Give the Devil His Due (The Sanheim Chronicles, Book Three) (7 page)

“Good afternoon,” a man’s voice said. “Welcome to Halloweenland, where all your nightmares come true. We apologize for our appearance, but we are now under new management. The old management has been… put out to pasture. You’ll find them… hanging around the fountain. Be sure to stop and say, ‘Hello.’”

The voice drifted off into a fit of childish giggling.

“We hope you enjoy your stay,” the voice said. “We’re dying to meet you.”

Quinn felt a tug of memory. He had the sudden feeling that the voice was familiar to him. Before he could think much about it, however, another voice interrupted him.

“Help me!” someone screamed. “Help me, please!”

The voice was coming from beyond the fountain, deeper into the park. Janus and Quinn looked at each other, then ran around the scarecrows and toward the shouting.

A few hundred feet beyond the courtyard, they found what appeared to be an old arcade, complete with a series of old carnival games, the kind where you had to pay an exorbitant fee for the chance to win an oversized stuffed bunny. The shouting was coming from a man sitting on the ledge of a large dunk tank. His arms and legs were tied to a chair, and he watched in a panic as a scarecrow stood outside the tank lobbing pumpkins at a large bull’s-eye.

The man’s eyes locked on Quinn’s.

“Help me!” he said.

The scarecrow turned to face Quinn and Janus. Its pumpkin face grinned when it saw them, and it cackled. Then it turned its attention back to its prey and lobbed a perfectly aimed shot at the target. It hit the bull’s-eye and the man’s chair plunged into the water. The man tried to scream again, but he was already under water. The scarecrow cackled and ran out of sight, ducking into one of the nearby buildings.

Quinn and Janus ran forward and began pounding on the water tank. The man stared back at them with a terrified expression as he tried helplessly to free his limbs. Janus backed up and hurled himself at the glass. Nothing happened.

“We need something stronger,” he shouted and looked around frantically.

Quinn picked up a large rock and began hitting the glass as hard as he could, but it did nothing. The man inside was wild-eyed, struggling to move to the surface even as he was tied down to the chair.

Quinn looked around for anything else they could use and noticed the “Feat of Strength” game machine nearby. Standing next to it was a huge sledgehammer which was clearly used to see how far a person could knock a small disk up the measuring board. Quinn grabbed it and tried to pick it up with one hand before realizing it was too heavy. He used two hands and could barely lift the hammer.

“Janus, help!” he said.

Janus tore himself away from the tank and ran to help Quinn. Together, the two of them picked up the hammer and ran toward the water tank.

“On three,” Janus said. “One… two… three!”

The two used the hammer like a battering ram, carrying it on either side and smashing it into the tank. This time, they were rewarded with a satisfying cracking sound as thin spider webs spread out from the impact. But the man inside had stopped struggling and appeared to have passed out.

“Again,” Quinn said.

The two backed up and once again hit the glass with the hammer. The fractures went further and water began to leak out. It took three more tries before the glass finally shattered, the water spilling out onto the ground.

But by the time they had broken through, the trapped man was motionless. When Janus and Quinn turned his chair over, his vacant eyes stared up at the empty sky.

Janus felt for a pulse and then slammed his hand on the ground.

“He’s dead,” he said.

“Want to try CPR?” Quinn asked, trying to remember how it worked.

“In this place? Don’t bother,” Janus said. “Dead is dead. He’s gone.”

The two sat down on the wet ground, just beyond the shattered glass. Janus looked around, watching for whether the scarecrow or others like him would come back. But Quinn couldn’t stop staring at the face of the dead man.

“I know him,” he said finally.

“Huh?” Janus asked. “Really?”

“I think so,” Quinn said. “He was one of Elyssa’s
moidin.
I remember him watching me at the castle.”

“Who’s Elyssa? And what’s a
moidin
? And, while we’re at it, what castle?”

Quinn stared at him blankly, momentarily forgetting that Janus had been long dead when he tangled with Sawyer and Elyssa.

“It’s a long story,” Quinn said. “I don’t know that we have time to get into it. But there was another Prince of Sanheim. The guy was Sawyer, the girl was Elyssa. They had followers that they called
moidin
. I’m pretty sure this guy was one of them.”

“Can’t be a coincidence,” Janus said.

“Ya think?” Quinn replied.

The creepy music started up again and both men stood up, watching their surroundings warily.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t win, gentlemen,” the voice said, and it sounded anything but sorry. “But don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of other chances to play. In fact, here comes your next one right now.”

The music cut off and was replaced by an ear-splitting scream from a woman nearby.

Quinn looked at the hammer.

“Think we should take it?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Janus responded. “And when we get there in a half hour, we can use it to dig a grave for whoever’s dying out there.”

“Good point.”

The two sprinted across the park toward the scream. They saw another booth with a scarecrow standing in front of it. The booth had a large sign in front that said, “Crossbow Junction.” Behind the scarecrow, a woman with wavy brown hair stood on a platform pinned to the wall behind her. She had arrows on either side of her where the scarecrow had shot — and missed, likely on purpose. There was even one just above her head.

The scarecrow seemed to wait for them to get closer before laughing and turning back to his victim. He raised his crossbow and took aim.

As Quinn ran toward the scarecrow, he knew they wouldn’t make it. He also realized something else.

The woman in the booth was Elyssa.

Chapter 6

Kieran lay on the makeshift cot in the jail cell and tried to ignore the obvious bloodstains still on the floor. If he had ever wondered how much blood was spilled by a decapitation, that question was now answered. There was evidence of the attack a few days ago everywhere, and Kieran wondered how much effort was spent cleaning it up. He shrugged. Maybe the police were focusing their attention elsewhere.

The cell door wouldn’t even shut all the way anymore. It had been hastily repaired, but it had the look of a temporary — and unstable — fix.

Kieran looked at the man in the room with him. Tim Anderson was pacing outside the locked cell, looking more anxious than Kieran.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Kieran said. “You’re just likely to get yourself killed.”

Tim grunted, but didn’t respond.

“Why are you here anyway?” he asked. “You can’t do anything to stop her.”

“Neither can you, and yet you let us find you,” Tim replied.

“Ah, but I have a plan,” Kieran said, without much conviction.

“Does it involve dying horribly?”

“Not really, no,” Kieran replied.

“Then I don’t think it’s going to work.”

Tim kept pacing. Kieran took a harder look at him. He’d never considered him much last year, seeing him as a nuisance and little more. But his presence here, his sheer dedication to Kate despite what she’d done, suggested there was more to the man. He focused on Tim’s eyes and recognized the look in them.

“You feel guilty, don’t you?” Kieran asked. “Why?”

Tim stopped walking and turned to face him. His mouth turned up at the edges, as if it were about to smile, but the look was distant, bitter and distinctly unamused.

“It’s all my fault,” Tim said.

Kieran guffawed.

“Oh, really?” he asked. “How do you figure that one? Did you secretly kill Quinn and I didn’t notice? Did you make Quinn and Kate into the Prince of Sanheim?”

Kieran’s tone was jovial, but he could see his words had an impact. Tim almost seemed to flinch.

“In a way, that’s exactly what I did,” Tim said. “Years ago, I hunted a killer. He was right in front of me the whole time, but I couldn’t see past my own fear. I could have stopped him. I should have stopped him. And if I had… well, everything would have been different. There would have been no reason for Quinn and Kate to become what they became. But I ran away. And so I failed them.”

Kieran whistled.

“I’m not sure what to tell you,” he said. “You seem to be just a tad hard on yourself. You might have kept trying to find that killer and died, and then you wouldn’t have been there last year or now.”

“Like it would have made a difference,” Tim said.

“In the end, it might make all the difference,” Kieran said. “Someone once told me that a person of integrity can do amazing things — like be a beacon of hope for those lost in the dark”

Tim stared at him for a long time.

“Who told you that?”

“Her name was Grace,” Kieran said.

“What happened to you?” Tim said. “The man I met last year was very different.”

Kieran shrugged.

“The man you met last year was a fool,” he replied.

“Well,” Tim said. “We agree on something at any rate.”

Kieran was going to say something more, but outside in the distance he heard a booming laugh and he shuddered in spite of himself.

“She’s here,” Kieran said. “Showtime.”

*****

The Headless Horseman tore through the streets of Leesburg unchallenged. He had expected some kind of resistance and was almost disappointed not to find any. The streets were unusually quiet for a weekday evening. But this was October, and if Leesburg had learned only one thing, it was to stay inside when the sun went down.

The Horseman let loose a flaming pumpkin as it rode past the
Loudoun Chronicle
, a sign to its meddlesome editor. He was aware of the breaking glass, but didn’t wait to see if it caused a fire.

He galloped through town, periodically laughing as he saw terrified faces in the windows. It felt good to be feared; it reminded him of the power he wielded.

He was night, he was October. He was flesh torn and rent. He was the rider promised long ago, the harbinger of fall. He was death, riding on a black horse.

The Headless Horseman arrived at the police station. He waited for the usual shouts and protestations, the officers with guns to appear. Last time he had worked hard to restrain himself. He didn’t want to kill them, though more and more, he had trouble remembering exactly why. They stood in his way, and even if they were no threat to him, wasn’t that enough?

But there was no one here. He dismounted and approached the building, dimly aware that it was mostly dark. He yanked the front door off its hinges and strode in, expecting to hear gunshots, feel them penetrate his dead and decaying flesh. Instead, there was nothing.

It’s a trap
, a voice whispered in his head, the one called Kyle Thompson.
Turn back now and get out.

The Horseman laughed out loud at that, felt it echo through the empty building. Clearly, it was a trap. There were no officers here, pathetically attempting to stop him. He was more intrigued than alarmed. He walked through the dark offices, and waited for the trap to spring.

Get out now, you fool
, the voice said again.

He ignored it. Above all else, the Horseman remembered that voice. He remembered a scared little man fleeing from him in a car. And he remembered watching his head sail away from his body, parting them forever in a sea of blood. He was not one to take orders from such a creature. The woman, that was different. She was “the last,” and he knew he must honor her. He could remember kneeling to her in the dirt.

The Horseman stopped in front of the room where he knew his prey waited. Perhaps it was a trick and he wouldn’t be there. The Horseman couldn’t see the sense in that, didn’t understand why such a subterfuge would be necessary or wise. He would find Kieran and kill him, no matter where he hid. He may have forgotten much, but he remembered that.

He raised his leg and kicked in the door, which had been barely reattached to its hinges since his last visit here. The door crumbled before him.

The Headless Horseman drew his sword and walked into the room to find the man who had murdered him.

*****

Kieran watched the Horseman burst through the door, sword in hand. He was scared, but ready. He knew explanations wouldn’t work. He nodded at Tim and knelt on the ground. He lay his hands on the floor and stretched out his neck as far as it would go. He didn’t know exactly how people used to prepare for the guillotine, but he imagined it was like this.

Kieran could only see the Horseman’s boots and watched as they came forward. He heard him tear off the cell door like it was no obstacle to him. Kieran wanted to look up and fought down the urge to beg. This would either work or it wouldn’t. This was the hardest part of his plan. He could never predict human behavior.