Give the Devil His Due (The Sanheim Chronicles, Book Three) (5 page)

“What are those?” he asked.

“The souls of dead sinners,” Janus said. “They fly in from the west and kidnap or kill whatever they can get their talons on.”

“Those are people?” Quinn asked, his eyes wide.

“More like ex-people,” Janus said. “They’re part man, part bird, part ghost —and all nasty. Seriously, we really don’t want to be here when they show up.”

For a moment, Quinn was tempted to wait right there for them to arrive. The thought of running more filled him with dread. And what was he running to? He felt like a prisoner who was saved from hanging only to be told he must now face the firing squad. The outcome was the same either way.

But he watched his friend stand up and keep looking at the sky with fear in his eyes. If Quinn stayed, there was a very real chance Janus would as well. And Quinn would not be responsible for getting him killed twice. Almost against his better judgment, he stood up.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Janus pointed up the path.

“This is the only way I know,” he said. “And no, I have no idea where it leads. This isn’t even how I got here.”

Janus gave one last look behind them and then started running. Reluctantly, Quinn followed.

The two of them ran along the cliff path, Quinn barely able to breathe as he tried to keep up. Still, every time he looked behind them, he could see the flock of beasts gaining ground. As they drew closer, he could make out more of their features. From far away, they looked like large birds. But as they drew closer, he could see they had no feathers and their faces were a mixture of avian and human features. One of them opened its beak and let loose an ear-splitting shriek. The rest of the flock followed suit and angry calls filled the sky.

Quinn and Janus kept running, now moving away from the ocean and up the mountainside.

“A door!” Janus shouted. “I see a door!”

“Is it close?” Quinn asked.

The two of them ran harder than they had in their lives, pushing with all their strength up the mountainside. When Quinn looked behind him again, one of the sluagh was nearly on top of him. It swiped at him with a very human-looking hand, but with sharp talons instead of fingers. Quinn dodged away from it and the sluagh shrieked again.

Quinn watched as another dove toward him, followed by several more.

“Quinn!” Janus shouted.

Quinn looked ahead to see they had emerged into a small clearing. In front of them was a sheer mountain, but at the bottom of it was a small red door.

“Through the door,” Janus shouted and both of them kept running. Behind him, Quinn heard more shrieks and felt wings in the air right behind him.

What if the door is locked?
Quinn thought.

But Janus didn’t even pause as he ran toward it, throwing himself into it with all his might. For a second, Quinn was sure it wouldn’t open, that he would finally meet oblivion under this purple sky at the hands of a mythical creature. Instead, the door gave way and both Janus and Quinn ran through it. Janus slammed the door once they were on the other side, and they both lay panting against it.

Outside, they heard a series of shrieks and then the sounds faded away to nothing.

Quinn wasn’t sure what he expected when he turned from the door to examine where they had entered — maybe a dark dungeon, the kind that came complete with orcs and goblins. But it was like nothing he had anticipated. Quinn looked at Janus to see his reaction, who sat there equally stunned.

Although they had entered a door in a mountainside, there was no sign of that here. They weren’t underground or in a cavern. A blue — not purple — sky greeted them and below it was a series of kitschy buildings leading to a wide pathway lined with signs. From a distance, they could see a rusted Ferris wheel and a broken down roller coaster track.

Quinn didn’t understand how it happened, but the door they had passed through had taken them from the ocean — right into an amusement park.

Chapter 4

Tim Anderson could tell from Brown’s stride that he was angry. He watched as the sheriff marched into the newsroom, passing the advertising department and most of the editorial staff in a visible huff.

Alexis and Josh jumped out of his way as Sheriff Brown brushed past them. Only when he got closer did Tim notice he held a newspaper in his hand.

Sheriff Brown walked in and slammed the door behind him, throwing the paper on Tim’s desk.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to write about it,” he snarled as he stood at the edge of the desk.

“Sit down, Phil,” Tim said.

“We agreed…”

“Sit down,” Tim said again.

Tim remained calm and dispassionate. Beyond his office, he could see Alexis and other staffers huddling with each other, trying to eavesdrop. Still fuming, Sheriff Brown pulled up a chair.

“I’m sorry,” Tim said. “It was a story. I couldn’t just ignore that.”

“You promised,” Brown replied.

“I said that everything I saw inside the station would be off the record,” Tim said. “I didn’t violate that promise. Did you read anything about how the killer got through the entire local police force?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Brown said. “Did you know I have the FBI on my ass now? Gill was being transferred to federal custody and now he’s dead.”

“I can appreciate how that looks,” Tim said.

“Can you? Do you know how difficult it is to explain that? I’ve got four officers wounded and a dead man inside my own jail. And now, thanks to you, I have the rest of the media calling. They’re going to go ape-shit with this.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim said.

“I trusted you,” Brown replied. “You swore you would help stop her.”

“I tried.”

“Not hard enough!” Brown said. “As far as I can tell, you just used it for a story and nothing more. Worse, you made Gill sound like a damn saint. He was a killer, but you played up his struggling childhood. I never picked you for a bleeding heart liberal, Tim.”

Tim leaned back in his chair.

“You’re so angry you’re not thinking this through,” Tim replied.

“Thinking what through?” Brown said.

“There’s only one way to stop her, Phil,” Tim said. “And that’s to appeal to her conscience.”

“Oh yeah? How’d that work out for you the other night?”

“Not very well,” Tim replied. “Which is why I’m trying to present a more complete picture of Mr. Gill’s life. I didn’t write that article for you or the county or for anyone else other than Kate Tassel. I may not know her well, but I know she’s still reading the paper. She needs to know what she’s become. If I write stories painting her victims as common criminals, she’ll never stop. If I can show her they’re still human…”

“You really think that’s going to work?” Brown said.

“Do you have a better idea? We’ve got roughly three weeks left in October. Until then, she can do what she wants, kill as many ‘criminals’ as she desires and there’s not a damned thing we can do to stop her. Except appeal to her conscience.”

“I still can’t believe this is even happening,” Brown said. “She was locked up in a mental institution for God’s sake. I visited her in July, did you know that? Just to see if she was ready to stand trial for Ball’s Bluff, or if what the doctors said was really true.”

“It was true,” Tim said.

Brown sighed.

“She was nutty as a fruitcake,” he said. “When I was there, she still thought she was Quinn O’Brion. I know you warned me she could break out when autumn came, but I never really…”

“It’s hard to believe the existence of the supernatural,” Tim said. “No one knows that better than me. Last year, even when all the evidence pointed toward something beyond my understanding, I refused to accept it until…”

“She turned into Kyle Thompson,” Brown said.

“Yes, and even then I fought for ways to explain it,” Tim said. “But sometimes the explanation that’s hardest to accept is also the right one. I assume you believe me now. You’ve seen what she can do, not just the other night, but multiple times. She broke out of the asylum without so much as opening a door. I read the official report they sent you. ‘Unless she just walked through the wall, there’s no way to explain her disappearance.’ But that’s precisely what she did, Phil. She became the banshee and floated right through the wall. There’s no other explanation that makes sense.”

“I thought you said her powers may not come back,” Brown replied.

“I said it was possible they wouldn’t,” Tim said. “I’ve done a lot of research on the Prince of Sanheim, but not nearly enough to understand it fully. I thought when Quinn died and their connection broke, she might be left crazy but… for lack of a better word… human. Instead, her powers appear to be stronger than ever.”

“Why are we still seeing the Headless Horseman if she’s supposed to be a banshee?”

“It seems to give her comfort to take that form, as if she can pretend Quinn is still alive.”

“But this ends November 1, right?”

“As far as I know, yes,” Tim replied. “The question is, how much damage can she do before then? Every criminal in the county seems to be fair game to her.”

“I’ve already begun the process of transferring prisoners out of the county,” Brown said.

“It might not be enough,” Tim said. “I don’t think she’s going to limit herself to Loudoun for much longer. Short of trying to reach her through the paper, I don’t know how to contact her. And absent another catch like Gill, I don’t know who her next target will be.”

Brown gazed at the wall of framed newspaper fronts behind Tim and sighed. Tim followed his glance, examining the history of the
Loudoun Chronicle
. They’d added more than a dozen front pages since he had become editor. One showed a large photo of Quinn O’Brion on the bottom, while above the fold there was an even bigger shot of body bags on a battlefield. “Massacre at Ball’s Bluff” read the headline, written in the large type that papers typically reserve for huge news events. Josh had called it their “war” font.

“When did the world go crazy?” Brown asked.

Tim swiveled back to face him.

“I think it’s always been crazy, we just pretended it wasn’t,” Tim replied.

“Did you know my own son admitted to me he saw the Horseman once? That was two years ago. Back then all I had to worry about was a serial killer. Now I’ve got monsters.”

“That’s not fair,” Tim said. “She’s not like him.”

“So you say,” Brown replied. “But from the body count, I’d say she’s aiming to equal his record.”

“She’s gone after criminals, not innocent people,” Tim said.

“Tell that to my men,” Brown replied.

Tim stared hard at Brown. He had known him for more than 15 years now, but Tim thought he had aged double that. The lines on his face made him look like an old man, though Tim knew he was still in his late fifties. Was that how he looked, Tim wondered? Gill had called him an “old man.” He wasn’t, not really, but oftentimes he felt that way. Especially now.

“Why are you really here?” Tim asked.

“Excuse me?” Brown replied.

“I know the official reason for your visit, but you could have shouted at me over the phone,” Tim said. “You don’t usually storm into the newsroom like this.”

Brown pursed his lips and gave Tim an annoyed look.

“Sometimes you’re too smart for your own good, do you know that?” he said.

“Just tell me what you came here to tell me,” Tim said.

“It’s not official, you understand,” Brown replied. “But what if I told you I might know where Kate will head next? Would you be able to stop her?”

“I don’t know,” Tim said immediately. “I thought if I talked to her the other night, it would have some impact. It still might, once she stops to think about it. All I can say is if you know where she’ll be, I’ll do my best to try to get her to end this madness.”

“Didn’t she threaten you?”

Tim waved his hand dismissively.

“I’ve been threatened by worse than her,” he said. “And I’m not going to back down if there’s a chance I can help.”

Tim glanced beyond his door to see if his staff was still eavesdropping. But now that the sheriff had stopped shouting, they appeared to have lost interest. Helen and Alexis kept shooting glances his way, but no one seemed likely to interrupt them.

Brown dug a photo out of his jacket and tossed it onto Tim’s desk.

“Isn’t he the one you told us about?” Brown asked.

Tim picked up the photo and his heart caught in his throat. In it, he saw a tall, thin man with a mop of unkempt brown hair and blue eyes. He looked to be in his thirties, but Tim knew he was much older than that. The photo looked like a still from grainy security footage. The man appeared to be looking straight at the camera, almost as if he wanted to give a full view of his face.

“Kieran Collins,” Tim said under his breath. “He came back.”

“That’s him, isn’t it? The one who snuck into the asylum last year to visit Kate?” Brown asked. “The one who you think actually killed Quinn?”