The Soul Thief (14 page)

“What, they discover the hick has a brain?” Franklin teased.

Darryl just rolled his eyes. “I may not be as smart as Jason—none of us is. But I know what I know.”

“That you do,” Franklin said.

“So what exactly are we hunting?” Darryl asked.

“Two things, actually,” Franklin said. “First, can you come look at something?”

Franklin hadn’t felt as though anyone had been watching him the week before he went to get the blade from Darryl. But how else had Dr. Traeger known about ghosts Franklin had helped?

They tromped outside. The sun had just set and the night seemed lighter, while the sound of trucks on the interstate a mile away seemed heavier, a stream of them, probably all racing for their dinner. Fresh dirt smells and green grass filled the air. The chorus of frogs was just starting up.

Just a little ways up from the driveway, along the ditch on Franklin’s property, Franklin thought he’d spotted something.

“That look like a hunting nest to you?” he asked Darryl.

Darryl squatted down and waved his hand over the bent grass. Then he broke off one of the stems, brought it up to his nose and got a good sniff.

“Seems someone’s been watching you,” Darryl said. His voice took on a deeper timbre.

Franklin nodded. That was what he’d been afraid of. He hadn’t noticed the bent grass until the other day, when he’d spent time fixing stuff all around the farm.

Darryl stood up, then turned first one way, then the other. Without warning he took off, running with that grace that meant he was doing the one thing he’d been born to do: hunt things.

Darryl raced back along the ditch to Franklin’s driveway, then up, toward the lane.

Franklin took off after his cousin. Even though he were still feeling younger, he knew he’d never keep up. Not when Darryl was running with his full powers.

Darryl had turned up the lane, toward the empty Averson fields. He stopped after about a quarter mile.

“Think he parked here,” Darryl said, growling. He paced the area, frustrated. “Can’t really chase a scent in a car,” he said. He turned back to Franklin and shook his head. “You got an idea who was doing this? Invading your privacy like this?”

“Yeah, I do,” Franklin said sourly. “Figure it was the same guy who stabbed me.”

“Stabbed you?” Darryl asked. He was suddenly right there beside Franklin, running his hands up and down about an inch away from Franklin’s body.

His hand stopped right at Franklin’s side, where he’d been injured.

Where had Darryl learned to do that?

“With that blade. The one that had been buried under your thorn bush.” Franklin explained, turning back down the lane and heading toward his farmhouse. “He was waiting for me that night, after we dug it out.”

Darryl gave a low, long whistle, stepping back. “So you never used it?”

Franklin shook his head. “Nope.”

“Good,” Darryl said. “That blade weren’t good.”

“But it weren’t bad, either,” Franklin said. “It depends on the
intent
of the person who’s holding it.”

What do you mean?” Darryl asked.

“I learned some of the history of the knife. It been made to take souls, use them in sacrifice,” Franklin said.

“That don’t sound good to me,” Darryl said, looking wary.

“If I used it to encourage souls to pass on, that would be cheating, but it wouldn’t be bad,” Franklin pointed out.

“I don’t know, Cuz,” Darryl said. “I still think it’s evil.”

“Well, it might be a bit more powerful, right now,” Franklin admitted.

“You’re joking,” Darryl said.

Franklin explained about how the doctor was using it to steal the souls of the dead, raising up an army of ghosts, and how the blade now was overfull with all of them.

“He’s gonna use it to make all the rich and powerful people live forever?” Darryl asked, agitated. He looked like he really wanted to shoot something.

“That’s what I think,” Franklin said. “So we got to go steal that blade back.”

“Do you know where this blade is?” Darryl asked.

“I do,” Franklin said. Despite being healed, he still had a connection to the knife, could still feel its cold blade in his side.

“What do you need me for then?” Darryl said. “If you don’t need me to go hunting for it?”

“I figure there will be traps out there,” Franklin said. “And that you might know how to break into someplace bettern me.”

Finally, Darryl gave Franklin a big smile. “That I do. Let’s go steal us a blade.”

Ξ

Dr. Traeger lived west of Katherinesville, along an old country lane that was barely two-cars wide. If someone came the other way, they’d both end up with their far tires on the shoulder to pass.

The land along the lane was all fields, open and green. It was too dark to see the quality of the crops, but they seemed to be doing well. The moon was only half-full, and even in clear areas didn’t provide much light.

Red brick columns stood on either side of the drive leading to the Traeger estate. Beyond them grew tall, graceful oaks, forming an arch.

Franklin would bet that this used to be a plantation. Was probably old money.

Had the doctor started here? Using the ghosts of the dead from his own land?

Franklin shivered. They had to get that blade away from him, make it more difficult for him to steal souls.

Darryl drove by the entrance slowly, casing the joint, as it were. “Place is too big to have a fence all the way around it,” he said after they’d gone a ways and hadn’t come to another driveway.

How many acres did the doctor own?

“All the security will be up closer to the house,” Darryl added as he turned around. He found a wide flat shoulder to pull his truck onto about a quarter mile from the front entrance.

“Any idea what kind he might have? What we should be looking for?” Franklin asked as he slid out of the truck.

Darryl shrugged one-armed, not moving the shoulder with the sling. “Beats me. You said he’s raising ghosts?”

Franklin nodded grimly as Darryl dug into the back of his truck, hauling out a backpack and thrusting it at Franklin.

“That might be the only protection he needs, if they start howling at the approach of strangers,” Darryl pointed out.

“Don’t think it works that way,” Franklin said. “They howl all the damn time.”

Darryl paused by the side of the road, sniffing the air. “Don’t think he keeps dogs,” he said. “I’ll smell ’em ’bout the time they smell us.”

Franklin nodded, impressed. He hadn’t been sure if Darryl would have embraced his gift or if he would have gone on denying it.

Seemed his cousin had really been working with it. They was gonna have to sit down with some beers sometime, and Darryl was gonna have to tell some tales. Or maybe go hunting, after Darryl was fully healed, just to see.

The cousins crossed the lane then started up onto the property. Huge trees with massive brambles and bushes worked as good as a fence next to the road. However, Darryl could find the single path through them easily enough, without hesitation.

After the thick bush, the land opened up. Just trees grew there, huge old oaks, with roots raised up almost a foot off the ground, looking to trip anyone walking. Of course, Darryl didn’t have any problem, but Franklin stumbled more than once.

Was the trees trying to stop them? Slow them down? Franklin remembered the pines at Perryville.

But these oaks weren’t moving on their own. They was slow and sleepy. It was just Franklin’s own two feet and the dark of the night that were the problem.

Darryl led them unerringly toward the house. Franklin might have been able to do that too, given the way he still felt connected to that blade. It was sleeping, kind of, or at least resting. It still felt bloated, overly full, and tired.

It was still carrying far too many souls around. The blade wanted rid of them. It felt ill-used.

It didn’t like the doctor one bit.

Maybe Franklin could use that, get the blade to turn against the doctor. Not like the blade could move on its own, though.

Up closer to the house came the first wall—a tall one, made of old brick. It bulged toward the bottom, the weight of its age forcing the bricks out of their straight lines. It had been patched in place, though, and was still strong. Franklin didn’t see any barbed wire running along the top of it—or any cameras.

“Can we go around?” Franklin asked, crouching down next to Darryl at the foot of the wall. It was at least seven feet tall.

“We’re gonna have to,” Darryl said grimly. “I just can’t make it over.”

While Franklin was strong, and maybe he could get over that wall on his own, he couldn’t pull Darryl up after him.

Darryl placed his free hand on the wall, sliding it to the right, bumping over the old brick, then to the left.

Franklin could see something tugging on Darryl’s hand, until the fingers all pointed toward the left.

“This way,” Darryl said, easily hopping over a bush growing up next to the wall.

Just a ways down, an old wooden door led through the wall. The doorway was arched, with a fancy brick pattern of interlocking diamonds done in stone above it. The door itself had three, rusting iron bars running across it, holding it together.

The door handle was brand new, the shiny silver looking out of place. A metal plate surrounded the handle and ran to the edge of the door. Franklin figured that was to make it extra strong. He’d bet that the hole the lock slid into was all metal as well.

Darryl fished his keys out of his pockets, then held up a strange-looking key, longer than a regular one, with just small nibs on either side. “Proper skeleton key,” he said. It didn’t take him but three tries and they were through the door.

“Are those legal?” Franklin asked as Darryl paused and wiped their fingerprints from the shiny metal.

Darryl shrugged. “They ain’t illegal,” he said. “Now, a bump key? That’ll get you some hard questioning.”

Franklin weren’t sure what that was. He also weren’t sure Darryl didn’t happen to have one of those on him, either. He weren’t about to ask, though.

The yard on the other side of the brick wall seemed quieter, and the night seemed thicker. Even the cicadas weren’t as loud.

They was standing on soft dirt, between two big azaleas still dotted with pink flowers. A garden grew next to the wall, a three foot wide strip, covered in cedar mulch and filled with tamed shrubs. Beyond that was the yard proper, with neatly trimmed grass, more stately oaks, and a screened-in gazebo to the left.

The air held the smell of the cedar and the grass and good, rich soil.

To the right stood a tall old house, made of wood with a steep jutting roof—Franklin guessed, the plantation. It’d probably be right pretty in the daylight; right now, it was just a dark shape. Beside it was a more modern, square building, just a single story made of brick, but huge. Twice as long as the house. Big enough to hold one of those Olympic swimming pools.

That was probably where they’d be having the charity ball.

The blade was in the house, maybe on one of the upper floors.

Franklin was about to step out of the patch of garden and onto the lawn when Darryl held him back.

“Not that way,” Darryl whispered. Instead, he crept along the mulch, close to the wall.

Of course, there would be roses there, old ones, with canes thicker than Franklin’s thumb—more thorns digging into Franklin’s skin. Darryl passed without a scratch.

When Darryl paused for a moment, Franklin asked him, “Why we going this way?”

Darryl pointed straight up.

On top of the wall was a black glass dome that Franklin hadn’t seen from the other side.

Franklin recognized it as one of those fancy security cameras. Charlene had installed them all over the grocery store where he’d used to work. He shivered.

He weren’t sure that hiding next to the wall would keep them out of sight. But stepping onto the lawn they’d absolutely be seen.

Darryl led them as close to the house as they could get along the garden part of the wall. Then he backed them up about three feet.

“The cameras don’t have as good an angle, here,” Darryl explained.

Franklin weren’t sure where Darryl had learned about that sort of thing. It wasn’t part of his hunting gift.

“Follow me. Step where I do,” Darryl instructed.

Franklin felt completely exposed once they left the bushes of the garden, like a deer in an open meadow with hunters nearby. But he followed Darryl, walking sideways along the yard, keeping his back to the camera on his right.

They’d almost made it all the way across the yard to the porch when a bright light came on.

“Hold it right there.”

Nine

FRANKLIN DIDN’T SAY nothing to Darryl as they rode in the back of the police car into town.

What could he say? They’d failed, big time. Been caught trespassing.

The doctor was much more prepared than they were.

Franklin didn’t know how he was gonna get that blade from Dr. Traeger before Saturday night. But he’d have to find a way.

They hadn’t seen Dr. Traeger that night. It had been his security guard who’d stopped them, a white man with a doughy face who looked like he never smiled. He’d held a gun on them, just itching for an excuse to shoot.

Franklin had been processed once at the judicial center in town, when Karl had threatened to charge him for trespassing. It was just as bad the second time. He hated getting his fingerprints taken—that aggravated him more than any other part of the process. The smell of the ink got under his skin, though Darryl said there weren’t no smell to it.

Then they sat in the holding cell for the rest of the night. It was made of long cold bars on two side, attached to the corner of the general judicial center. Ordinary desks filled the rest of the room, most of them filled with stacks of papers and humming computer monitors.

Being there overnight was more wearing on Darryl than on Franklin. He was still healing. So Franklin stayed awake, letting Darryl stretch out on the single cot across the back wall.

His cousin didn’t look any younger when he was sleeping—he didn’t have that many lines in his face that needed smoothing out. He had the same brow as Franklin, broad and wide. Made him look intelligent, smarter than your average hick. His nose was more broad, flatter, and his lips was fatter too.