Between the Waters (Symphony of Light) (7 page)

I stopped and turned to the guys. “I don’t hear any birds.” In the distance I could hear the rushing of water that resembled static. The smell of moss and moist earth was on target, but no birds.

A few more feet down the path and the blue Chevy came into plain sight, along with a small, dilapidated cabin—weathered, gray-toned wood with rusted hinges on the door and a sagging porch roof.

Clarence grabbed my arm. “We should go back. Call your guys.”

“My guys?”

“Yes, you know, the ones you live with.”

“They’re not
my
guys.”

Lance leaned in. “He’s right. I didn’t get my freedom back just to die.”

The breeze blew, and on the wind traveled strange words—the same gibberish from the Symphony Hall.

“I’m just going to take a look. Then we’ll call the boys.”

Clarence rolled his eyes.

I slapped Clarence lightly on the arm. “Stay here.”

“No way. I’m not answering to Overton if something happens to you.” Lance stepped up beside me.

“What could Overton possibly do? Now, Sinclair—that’s a different story. He’s a crazy motherfucker. He’d tie you like a turkey and make you eat your own balls.”

Clarence and Lance both shivered.

Lance pulled on my shirt. “Overton came into a village that Michael and I had just taken over. Michael had turned the entire village minion. Overton snuck in and terminated them all single-handedly. He had me by the throat, but when he saw I had some free will, he only gave this scar.” Lance lifted his head and exposed a scar running from clavicle to his ear.

“Cyril maybe, but Overton?”

“I’m telling you, don’t fuck with him. It’s the quiet types you have to watch out for.”

“But he’s such a pacifist. He’s one-third priest, for Christ’s sake.” It was impossible to envision Overton as an aggressor. He defended my honor in the hallway, but wipe out a village?

“No, he has a code he lives by. But you cross his line and he shows no mercy.”

The chanting grew louder. “I’ll have to take your word for it. Come on.”

Clarence didn’t argue, and we moved behind the car, using it as a shield. The voice came from behind the house. A few more feet and we saw Mary standing with her hands in the air. The melodic sound of chant she spoke was almost hypnotic.

Lance grabbed my arm. “Plug your ears. Stop listening to her.”

I did as he commanded, and so did Clarence.

We were crouched at the very edge of the woods, fingers in our ears, watching a woman who couldn’t speak, ramble. The wind picked up. I shivered, but it was the growl I felt rather than heard coming from behind me that caused me to jump.

All three of us turned at once to see another one of the huge beasts less than ten feet away.

Lance screamed. He and Clarence took off into the woods, but I needed to distract it. Of the three of us, I was the only one who had a chance of outrunning it. I picked up a rock and threw it at the creature. It looked at me and started running toward me.

Through the branches, over rocks, slipping on moss, I ran. I waded through a small stream and paused for only a moment, checking to see how close it was. It was gone.

I waited. It never came. Oh, fuck. What if he didn’t chase me? Back through the water along the same path, I ran back.

When I reached the clearing, the Chevy was gone. Maybe Mary took the animal. Relief flooded through me.

I climbed the rickety stairs of the cabin and peaked into the single room with an old wood stove and some broken bottles. Clarence and Lance were probably back at the car by now.

I walked around the outside of the cabin. No sign of the beast or Mary. I wanted to call for Clarence and Lance, but was afraid, just in case the creature was laying in wait somewhere.

No sign of either of them at the car. The pit grew in my stomach. Something wasn’t right. Even beyond the excitement of being chased, anxiety surfaced. I headed back to the cabin calling out to them.

“Clarence. Lance.” I paused listening.

“Clarence,” I yelled a little louder.

The only thing left to do was to head in the direction they ran. Maybe they got lost.

I headed toward the tramped brush and shielded my eyes from stray branches that snapped as I pushed forward. About every five steps, I called out to one of them. The cracking of twigs under my feet seemed loud even with the blood beating in my ears.

They had to be close.

Over rocks and moss-covered logs and avoiding patches of poison ivy, I breathed in the earthy scent. The rushing water that was once in the distance seemed to drown out the noise of my trespasses.

Several more steps and something else caught my attention. Metallic, rust-like, but with a touch of sweet, filtered through my nostrils. I stopped. Breathed in. What was that? I turned, inhaled, and then faced the direction where the scent was the strongest.

I picked up my pace. Losing my footing every now and then, I used nearby trees for support. My newfound abilities made me faster, but not more agile. Cyril said it would take time, that I was like a child learning to use their limbs. Whatever the excuse, it was annoying.

The scent grew more pungent, and I crested the hill and started my descent. I paused. Dear God. It was blood. A lot of blood. A dreadful heaviness filled my chest, and I rushed down the hill. At the bottom lay Lance and Clarence.

At first I thought they must have fallen. The hill was steep, but as I moved closer the gashes in their clothing and open wounds were clear. I suppressed the urge to throw up.

I kneeled down between them. “Clarence, can you hear me?” I was afraid to roll him over, but I needed to see his face. Both he and Lance lay prone in the dirt.

“Clarence. Clarence. You have to wake up.” So much blood. I placed both hands under his hip and attempted to flip him but failed. I next tried his shoulder. When I succeed, my stomach heaved at the large chunks of flesh missing from his clavicle. I placed a hand on his chest. He was breathing, but only by the smallest amount.

I shifted around and flipped over Lance. The same thing. His forearm was mangled, and he was missing part of his thigh. Another look revealed his throat lay open, ragged with teeth marks.

I felt the tears. I couldn’t help it. When I felt his chest I was not surprised, and the faint glowing misshapen orb told me everything I needed to know. Lance was gone. A crushing sadness washed over me. His future with Clarence. Ruined. Son of a bitch. What had I done?

But I couldn’t delay. Clarence needed my help. I turned back to him. He was still unconscious. I pulled my shirt over my head and attempted to use it as a tourniquet for his leg. There was no way he could survive so much blood loss.

“Damn it, Cyril! Where are you?” I screamed. There was no way I could save him. I pulled out my cell phone to call Overton. No fucking signal.

The growl from behind startled me. “Oh, fuck me.”

I turned and faced it. The butcher—the beast that killed Lance and soon would be responsible for Clarence’s death…and mine.

I wasn’t going down without a fight. I could possibly outrun it, but the rage within was so strong, I’d welcome a few punches before it mauled me to death too.

Its teeth were bared. Velvety bat-like ears stood up and pointed forward. Its body was that of a large dog or wolf, and it had webbing between its legs and body, but somehow its features were cat-like. It was some sort of bat-cat-dog hybrid. What kind of sick fuck made this?

“You freaky son of a bitch, bring it.” I picked up a branch in a pathetic attempt to defend myself. “I’ll beat you senseless, you piece of shit.”

Extending the stick in front like Rhys taught me to do, I readied for battle. But when I locked gazes with the creature, there was something off. It no longer showed its teeth and the skinny rat-like tail wagged. There was something familiar in its eyes, and all ferocity was gone. It started toward me, but with no menace.

I felt every heartbeat in slow motion as the creature, in all its freakish majesty, head-butted my rib cage much like a cat might. It continued to rub on arms, legs, and then finally lay at my feet.

“What are you?” I reached down to touch its head, and it sighed, splattering beasty snot on my pant leg. It looked up. Oh my God. Its eyes were human. Who was doing this? Why make such a creature and how? It would have to wait. Clarence.

I patted it on top of the head and smelled my hand. The sweet smell came from the beast. It was so familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. But I couldn’t worry about that now.

I dropped to my knees; Clarence’s soft steady breaths were now labored and faulty. “I’m so sorry, Clarence. You were right. We should have waited.”

He continued to bleed so I stripped off my pants and used them to put pressure on his shoulder. It was a feeble attempt, but I was running out of options.

“Fuck, Clarence. You have to live. Don’t do this to me.”

He coughed, and blood sprayed across my face as his eyes opened.

I cupped his face. “You’ve got to hang in there. Keep fighting.”

Air hissed as he pushed it through his throat. His words were faint but clear. “Do it. Save me. Save Lance. Being like Overton is fine. Better that than nothing.”

“Wait. You can’t be suggesting…”

“Yes. Do it. Not much time.”

“Clarence, I can’t. You won’t be you. You’ll be trapped.”

“Let me live.”

“I love you. You’ve been better than any sibling, and I wish I could.”

“Then keep me with you.” He coughed again. His eyes rolled back into his head.

Tears rolled down my face. I grabbed and squeezed his hand. “Clarence, please.”

Even if I wanted to try the soul merge, the process Cyril used to make all of his men, I was fuzzy on the details and needed another soul. I had to have at least two other subjects. Lance was already dead, and I wasn’t sure how that would figure into the equation. In all of Cyril’s examples, they had all been alive and all had been men, with the exception of my aunt, which didn’t go so well. I closed my eyes and adjusted my vision to scan for souls, as Cyril had taught me. The area was clear. Other than the residual energy emitted by animals that was reabsorbed into the earth to be born again, there was nothing.

I threw my arms down in defeat and accidentally smacked the beast, who sat obediently by my leg. When I turned to issue my pointless apologetic look at it, my astonishment caused me to lose balance. The beast had a soul. It was human, well…some piece of it was. How was that possible?

Clarence sputtered again. His breathy, “Please,” was barely audible. Decision made. I closed my eyes. The water would be my focus. Cyril taught me to syphon energy from the earth. He once said besides junctions in ley lines, natural waterways were best. Not until this morning when I felt the pulse myself would I have appreciated why he selected Pittsburgh, of all places, to be his home. The joining of two waterways into another was extremely powerful. But I was fifty or so miles from the city, so the mountain stream was my only source.

I opened my eyes and gathered up my blood-soaked shirt. A prayer for Lance the only thing to interrupt my work before I reached down. I didn’t want to touch it, as touching it allowed me to see all of his memories, so I wrapped the cloth around my hand and gathered his soul. Sinclair would probably berate me for not taking advantage of the intelligence, since Lance had been Michael’s slave for so long, but it was wrong, a violation, and Lance had become my friend. Besides, it looked as though we had bigger enemies to worry about. I tried not to cry, but the tears flowed against my will. “Oh, Lance…I’m so sorry. What have I done?” Another jolt of Clarence’s dying body pulled me from my grief.

I looked at the beast that obviously had no issue with me. A little more power syphoned and I reached out, petted it, and laid my head against its back. I placed my shirt-covered hand against its heart—the place I saw its soul. I continued to reach for the magic in the vicinity as it slumped to the ground. There was no cry of pain, not even a whimper. I said a silent prayer for the abomination that never asked to live and hoped Clarence, who begged for my help, would get a second chance.

I closed my eyes and placed the souls and my hands against Clarence’s chest. With mental silence achieved, I visualized pulling the magic to me.

The stream of energy rushed to me but stopped short of the mark. “Shit.” I tried again. Almost. I felt the heat that accompanied magic. It was as if it traveled the pathways of my nervous system, but I couldn’t channel it properly.

The chant. Just as Cyril taught me, I repeated the phrase, one after another, “Nium parnum omsti narum. Nium parnum omsti narum.”

I was paving my pathway to hell.

The shallowest of breaths filled Clarence’s lungs, and I chanted louder. I closed my eyes and raised the blood-soaked shirt filled with souls to the sky. “Nium parnum omsti narum.” The pulsing of the magic in my veins grew stronger.

Cyril had explained it was not the words that mattered, it was the will. The impossible could become possible with the right combination of ingredients, the gift to wield magic, and enough energy focused behind the intention. “Clarence must live,” was my only thought. That singular fact had to remain when I allowed the energy to drain from my body.

“Nium parnum omsti narum.” I dropped to my knees, placing them on either side of Clarence’s legs. I took a deep breath, but there was no slow exhalation. “Nium parnum omsti narum.” I slammed my hands against his chest and screamed my final chant as the rush of electricity left my body, making it feel as though it might pull me inside of Clarence or, at the very least, fuse me to him.

I held my place and waited until the final surge escaped. My nervous system may have been rewired by Michael’s demise, but my body was still human and I never considered the side effects. Burns.

My hands were on fire. The energy had left my body and with it went my ability to hold myself upright. I slumped and curled onto my side, but I couldn’t stop now. I had one more thing to do. There had to be enough of Cyril left in me to finish this.

Clarence always kept a small knife on his key ring. I fished through his pockets until I found it. Every touch of the fabric or the metal keys was excruciating to my burnt-to-a-crisp hands. If I ever needed to do this again, I had to remember—blood first. I managed to open it, ignoring the tears that each touch brought to my eye.