Authors: Tim Waggoner
Lenora gazed down upon the icon’s crude stone features. “Yes, I can tell. They all look the same, but when you touch one, you know who it is, even if you never met them in life. How interesting.”
With a sudden swift motion, she lifted the icon over her head and dashed it to the cave’s stone floor. The small statuette broke into pieces and a tiny high-pitched voice like a human scream momentarily cut through the air before dying away.
Marshall closed his eyes. Ray Porter had just died for a second time, and the Reliquary had been weakened by one soul.
Marshall opened his eyes. “So that’s your grand plan? To break one icon after another until you weaken the Reliquary to the point where it can no longer hold back the Old One’s dreams.”
Lenora looked back toward Marshall and smiled. “The county will be plunged into the chaos of a mad god’s nightmares. But like a raging fire, eventually the Old One’s unchecked power will burn itself out, and it will cease to exist. The god of the Crosses will finally die, and the family will die with it.”
“What of the innocents who’ll also perish?” Marshall asked. “All the men and women in the county who have nothing to do with the family and who haven’t wronged you in any way?”
Lenora burst out laughing. “You can’t be serious, Father! They aren’t
people
. They’re lower life forms, little more than animals.”
“Like your mother?” Marshall countered. He was speaking to both of his children, for neither Debbie nor Charlotte had possessed any Cross blood.
Lenora scowled but didn’t reply. She took another icon from the Reliquary and held it out for a moment.
“Stuart Burgin. Though Stuart was mostly human, his grandfather was one of the family, and he asked for his grandson’s spirit to be granted a place in the Reliquary after his early death from cancer. Sorry, Stuart.” She hurled the icon to the ground where it broke just like the first. It also screamed as its spirit fled — to where, Marshall had no idea. But whatever happened to it, it could never compare to the paradise to be found within the group mind of the Reliquary.
“Please, Lenora, Carl … you can’t do this!”
“Of course we can. Watch.” She took another icon from the Reliquary and destroyed it, releasing another spirit and another scream.
“That was Anna Cross, a federal judge.”
As she reached for another, Marshall drew upon all of his inner strength and focused it on breaking free of Carl and Lenora’s psychic hold on him. He couldn’t allow his children to destroy everything his family had worked for over all the long years since they’d first discovered the Old One. But his children were too strong, and he could not break free of their mental domination.
A fourth icon crashed to the cave floor. “Nathaniel Cross. He owned several wineries in California, as well as a number of four-star restaurants.”
She reached for a fifth icon.
“The pictures are getting worse,” Debbie said in a hollow voice. “Stronger, clearer …” She shuddered. “Nastier.”
Lenora had only destroyed a quartet of icons so far, but the Reliquary was in many ways like a living organism. The destruction of the icons had created the equivalent of a wound in the combined energy field of the Reliquary. In a sense, it was bleeding power and beginning to weaken. How many more icons could the Reliquary stand to lose before the Old One’s dreams began to slip through? A half dozen? Less? Marshall honestly didn’t know, but he feared it wouldn’t take too many more.
He’d hoped that by submitting to Lenora and Carl and agreeing to accompany them he would buy himself time to come up with a way to stop them. But it was too late. He was unable to break free of their power and there was no one else who —
The whine of an approaching electric cart interrupted Marshall’s thought. He turned to see the glow of headlights shining forth from the tunnel leading to Sanctity. He smiled. It might not be the cavalry approaching, but it would do.
Joanne held onto the dash with her free hand while Dale steered the cart out of the tunnel and into a large cave. She took in the scene in a flash — stone column in the middle of the cave, Lenora standing next to it holding an icon, Marshall and Debbie standing several feet farther back. A series of lights positioned around the cave’s perimeter lit the cave. The illumination they gave off wasn’t too bright, but it was enough. She’d have to remember to aim carefully if she needed to use her weapon. It would be too easy to misjudge distances in this light.
Dale slammed on the brake too hard and the cart lurched up on two wheels. For a moment Joanne thought she was going to be thrown out of the vehicle, but it came back down on all four tires with a jarring thud.
Joanne jumped out of the cart, assumed a firing stance, and aimed her 9 mm at Lenora.
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” she ordered. “Hell, for what you did to me, I should just go ahead and put a couple bullets in you anyway.”
Lenora ignored her and threw the icon to the ground. It broke into several large pieces, and Joanne heard a tiny cry that sounded almost like a scream. The pieces of the broken icon joined the fragments of others that were already lying on the ground. Lenora had been busy. Evidently Marshall remained in thrall to Lenora, for he just stood and watched his daughter destroy the icon.
Joanne was about to give Lenora one last warning before firing, but before she could do so, Debbie whirled around and came running toward her, eyes wide with madness, lips pulled back from her teeth in a feral snarl.
“Don’t you hurt my baby!” she shrieked. She raised her hands as she came, as if she intended to claw Joanne’s eyes out.
Joanne didn’t want to shoot Debbie. The woman was an innocent victim caught up in the Crosses’ web of intrigue and deception. But Joanne had to stop Lenora from destroying the Reliquary, and she didn’t have the time to subdue Debbie in a nonviolent way. Maybe if she could shoot to wound Debbie —
Joanne was about to fire when Dale rushed in front of her and intercepted Debbie. He threw his arms around the woman and tackled her to the ground. Debbie screamed with fury as she thrashed in Dale’s embrace, biting, kicking, and clawing at him.
“Don’t just stand there!” Dale shouted. “Go!”
Joanne gave her protector a nod and ran toward Lenora.
Lenora flicked her gaze toward Marshall. “Stop the bitch,” she commanded.
Moving stiffly, as if he were fighting every step of the way, Marshall advanced on Joanne.
“I can’t stop myself,” he said. “You’re going to have to shoot me.” He sounded so reasonable, so normal, that for a moment Joanne hesitated, not able to believe that he was really going to attack her. But then he was close enough to make a grab for her, and she barely managed to jump aside in time to avoid getting caught. Even moving awkwardly, Marshall was damned fast, faster than an ordinary man. Probably stronger, too. She couldn’t afford to let him get hold of her.
She feinted right, and when he made another grab for her, she delivered a kick to his right knee cap. Since that was the leg currently bearing his weight, the blow knocked him off balance and he fell. As he went down, he angled his head toward the ground, and Joanne realized he was hoping to knock himself unconscious when he hit. But he landed on his shoulder, rolled, and came back up on his feet with a feline grace he hadn’t exhibited a moment ago. It appeared Lenora had strengthened her control of Marshall’s body, which was bad news for Joanne.
Before Joanne had time to put any distance between herself and Marshall, he lashed out at her, chopping his hand into the wrist of her gun hand. Joanne was barely able to drawn back her hand in time to avoid having her wrist shattered, but Marshall still managed to strike a glancing blow. Her hand went immediately numb, her fingers sprang open, and her weapon fell to the cave floor. She lunged for the gun, but Marshall was faster. He kicked the weapon away and then slammed his first into the side of her neck. Pain shot down her spine and white fire exploded behind her eyes. She collapsed to her hands and knees, her awareness flickering like a light bulb on the verge of blacking out, and she fought to hold onto consciousness.
She heard a whining sound, accompanied by a sudden wash of light, and for an instant she feared her synapses were misfiring wildly as her brain began to shut down. But then she realized that what she was hearing was the sound of another electric cart approaching. She looked toward the oncoming light just in time to hear Ronnie scream, “Die, bastard!” followed by the thunder of his 9 mm discharging.
Marshall was knocked off his feet, and this time when he went down, he stayed down.
Groggy, Joanne straightened and turned to see Ronnie coming toward her, weapon drawn and aimed. But he wasn’t pointed his 9 mm at her, she realized, but at Marshall’s prone form. Past Ronnie she saw Dale still struggling with Debbie, his face marred by deep gashes where she’d scratched him. She also saw another man climbing off the third cart. She thought at first that she was hallucinating, for the man looked like Terry. But when he didn’t suddenly vanish, she realized it really
was
him, and she thought that somehow he and Ronnie had learned what was happening and had come to help. She almost called out to Terry, but then Ronnie was next to her and leveling his weapon at Marshall’s head, and she realized the deputy was about to kill Marshall execution-style. Marshall struggled to rise, but then slumped back, too weak to do anything but lie there and bleed from the bullet wound in his chest.
Joanne grabbed Ronnie’s wrist and forced his arm upward. She gritted her teeth in anticipation of the weapon accidentally discharging, but Ronnie was too well trained and the 9 mm didn’t go off.
“Let go, Jo-Jo. I have to do this.”
Jo-Jo? What the hell?
“You don’t know what he’s done to me,” Ronnie said, his voice quavering. “The things he made me see … made me
do …”
She understood then that Marshall had used his mental powers on Ronnie and sent the deputy rocketing completely around the bend. She felt a wave of anger toward Marshall for manipulating Ronnie, but now wasn’t the time to deal with it. “He’s down, Ronnie, and he’s not going to get up anytime soon. He’s not a threat right now. But Lenora is. We have to stop her.”
She glanced at the Reliquary where Marshall’s daughter still stood, watching the chaos taking place around her and grinning with delight. Terry was walking toward her with a determined stride, and Joanne saw he held a small blade gripped tight in his hand. A scalpel, she realized. The hooded figured who’d attacked her last night had wielded a small blade too. Just like Terry’s.
Oh, shit. No …
• • •
Lenora’s eyes focused on Terry as he approached, but he could see nothing in that gaze of the woman he’d screwed so many times.
“To tell you the truth, I’m glad you’re here,” Lenora said in a too-masculine voice. “I’ve got something to show you.”
Terry smiled grimly as he raised his scalpel. “You better show me fast. Once you start bleeding, it’ll only take you a few moments to lose consciousness.”
“The Old One’s dreams are starting to leak out,” she said. “It won’t be long until they flood the county. But here’s a sneak peek of coming attractions.”
Old One? Dreams? What the hell was the crazy bitch ranting about?
A dark cast came over Lenora’s eyes and a deluge of obscene images assaulted Terry’s mind. Distorted, alien nightmares beyond human comprehension invaded his brain, tearing into the fabric of his essence and shredding his soul into bloody gobbets.
Lenora’s glossy black eyes glistened with satisfaction as Terry screamed the scream of the damned.
• • •
Jesus Christ, this bitch was a wildcat! Dale would’ve rather fought the Black Beast than Debbie Coulter. His face was bleeding from numerous scratches, and his balls ached from where she’d kneed him. Dale wasn’t a gentleman, not when it came to protecting his life — not to mention his balls — but he’d been too busy holding onto Debbie’s wrists in order to keep her harpy claws away from his eyes to lay a good right cross on her and put her down. He’d tried kneeing her in the gut, but she twisted and thrashed like a dervish, turning his blows aside. He’d never head-butted anyone before, but he’d seen the maneuver in the movies numerous times. He’d always figured that in real life a person would crack their own skull attempting the attack, but he’d run out of options and was just about to try it when Debbie glanced over her shoulder and saw Terry Birch — where had he come from? — standing in front of Lenora.
Terry started shrieking and slicing the air with his scalpel, as if he were trying to fight enemies only he could see. The slashes came awfully close to Lenora, though she seemed unconcerned. She stood still, smiling and watching Terry’s histrionics with eyes that, from this distance, seemed for some reason to be completely black.
“Carl!” Debbie shouted. “I’m coming, honey!” With a savage lunge, she pulled free from Dale’s grip and began running toward Terry. Dale stumbled and nearly fell, but he managed to remain on his feet. He saw Joanne talking to Ronnie, Marshall Cross lying on the floor next to them, his shirt stained with blood from where Ronnie had shot him. Marshall wasn’t moving, and Dale feared the man was dead.
Dale was trying to decide on his next move when Debbie grabbed hold of Terry’s shoulder. She shouted, “Don’t you hurt my baby, you son of a bitch!” and spun him around to face her.
Terry’s scalpel whipped through the air and Debbie let out a gurgling gasp as her blood sprayed forth.
“Oh shit,” Dale whispered.
• • •
Terry heard Lenora cry out in anguish, and the horrible images raping his mind vanished. His vision cleared in time for him to see Debbie Coulter slump to the ground, blood pumping from the gash in her throat. He had no memory of cutting her, but the blood dripping from the tip of his scalpel — not to mention the blood splashed on his face and clothes — told him that he had.
Good. That was one last bitch he had to worry about. He turned around, intending to give Lenora a second crimson smile to match Debbie’s, but a pair of powerful hands clasped tight around his throat, choking off his air. Lenora’s eyes were black and ebon tears oozed from the corners, her face contorted into a mask of rage and grief. He still had hold of his scalpel, but she was pressed too close to his body for him to reach her throat. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t strike elsewhere.