The Cemetery Boys (17 page)

Markus swallowed hard. He glanced to Scot beside me before finding my eyes once more. He looked ashamed. “It was Devon.” He closed his eyes and whispered, “It was always Devon.”

I clenched my hand into a fist. “Let's go, Scot,” I said.

“Go where? You're not actually thinking of confronting Devon? Are you crazy?”

“I might be crazy. But I'm not running away from this. I'm the kind of guy who doesn't know when to quit. And Devon just messed with one of my friends.”

As I approached the cemetery that night, ready for anything, the shadows cast by the full moon came out to greet me. No bonfire burned. No bottles were being passed around. And Devon was there waiting, standing several feet apart from Nick, Thorne, and Cam, who were all pacing in an uneasy circle. I walked up to him, very aware of the knife in my back pocket, and said, “No booze tonight?”

“No.” His eyes were on the brothers, as if my presence were inconsequential . . . when I had a feeling it was anything but. “Not tonight. Tonight we need clear heads. Tonight we have business to attend to. Business concerning you.”

“Business.” There was something so old-school mafia about the way he said it. Something so impersonal. I swallowed hard, ready for whatever would come. “First I have to ask you something.”

“About what?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “About the Winged Ones.”

In the distance, I could hear the lapping of water against the edges of the reservoir. It was the only sound, apart from our breathing and the brief interruption of our words. Devon glanced up at the night sky before meeting my eyes. Gone were the challenges and dares. Gone was the revelry. It was business now. All business.

“It just so happens our business here tonight concerns them, too, my friend.” The last word left his lips and hung in the air between us. Friend. Something I had thought that Devon had been to me. Something that was just a word to him now.

Any question that I'd been going to ask him about whether or not he'd really killed that man evaporated into the air.

“I
know
, Devon.” I hissed my words in a whisper, taking a hard step toward him. “I know, okay? I know you really thought you could bring some period of bad luck in this town to an end. I know you believe that this was the only way to fix things. But it's not.”

He looked up at the night sky, and as he spoke, Nick and Thorne turned to face me. As if they were waiting for his go-ahead for something. In the surprisingly cool evening air, small puffs of fog left Devon's lips with his words. “Stephen knows.”

I shook my head, so angry, so betrayed, so hurt that I had let myself believe them to be anything but the ruthless bastards they were. From my back pocket, I withdrew the homeless guy's hat and tossed it at Devon, who caught it with a look of surprise. I spat my words. “You killed that man I saw you all with yesterday. You can deny it, but I know in my gut that it's true. And for what? To appease some monsters that are all in your heads?”

“You don't really think that. After all you've witnessed. You don't think the Winged Ones are all in our heads.” He raised an eyebrow at me, staring me down. “Do you, Stephen?”

“I'm not like you. I'm not like any of you.” I looked around at the group of boys I had, until recently, considered my friends, and shook my head. Mostly in disbelief. “You people are nuts.”

“Haven't you ever heard that psycho runs in the family?” In an instant, his smile turned sadistic. Then he shrugged. “Look. My mom's bat-shit crazy. But so is yours. Might as well own it.”

I opened my mouth to deny the truth, to defend my mom, to tell him where he could stick any idea he had that the two of us were alike. But Devon cut me off by holding up a hand. “I'm offering you a way out. A life of acceptance and belonging and goddamn redemption. Take it, Stephen. Join us.”

Cam echoed him, and I knew that he was speaking on behalf of the others. “Come on, man. Join us.”

I tried not to consider it, not even for a moment. But it was another challenge. “Give me one good reason.”

“Above and beyond everything I just said? Okay. Fine. Here's your reason.” Devon cocked his head sharply to one side and then the other, cracking his neck. Then he took a step closer to me, until his face was mere inches from my own. I'd never seen his eyes so fierce before, or heard his voice so authoritative. Whatever he was about to say, he meant it with all his being. All of his soul. “Join us and you'll have a life you've only dreamed of. Join us and you'll have the Winged Ones on your side. You'll have friends. You'll have family. Join us and you'll never be alone again, and everyone here will pledge to kill for you, die for you. Join us because
I motherfucking said so
!”

He could see the no in my eyes before it even formed on my lips. I would never join them. I would never take part in whatever sick club this was or whatever terrible deeds they performed. I knew right from wrong, and I'd
die before I'd lose myself in some cult.

Devon was fuming. He breathed out through his nose and clenched his jaw before speaking in a whisper so furious, so desperate that I was momentarily thrown for a loop. “Most important—at least in this moment—join us, and you'll survive the night.”

Fear and anger overwhelmed me then, and I spit out, “I bet your father would be really proud of what you're doing here.”

He drew back his fist, but I was ready for it. I swung a right hook as hard as I could, connecting with the left side of his face. At the same moment, Nick and Cam grabbed me, pulling me back, weakening my attack. Something hard and heavy nailed my ribs, and it took me a moment to realize that it was Nick's fist. I bent over, nausea and pain filling me until I thought I might puke. Devon rubbed the side of his face as he approached me. I strained against my captors to no avail. Then Devon balled his fist and hit me in the eye. Twice. My face lit up with fiery pain, my entire skull throbbed. The boys surrounded me, kicking and punching until I couldn't tell if it was Cam's fist or Nick's foot that was causing me pain. I didn't know where Devon had gone, just that I was having trouble breathing and it was difficult to see out of my left eye. My right cheek felt wet. The boys stopped suddenly, stepping back. “Get up, Stephen.”

I looked up, only just then processing that I was on all fours in the grass. It was Nick who'd spoken. The quiet boy had at last found his voice.

“Get up.” Thorne this time.

Stretching out a hand, I gripped the nearest tombstone and pulled myself slowly up to standing. As I rested against the stone, I looked slowly around for a path of escape. There was none. There was no getting away from this. From them. I was going to have to fight my way out. I straightened and looked at each of my so-called friends. Then I took a breath and said, “I'm up. What are you going to do about it?”

Behind me, I heard the snap of a twig. As I turned my head toward the sound, I caught sight of Devon. His eyes shone with a triumphant gleam. The bat in his hands moved fast toward my head. It hit and the world swirled before me. Words entered my mind, but I couldn't remember where I'd heard or seen them before:
problem solved.
As I fell to the ground, I thought I was looking up at the night sky. There were stars everywhere. And darkness.

When I woke from my haze of pain, I realized I was being bound to a tombstone. With rope. Go figure.

It took me time to fully come to, but when I did, I wrenched against my binds as hard as I could. I twisted my hands, pulling at the skin and soft tissues, not caring that I could feel the ropes digging into my wrists, burning
before drawing blood. Just wanting to break free. Almost as an afterthought, I searched the skies, wondering where Devon's demons were, and when they would be coming for their sacrificial meal.

My fingers were going numb, my bound wrists worn raw by the ropes, but I twisted again, hard this time. I pulled until my skin must have split, because I felt my palms grow wet, then sticky, with what I was pretty sure was my blood. The knots were tight, but I had to get loose. Those
things
were coming for me, I just knew it.

I looked up at Devon, who was perched on top of the tallest tombstone in the graveyard. His dark eyes focused intensely on the night sky; his bleach-blond hair almost glowed in the moonlight. He had once—no, not once, many times, pounding it into our heads like we were privates in the same army—spoken of loyalty. But sitting there, with my wrists tied to the cold headstone behind me, it hit me that he hadn't been speaking of loyalty to one another or any of that band-of-brothers bullshit. He'd been speaking of our loyalty,
my
loyalty, to him. And now he was standing there on his perch, waiting for those creatures, those monsters, to come and devour me whole, not even man enough to look me in the eye.

The horrible pinpricks of numbness crawled up my fingers to my palms, then my wrists. Only my adrenaline kept
them from going any farther. The air suddenly chilled. My breath came out in quick, gray puffs. And then I heard it.

Vwumph-vwumph-vwumph.

I tugged my wrists harder, struggling, hoping that the blood seeping from my broken skin might make the ropes slick enough to slip through. The rest of the gang moved past me, and none of them, not a single one of my so-called friends, dared even to glance at me as they headed for safety. Devon hopped down from his place on the stone, and after a long, hungry glance upward, he dropped his dark eyes to me. “You're in luck, Stephen. They're famished, so this should go pretty fast for you.”

I bit down on my tongue, consumed with rage. A million curses ran through my mind, but I could barely speak through my fury—fury with him for all he'd done, but mostly, fury with myself for having followed his lead. I spit at him. “Go to hell!”

I pulled until I thought my shoulders might come out of their sockets, not caring that I was bleeding freely now, praying to anyone and anything that the knots would give way at last. But it was no use. The ropes refused to budge.

And then, the flapping stopped.

I looked up—up into the dark, my eyes settling on a shape in the night. And what I saw . . . oh god. My screams tore through me, my throat burning.

From the distance came Devon's laughter—cold, quiet, hollow—and his reply, muted by the sounds of my screams. “You first.”

Dark shadows passed the moon overhead, and suddenly, I didn't know what to believe. The only thing that seemed sure anymore was that I was about to die.

With my right hand, I slipped the knife from my back pocket and started cutting the ropes that bound my hands. But Devon saw what I was up to before I could even get halfway through the rope. He grabbed the knife from my hand and closed it before he slid it into his front jeans pocket. “I'm afraid it's not gonna be that easy, my friend.”

Friend.
I couldn't believe he had the balls to use that description still.

“So what's it going to be, Devon? Are you going to throw me into the reservoir? Stab me?”

“Oh, you'll be thrown into the reservoir, if anything's left. But not alive. And I'm not stabbing you.” He looked thoughtfully up at the moon, watching the skies for his beloved gods. When he looked back at me, he seemed almost dazed. “I'm not doing anything to you. It's not our way.”

I spoke through clenched teeth. “Let me go.”

“We can't just let you leave, Stephen. You serve a purpose. A very important one. Your sacrifice will please them. Calm them.”

“Killing me won't appease those . . .
things
.” I spat out the last word like an obscenity spoken in church.

Devon straightened, and pulled himself back up onto the tallest tombstone in the cemetery. Was he comfortable up there? Or did he just need for me to be forced to look up at him in this moment?

He took a second to light a clove cigarette. As he inhaled, the ember brightened and I could see that my right hook had done some damage after all, leaving a large welt on his cheek and a darkening circle under his left eye. He looked down at me and exhaled, a strange smile on his lips. Saint Devon. Keeper of his cult's sins. “So you
do
believe.”

“I believe.” I did. In monsters and ritual. In horror and betrayal. I believed that I was going to die. And I would have believed or said anything in that moment, just to get free. Fury filled me, right alongside fear. I looked up at Devon and softened my tone. “I believe you don't want to be responsible for murdering your friend. You've already lost one friend. Bobby, right? You don't want to lose another, Devon.”

He inhaled again on his cigarette, his eyes on me the entire time, as if carefully, doubtfully, considering my words. I had no idea where the rest of the boys were or what they were doing. For now, it was just me and Devon.

Finally, he exhaled and nodded toward something in the distance, filling me with confusion. “You're right about that.
But unfortunately for you, that's not how things work in our crew. I never kill anyone, Stephen. I just clean up her mess.”

I looked to where he was nodding and my heart soared to heights above the treetops before crashing painfully to the ground. Cara was approaching, dressed in a flowing black dress that trailed out behind her as she moved. Her eyes were lined in thick black. All around her, on the ground, on the surrounding tombstones, coming in for a landing, were large crows. A group of them. A murder of crows.

The look in her eyes was unlike anything that I had been subjected to before. There was no love there, no longing, no empathy. There was only Cara the taskmaster. There was only Cara the cult member. There was only Cara the betrayer.

In her right hand she held a propane torch.

From his perch, Saint Devon spoke under his breath, sounding a little scared. “I told you psycho runs in the family.”

Cara held up the torch and twisted a knob on the side that started a hissing sound. Then she hit the trigger and a fierce blue flame shot from the metal tube, burning its way into the night sky. She looked at me, all love and innocence and give-a-damn gone from her expression, and said, “You're gonna burn, Stephen.”

“You're gonna burn!”
Inside the confines of my memory, Martha's voice echoed Cara's words. They'd been a warning
this entire time. Somehow, Martha had known about Cara's involvement in the sacrifices. She'd been trying to warn people. To warn me.