that, do you?”

He looked up at me, cast his picture frame at my feet. The glass crunched, and I bent and grabbed the frame. The picture was of a much younger Arthur Towers, dressed to look like Amelia Earhart and standing before a single prop engine biplane, an airport hangar in the dim background. The old image had gone yellow, edges frayed, and Arthur smiled under a thick handlebar mustache.

“I’ve been sitting here for hours,” Ape said, not looking at anything in particular. “And all I can think about is the apple tree.”

I scratched my head. “Which apple tree?”

“The one out back. Crestmohr said it lost some limbs in the storm.”

“Okay.”

“I planted it,” he said. “When I was a boy.” He grew silent, drew a deep breath, a faint glimmer played in his eye, maybe the flash of a memory. “When I turned ten, my parents threw me a huge party. I didn’t look…like this, then. All of my cousins and school friends were there, and my parents had hired a small circus to perform. There were pony rides and a petting zoo and acrobatic clowns.”