The Cemetery Boys (18 page)

Only I didn't listen.

Cara stepped toward me, the blue flame lighting up the madness in her eyes. She was no longer the girl that I cared deeply for, if she had ever been that girl at all. I thought of the Hanged Man card in the present position. She'd always known.

“You're gonna burn.”

Absolute terror filled every inch of my body, every corner of my mind, every shadowed cavern of my soul. “What are you doing, Cara?”

The hissing of the torch gave an edge to her tone. One that sent my heart racing. “I'm bringing an end to the bad times that have befallen Spencer. By sacrificing you, everything here will get better.”

Her words sank in heavily. I shook my head, not wanting to hear them. “You don't really believe that. You can't actually think that my death is going to fix things around here.”

She shrugged with one shoulder, and as she did, the
black fabric of her dress slipped off, exposing creamy white skin. I knew that skin. I'd dreamed about it, kissed it, loved it. But that was before. The present position was another story entirely.

Her lips were pursed, her eyes cold. “It's worked before.”

“Not every time.” Devon spoke quietly, but I heard him loud and clear. So did Cara.

She shot him an icy glare. Devon shrank inside himself. When she spoke, her fingers tightened around the torch. “They weren't appeased by his death. And I told you to stop talking about
him
.”

Devon flinched. His movement was almost imperceptible, like a single flake in a raging snowstorm, but I caught it.

“Who?” A mixture of understanding and disbelief filled me. My god. How could she? How could they? I whispered my conclusion, and their impassive faces confirmed my suspicion. “Your dad.”

A black cloud passed over the moon, making the night that much darker for a moment. Neither of the twins spoke. I wondered if either of them was ashamed. I wanted them to be. I needed them to be. Shaking my head at Cara, I said, “You killed your own father because of some old story? That's . . . that's just sick.”

“She had to. Everything was falling apart in Spencer. She had to do it so the bad times would end.” Devon jumped down
from the tombstone, coming to rest right beside Cara, as if to show me that they were on the same side, no matter what.

“And now you'll kill me for the same reason, and you'll get the same result. Nothing will change. And if it does, it'll be because of coincidence, not because you've appeased some all-powerful creatures!” The tightness in Devon's jaw as I spoke told of the guilt that ran through his veins. “You know I'm right, Devon. The resentment is coming off you like heat. You didn't want her to kill him. And you don't want her to kill me, either.”

“You don't know me, Stephen.”

“The hell I don't.” A crow came in for a landing, just missing Devon's left shoulder. He didn't even flinch. The bird perched on top of the stone I was tied to. They were everywhere. Maybe the crows were an extension of the Winged Ones themselves. Maybe they were the harbingers. “Did she really go for help the day that Bobby died? Or did she just leave you there, trying to save your friend?”

The shadow passed overhead . . . I was no longer sure if it had been a cloud or not, no longer certain what was real and what was fiction. Devon took a hard step toward me and drew his fist back. It shot forward and connected with my jaw, heat and pain and shock shooting through me once again. He shouted, “You don't know shit about me!”

He stepped back, his chest rising and falling rapidly. As
if to calm him, Cara placed her free hand on his right cheek and met his eyes, her affection almost motherly. “He doesn't know shit about either of us.”

The pain of my damaged wrists began to surface. They felt raw and the flesh within was burning. My mouth tasted metallic. I spat blood on the grass to my left and glanced at the torch, still lit, in Cara's hand.

She tore her lingering gaze from her brother and moved closer to me, dragging her fingers lightly over Devon's skin as she pulled her hand away. I forced my mind not to dredge up the memory of her fingertips moving the same way across my skin. My jaw began to throb. “You had a choice in the beginning, and you went with Devon. But then you came crawling back to me. You've been trying to get in between us ever since that first night. Choosing Devon over me. Choosing me over Devon. Always, you tried to pit us against each other. You chose to be the next sacrifice. By your words. By your actions. The Winged Ones marked you, but you're the one guiding my hand.”

It didn't make sense. I shook my head, keeping a sharp eye on that blue flame. “What about the homeless man? I found his hat in Devon's room.”

“A plant to lead you here tonight, just in time for the full moon. Thanks to Markus, you were getting suspicious. But I knew you'd come if I just gave you a mystery to solve. You
just can't stand not
knowing
, Stephen.” She took another step closer, and Devon moved to her side to assist, if needed. And oh, he'd need to. He'd have to help—they all would—because I wasn't going down without one hell of a fight. “I am glad the Winged Ones wanted you, Stephen. You see, peace seems to linger the longest if the offering really loves the person responsible. The way William Spencer's daughter loved him . . . the way that you love me. It's just a shame Dad never loved either of us.”

I wanted to tell her that I didn't love her, that I'd never loved her. She seemed to know what I was thinking.

The corner of her mouth lifted in a cruel smirk. “Don't deny it, Stephen. We both know you love me. Or at least, the idea of me. And I have a feeling that will be enough for the Winged Ones.”

My chest ached. I wasn't sure if it was from the beating I'd taken or from my heart breaking at the realization that I did love Cara . . . and that she didn't love me. Not really. To her, it had all been some sort of game.

“Why kill anyone? You can't really believe in the Winged Ones, Cara. You can't actually think that this town has ancient bird guardians or whatever the hell you think they are.” Nick, Thorne, and Cam were spread throughout the cemetery, blocking any chance of escape. Shadows amid the tombstones. Death waiting for me at every turn. Behind
my back, I pulled and twisted my hands. The rope finally snapped free without Devon or Cara noticing.

“Can't I?” Something resembling pleasure touched her lips then, creating a shadow of the person that I had thought she'd been. It sickened me now how I'd longed to kiss those lips. Cara was vile. “There have always been people like us in Spencer, reaching as far back as the town's earliest history. We're the peacekeepers. We're the faithful.”

Devon lifted his eyes to the moonlit sky. When he looked back at me, he seemed almost enraptured. “You did this to yourself, Stephen. I tried to save you, to give you a chance, to have you join us instead of burn for us, for
them
. But you chose poorly.”

My heart beat solidly inside my chest. Jumping up, I grabbed the propane torch with both hands, wrenching it away from Cara, and swung it as hard as I could. Blood exploded from Cara's nose as the metal canister hit her. The blow was so hard that her head flew back at an unnatural angle. She fell on the ground and for a moment, I thought I might've killed her. Then she swore loudly in a growling scream, and I knew at least that she was still alive.

The metal of the gas canister was cold from the night air, quite in contrast to its burning tip. I adjusted my grip, feeling a little bit better about my situation now that I had a weapon. But that feeling didn't last.

I turned to face Devon and he swung the bat at me hard, knocking the torch from my hand. It tumbled to the ground, its blue flame still lit. The dry grass and pine needles all around us caught fire quickly, filling the air with a low crackle. The fire spread, snaking around the graveyard and leaving smoke and flames in its wake. Devon and Cara disappeared in the haze, but I was far from safe.

Bending at the waist, I moved behind a headstone, looked to be sure it was clear, and then advanced again. I needed to get free, but there were five of them hiding in the smoke, and only one of me. The only chance I had of escape was to keep them talking. “Martha knew, didn't she? She was trying to warn me the whole time.”

Cara's laughter drifted through the smoke. She was close, but she hadn't found me yet. “It's funny, isn't it? She wandered into the cemetery the night my father became a gift to the Winged Ones. And ever since, she hasn't been the same.”

A sick feeling filled my stomach. What Cara was trying to do to me, she'd actually already done to her father. And Devon had helped. The scariest thing was, I believed that
they
believed they were doing it for a reason. I just needed them to see that that reason was insane. Almost gagging on my words, I shouted through the flames, “A gift? You killed him. Burned him to death. And Martha saw. She went crazy because she witnessed her own children murder their
father! You did that to her!”

“He showed me he was the next sacrifice when he accepted that job offer in Minnesota.” The flames crackled all around me. The noise made it difficult to determine direction and where Cara was speaking from. She was close now, but how close? Something large moved through the smoke. I was sure it was one of Devon's gang running to safety, or at least that's what I told myself to believe. If I were completely honest with myself, it looked like the giant shadow of a wing.

Cara's voice drifted through the unknown to my ears. “He was going to leave us here, Stephen. He didn't give a damn about us. But no one leaves me, and no one leaves Spencer. This town is a part of me. It's in my blood. And I'm a part of it, too. Without me, this town would die. I give Spencer its lifeblood, Stephen. And tonight, that blood will be yours.”

Keeping low to the ground, I crept to the next stone and tried uselessly to refrain from coughing. I had to escape the cemetery and go for help. My grandmother and my dad could help me. We could still beat them. I spoke, knowing that Cara would answer me and reveal her distance. But where the hell was Devon? And where were the boys? “How has no one found out about what you've been doing?”

The smoke was choking me, but I kept low and kept
moving after brief pauses to check that I wasn't being seen. Cara's voice, almost casual, reached through the shadows and flames. “Oh, they suspect. They suspect and they turn their heads. They know what we're doing is important. They know that the only way to protect our own from the wrath of the Winged Ones is to give them what they crave.”

I coughed against the smoke again, wondering why it wasn't bothering the twins as much. But then, they were faithful. Maybe that had something to do with it. I shook my head, clearing away such a crazy thought. “What do they crave, exactly?”

Devon chuckled, his voice thankfully on the far side of the cemetery. “Blood.”

“Death.” It didn't sound like Cara was correcting her brother. She was merely expanding on his answer.

A sudden breeze cleared away the smoke ahead of me, and I saw the road leading out of the Playground at last. Crouching behind William Spencer's headstone, I got ready to run for my life. Literally. “How can you be sure that there really are Winged Ones? And that you're not just murdering people for nothing? How do you
know
?”

An arm closed around my neck, choking off my airway. As Devon dragged me out from behind the tombstone, back into the smoke and into the path of Cara, he said, “We don't know. We believe.”

Vwumph-vwumph-vwumph.
The sound filled my ears, and I could no longer be sure if it was the sound of giant, flapping wings, or of my blood rushing through my body, filling my eardrums with its terrified song. A dark figure appeared before my blurring vision. It was them. The Winged Ones. Come for my flesh. Come for my soul.

Devon released me and I coughed air back into my burning lungs. As my vision cleared, I saw that the figure wasn't a Winged One—it was my dad, now shoving Devon to the ground, just missing the surrounding flames. I'd never been happier to see him. He reached for me, and helped me stand. “Stephen? What's going on here? Are you okay? I found your note. Son, suicide's not the answer. Whatever's going on in your life, we can work it out. It'll be okay.”

In his hand, he held a piece of paper with scratchy handwriting that tried very hard to mimic my own. I glared at Devon, who was brushing the dirt from his hands as he stood. “You did this? You were going to let my dad believe I'd offed myself?”

“We do whatever we have to.” Devon's eyes lit up. I could see now just how far gone he was. “It won't matter in the end what you do here tonight. Trust me, Stephen.” Trust him. Trust Devon. I'd never make that mistake again. “The Winged Ones always get what they want eventually. And they want you.”

“Screw eventually.” Cara held up the knife that I'd brought for defense, the knife that Devon had taken from me. “You think your daddy can save you? The Winged Ones have been wanting him for a long, long time.”

She freed the blade, and the metal gleamed in the firelight. In my mind, I heard my dad's voice from years ago.
“Every boy needs a knife, Stephen.”
Cara snarled in my direction, blood drawing a crooked, dark line down the side of her face from where I'd hit her with the torch. “Time to appease our gods.”

My dad's voice shook with the knowledge that this was something more sinister than he had realized. “What in the hell is going on here?”

A loud, shrill
bang
shot through the graveyard as the handheld propane torch exploded, its metal succumbing at last to the intense heat of the fire raging all around us. Nick, Thorne, and Cam all jumped—they'd been standing at the edge of the cemetery, looking frightened, like they were ready to run. Instinctively, I covered my ears. My dad almost fell over. All sound was silenced, except the ringing in my ears. Time slowed. Colors faded and dimmed. All but for the silver blade in Cara's hand.

I regained my senses and dove forward, reaching for the knife, but Cara pushed at me, struggling to keep the weapon in her hand. Devon ran forward and grabbed my
arm, wrenching my grip away from his sister. I had to get the knife. Get the knife and end this any way I could.