The Haunting (23 page)

My shirt never lost its tackiness.

The blood had soaked through, staining my skin, which in turn stuck to the shirt. It was a perpetual, grisly reminder. I held my shirt away from my body with pinched fingers.

Neive lifted the Reaper’s head by the hair to avoid scraping concrete with her blade.

The entire process took at least a minute, Neive working while the rest of us watched either her or the floor.

I’d thought maybe she’d broken her arm, but the way she feverishly worked on detaching the head said otherwise.

Sweat sparkled her forehead, and the entire time I thought of the cleaver coming down. I hoped that Gretchen could feel every biting stroke. I hoped her kind, whatever it may be, could feel everything.

In my morbid fascination, I hardly felt pain in the arm dangling at my side. The dark thoughts swirled as I watched. Gretchen’s last moments should have been hours of suffering, just as I suffered. This process was somehow anticlimactic.

The last stroke severed the spinal cord, and with a firm tug Neive lifted the body-less head high, like a righteous kill. Lifeless, empty eyes stared out at us, mouth hanging and loose.

Joel and Claire climbed out of the forklift, leaving the engine idling, watching the scene skeptically. Their gazes were trained on my sister, though like Phoebe, they didn’t get too close.

“That’s…Neive?” Phoebe’s voice was soft when I moved back to join the cluster of people behind me.

I nodded.

Claire leaned in and whispered, “She’s pretty.” After a moment’s pause, she said, “She looks nothing like you.” I was sure that wasn’t meant as an insult and was just Claire’s tactless observations.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

Joel jerked away from the group, darting for the forklift.

At first I thought he was going to jump back in when he stopped and picked up something from the ground.

Standing, he turned, revealing the silver ring pinched between his fingers. He slipped it on before anyone could protest. It fit, meaning it was meant for him anyway. I could protest all I wanted, but I would never get one. Again, mild bitterness at Damien’s sense of humor set my jaw tight.

Claire smiled at Joel until it disturbed the cut along the side of her face. Renewed blood cracked from the healing wound, causing her to cup her cheek tenderly.

That left Read and me. I seriously doubted Damien would be giving out mine next, but at least everyone else would be safe.

“Is that really you, Read?” Claire asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Read asked.

Only Claire seemed willing to explain.

I noticed both Phoebe and I took a step away from him and turned our attentions elsewhere.
Why yes, that is an interesting scratch in the concrete
types of stares were rampant. To our relief, Claire left out the little detail about Phoebe’s “truth.”

Read listened, favoring his shoulder, but no new blood seemed to be staining the clumsy wrap he’d made. “Where are Aidan, Robin, and Cody?” he asked at the end of Claire’s explanation.

That scratch in the concrete became three times more interesting.

Joel sucked it up. “Aidan and Robin are still missing. Cody’s dead.” The word
dead
fired a ripple of flinches through the group.

“He might not be,” I argued.

Joel’s dark eyes avoided mine.

Phoebe shuffled her feet. “It wasn’t pretty,” she said softly.

“Course it wasn’t,” I said defensively. “If we’re going to be convinced that it was real, he had to make it dramatic. Don’t you get it?” I asked them, my voice rising. “It was meant for me!”

Neive tilted her chin up to watch us, her eyes shining yet disquieted. Still kneeling beside Gretchen’s bloodless corpse, she held the dagger in one hand and Gretchen’s head in the other.

“Yeah,” Phoebe said, trying to sound delicate, though it sounded far more condescending. “It was meant for you,” she confirmed. “That’s why Cody jumped on you.”

“He’s not dead. He can’t be. Why would Damien leave me with a protector and then just let Gretchen throw down the axe?”

Claire asked, “Protector? What protector?”

Phoebe’s eyebrows furrowed before she glanced at Neive.

All of us turned to her.

Startled, she stared back until Gretchen’s body twitched. We all jumped, including Neive. Claire screamed, knocking into Joel’s solid form, bouncing and then clinging to him.

Neive recovered quickly. Standing, she stomped on Gretchen’s back until the spasm ceased and tossed the head behind her as if it were a hunk of paper. She didn’t bother looking back as she stepped over the stone-still, head-less corpse, sheathing her large knife.

With morbid delight, I watched Gretchen’s head roll to the shelving. I was grateful that Gretchen’s face wasn’t turned towards us when it finally stopped. I felt so conflicted. Part of me delighted in the revenge while the other was revolted. Was this what Neive experienced every day? Did I like it?

I decided not to answer that, turning my attention to what Neive was saying.

“It’s true,” Neive said. “Phoebe was her protector, then I was, and then Damien took over the role. Now it’s back to Phoebe. Hence, your healing ability.”

Phoebe opened her mouth to protest but couldn’t find the words.

“Protector?” Joel snarled. “She gets a safe ride through?”

Neive nodded. “As safe as it can get without breaking the rules.” She jutted her chin toward me. “She is important to him.”

Phoebe asked, “Why?”

Neive straightened her back, her hair falling down her back. She looked stiff and even intimidating with the blood coating her arm. “She’s important to him because of me.”

Phoebe frowned. “Do they all talk in riddles?”

I realized she was asking me, and I attempted a failing smile. “Yup,” I said instead.

“What about Cody?” Read asked, his voice cracking.

Neive tilted her head to the side. “What about him?”

Read’s voice hardened, losing its usual steady composure. “Did he die with them?”

Neive nodded.

“Wait, what?!” I cried before I could stop myself.

Neive turned her brown eyes to me. She had the decency to look sympathetic. “He died on that table. Gretchen was out to kill you, Nora, and your friend saved you.”

I froze, my tone lowering as my anger flushed to the surface. “Damien meant to kill him?”

“Quite the contrary, he meant to make it look like you had died. If they all thought you were dead, then they’d sacrifice you without ever knowing it. Acceptance of your death would have been the same as if they said they wanted to give you up. Unfortunately, Gretchen and your friend got in the way.”

“So it was an accident?” Phoebe growled. “You expect us to believe that?”

Neive shrugged, aloof. “Accidents don’t exist. This is just what happened.”

We all fell silent.

First Cooper and now Cody. I felt my stomach twist in a tight little knot that threatened to wobble my legs.

Cody was dead?
Dead
dead? The tall lanky kid had died trying to save me. I felt numbed as the shock fell over me.
He died trying to save me
. Those words haunted the back of my mind. What was it for? Nothing.

The tears swelled to the surface. I didn’t care, though. The sudden and intense trauma of losing my friend left little room for embarrassment. Wiping at my face as the tears tickled my cheek, I felt Phoebe’s arms wrap around me from the side.

I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to be touched.

It was my fault that our friend was dead. He tried to save me. Cooper had been trying to save us too.

My head swimming with chaos, I felt the words
it’s all your fault
seep into my guilty conscience. Shakily, I swallowed the violent sob that bubbled in my throat.

I reached out, and Phoebe grabbed me. I hugged her fiercely, hearing her sniffle, but she was otherwise still. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should have tried harder to make it.”

That was a lie. She couldn’t have won that dare, and we all knew it.

Here I was blaming myself, while Phoebe had been blaming herself the whole time.

I remembered hearing Cody yell just before Gretchen brought down the cleaver. He ran to save me, shielded me from the blow that wasn’t coming. I hated Damien for this, hated him so much that I could feel the flame of fury in my chest. If he hadn’t thought up this scheme, Gretchen wouldn’t have had the opportunity.

“It’s not your fault,” I said to Phoebe.

Did he take away my powers somehow? I hadn’t been able to help Neive when the Reaper attacked. What if I’d lost her too?

You never had her,
a voice in the back of my mind hissed.
She died back then. This girl isn’t like you or Phoebe or anyone in your group. She’s like Damien.

An even smaller voice whispered,
But she’s still your sister.
I shook it off.

Sniffling, I tried to calm myself down.
If we were ambushed
…
oh, who cares at this point? If we were attacked, we’d be vulnerable. Cody and Cooper were still dead and gone. Maybe we’d all be dead by the end. I could watch them fall, one by one.

My eyes flickered toward Joel, who stood stiff and unmoving, eyes sweeping from side to side. Claire hugged herself uncomfortably while Read leaned against the shelves and hid his face.

Neive stood in front of us all, looking awkward. “He wanted to die, you know. Ever since the Fates. He stopped caring.”

I glared at her. “He didn’t stop caring.”

“For himself he did,” she said and looked uncomfortable when she noticed all the narrowed eyes. “His soul didn’t stay,” she floundered.

Neive’s shoulders rose in defense. In all fairness, she had learned most of her social skills from Damien. I assumed emotional discipline was part of how she was raised.

“What does that mean?” I croaked, my chin digging into Phoebe’s shoulder.

“It means that it’s not trapped here. That’s a mercy, trust me.” She tried to meet my eye while Phoebe stiffened and her hug came apart.

“How do you know his soul isn’t here?” Phoebe asked, followed quickly by Claire’s voice.

“What about Cooper?”

Neive hesitated, her head held high. “I know his soul isn’t here because I can’t feel it. But I can feel Cooper’s.”

My heart seized. “How do we get Cooper out?”

Neive frowned and shook her head.

“Does that mean you don’t know or you don’t care?” Joel’s growl surfaced again.

Neive’s steady gaze was unaffected. “Means I wouldn’t be able to release him. Only Damien could do that, or the Neophyte.”

We stared at her, pain in our faces and posture. I was intensely angry with her. Cooper’s soul didn’t deserve to be trapped here in the Demon’s Grave. It didn’t belong here.

Joel reacted instantly. “Where the hell is he?”

Neive stared at Joel then to me as if to question the outburst.

Had I seen him? Was that Cooper’s soul hanging in the tree? What if Damien hadn’t set that up?

“Where’s Damien?!” Joel stepped forward, “Your boss.”

“He’s not my—”

Joel waved her silent. “He’s not keeping Cooper here. I don’t care what excuse he has. He’s not doing it.”

Neive continued to stare at him, silent and unmoving.

This only seemed to infuriate Joel further.

He launched himself at my sister.

I began to yell while Phoebe darted after Joel.

Neive backpeddled several steps, arms and legs bent as if she were expecting the impact.

Before Joel could reach her, she waved her hand.

I felt the intense heat rolling over my skin, like warm river rapids that rushed past bare, cold ankles.

In an instant, in a blink of an eye, everything changed.

Read stumbled when the shelving disappeared behind him.

Claire squealed as she scrambled out of the tall grass that nearly hid her completely.

Joel and Phoebe plodded to a stop.

Neive was gone.

We weren’t in the warehouse anymore. We were in a field.

The light blinded me.

Squinting through it, I saw a setting sun.

It took me a second to realize that it wasn’t grass we were standing in. We were in the middle of a farmer’s field. Tall, green-bearded barley rippled around us, the tops shimmering in the dying light.

A line of caraganas separated sections of the barley field.

“Where the heck are we?” Phoebe asked, raising a hand to protect her sensitive eyes. In fact, we all were trying in some way to duck our heads away from the light.

I turned in a circle to survey the whole field. It was endless and bare, all except for us—and the narrow caragana branches. “I think we’re in the next Challenge,” I said.

Phoebe threw up her arms. “I don’t remember any old horror movies in a farmer’s field.”

“You don’t watch enough horror movies then,” Read said.

She sneered at him, and he smiled, embarrassed. Before, he’d have sneered back. Maybe he hadn’t known how Phoebe had felt about him for all these years.

Claire dabbed at her cheek with the rag. “Maybe we’re near a village.”

I didn’t want to keep going. I wanted to just lie down and tell Damien to get it done, but that wouldn’t do us any good. If I died, I wouldn’t want everyone else to give up.

I nodded at Claire, stifling the churning emotions. “Let’s start walking.”

“Which direction?” Read asked.

I glanced back at him and frowned.
As if I would know?
I motioned to him. “Pick a direction. At this point, there aren’t any clues.”

Before Read could respond, a low growling groan made everyone freeze. The barley beards rippled in the breeze, flinging my tangled hair across my cheeks. There were a few flattened patches, but we couldn’t see what might be hidden there until it was too late to run.

Listening to my heartbeat, I tried to decide what to do. Should we run? If so, where? There weren’t any trees to climb, caves to hide in, or holes in the ground. There was nothing but barley and caragana fencing.

Though staying still wasn’t a good option, either.

I watched the flattened patch where I suspected our new foe hid. I waited on tacks for the something to move or twitch.

That’s when I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

In the distance, I saw pale, grey smoke snaking upward in a thin stream.

I pointed to it for the others and raised my eyebrows. With mostly stares as a response, I pivoted, and everyone mimicked my movements, trying to stay silent.

With the sun at our backs, I could see clearer. The smoke was beyond the numerous caragana branches. Ducking my head to see through the needled branches, I couldn’t see a house, but there were trees.

Phoebe shrugged and glanced to our right, now that we had turned around. I saw the strain and worry on her face as she contemplated the same thing I was. Should we run? Walk?

The barley surrounding the flattened patch was still, giving no indication that something might be stalking us.

We all grew rigid, hesitant to move.

I wasn’t sure we could take a race right now.

Fatigue had begun to take its toll. I had managed some sleep when I passed out, but everyone else had to keep going.

Phoebe took the initiative and side-stepped through the tall grass toward the sound.

I hissed at her, waving my arms for her to stop.

She stared at me and shook her head, eyebrows furrowed, as if I didn’t understand.

We stood there attempting to communicate through eyesight alone, not exactly progressive. She shrugged her shoulders, holding her hands out as if to say,
You have a better idea?

I shook my head and pointed to the smoke again, trying to urge her to help lead the group towards the smoke instead.

The sound came again, louder than before, less growling, and more…human.

Phoebe must have come to the same conclusion, because she bolted forward.

Read missed in trying to stop her and stumbled, gripping his injured arm and grimacing.

“Aidan?” Phoebe asked, reaching the flattened barley.

My heart slung up into my throat, and I pushed past Joel and Claire. Hopping through the field, I almost ran right into him.

My dirty sock nudged his shoulder as I screeched to a stop, arms windmilling.

Phoebe caught my shoulder and pulled me back.

I saw the narrow clearing before us, filled with a muddy hole. Aidan lay half in and half out of the puddle. His eyelids were fluttering, but he was asleep, and I couldn’t see any sign of blood through the mud.

I dropped to my knees beside him, the mud slipping against my bare skin, and rolled him onto his back.

Groaning, he opened his eyes reluctantly and squinted.

Phoebe squatted beside us.

“Aidan?” I whispered, waiting for his shockingly pale blue eyes to focus on me before I allowed a smile.

We’d found him.
I didn’t think we would until the very end, yet here he was.

He tried to clear his throat in an effort to speak. Whatever words he attempted to form, it came out in a gurgling rasp instead.

“Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” I asked him.

He shook his head.

“Is it him?” Read asked, shuffling into view.

Claire and Joel crept forward as well, keeping their distance.

I stared down at Aidan and realized we wouldn’t know. When Damien had disguised himself as Read, it had been almost flawless. “I can’t see him trying the same trick twice,” I said.

Aidan tried to speak again, coughing out a few guttural, indistinguishable words.

“Shut up for a second, Aidan. You’re talking our ear off,” Phoebe said.

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. It was a terrible attempt, but any form of amusement seemed funny at this point.

Aidan rolled his eyes but didn’t speak.

I patted his shoulder, trying to hold back my excitement. The last time I’d seen him, I’d wondered if he would make it. Now the worry lifted, and despite the emotional lacerations following Cody’s death, this felt like a miracle.

“He seems okay,” Phoebe said. “Are you?”

Aidan nodded, wincing as he pressed a muddied hand to his forehead. His usual wild hair was slicked down with mud. Bits of barley and twigs poked out of his head.

“Headache?” I asked and struggled to my feet, my shins and knees plastered with the muck. “Let me help you up.”

He nodded and gave me his slick hand. With Phoebe’s help, we got him to his feet. He was coated in dirt and mud, fitting right in with the rest of us.

Read eventually helped, steadying Aidan as he wobbled on his own two legs.

Read extended his hand. “Good to see you, man.”

Aidan shook it, his eyes glazed, before squinting through the light of the dying sun.

He turned in the other direction, and I followed his gaze. Against the fading blue color, I could see smoke and the pale full moon in the sky.

Clearing his throat one final time, he said gruffly, “I didn’t think I’d make it this far.”

“What happened?” Phoebe urged.

Aidan saw Claire and Joel for the first time. “Aren’t they from the cafeteria?”

“We’ll explain later,” I said. “We have to start heading to the smoke before it gets too dark.”

Aidan’s eyes bulged. “Too dark,” he said roughly. Still clasping my hand, he spun, almost losing his balance, and started for the caraganas. “We have to hurry,” he said over his shoulder.

“What’s coming?” Joel asked.

“How much do you know about this place?” Aidan countered, still taking lead. Though unsteady on his feet, he kept his strides long and confident as if he didn’t suspect anything to come out of the tall barley at us.

We followed, having little choice.

“I know enough,” Joel answered, sounding offended.

I nodded and said to Aidan, “They do. They understand the Challenge, for the most part.” I dreaded his next question.

“Why? What’s going on?” Aidan knew something we didn’t. What was coming? What did we need to fight?

Instead of answering, Aidan pointed to the distant smoke. “We have to get to the cabin. We’ll be able to take a stand there at least.” His warm, muddy fingers adjusted on mine, but he didn’t let me go. “There are no guns, but there are knives and things we can use against them. Anyone have any silver?”

“Silver?” Phoebe glanced down at her ring.

Aidan caught the look. “Not those. We need something we can use as a ward. They can smell it or sense it or something.”

I looked to Claire. She was the only one with jewelry. She shook her head at me. The limp from her near miss with the gunshot was more visible the faster she walked, but she wasn’t slowing down.

“So what you’re saying,” Read said, “is that there are werewolves or something.”

“Yes.”

I stiffened, pausing in my step, and Aidan jerked me forward again. “Sorry,” he muttered, focused on the smoke ahead. I don’t think he’d taken his eyes off of it since we started to walk.

We stepped through the caraganas, the branches stinging and scratching us as we passed.

“The sun’s almost down,” Aidan insisted. “We have to hurry.”

I tilted my chin up to see the rounded moon in the sky. It was waxing as the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving an orange glow in its aftermath.

Without warning, and still attached to me, Aidan started sprinting.

The shack was in view. It wasn’t very big, maybe one or two rooms at the most. The walls were made of stone, and the roof sprouted bulbous patches of moss.

Small narrow windows looked as though the glass had melted, and it was hard to see in even as we drew closer.

Trodden grass edged the field and led to the shack. Had Aidan been living here? I wondered.

Trees, though sparse, were scattered along the edge of the field behind the house.

A howl in the distance thrust a rippled warning through my spine. I bumped into Aidan and glanced at the feeble-looking, wooden front door. It wouldn’t take much to rip it down. We’d have to find some way to reinforce it, I decided.

The howl streaked lightning through my insides, and I froze, listening to the echo.

Gripping Aidan’s hand tighter, I was grateful that he was back.

No one moved, listening wide-eyed and frightened. That howl had been close.

Aidan was the first to move and darted for the door.

We crowded close behind him.

Aidan swung the door open and burst inside.

With Phoebe, Joel, Claire, and Read at my heels, I ran into the back of Aidan when he stopped just within the doorway.

“Well, well, looky here,” came a familiar voice.

My head snapped up as I bounced off of Aidan’s shoulder.

I staggered to the side, outside of the group and in the open.

In front of me was a pale boy whose bloodshot eyes spiderwebbed with black veins. He couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Behind him were a lit stone fireplace and a cot.

Why hadn’t I thought someone might be in here with a smoking chimney?
I wondered.
How could we have been so stupid?

Because we are tired and overworked
, I thought dejectedly. Mistakes would inevitably happen.

The cabin was small, barely fitting us and the five of
them
.

At the realization, I twisted to take a step toward my group.

Moving was my second big mistake.

An arm snaked around my mid-section, pulling me away from my group.

My shoulders bumped into someone solid behind me. Twisting, I saw the leader and instantly, I knew who the voice belonged to.

He was from the first Challenge and Aidan’s childhood bully.

“Jordan?” I whispered, horrified.
This wasn’t right
. I’d set him on fire. I’d won that. There shouldn’t be do-overs allowed.

He laughed at me, his breath smelling metallic.

Jordan’s greasy, dark brown hair hung over his shoulder, partially hiding the gruesome, puckered scar that crossed from over his left eye to his right cheekbone.

I realized his eyes were different. They’d been brown before, and now they were flecked with a distinct red.

“Hey, sweetie,” he said. “You look like you’ve been mud-wrestling.”

Aidan froze in place, his face paling.

Phoebe spread out her arms as if to push Joel, Claire, and Read back out the door.

“Don’t move,” Jordan snapped at her, “or I’ll break this one’s neck.”

Joel shook his head. “No, he won’t.”

“Yes, he will,” Jordan answered, mimicking Joel’s confident tone.

His free hand slipped up my shoulder, brushing along my collarbone. My stomach clenched in disgust before his fingers clasped around my throat.

“I prefer them alive, but I don’t mind them dead.”

I gritted my teeth against the revulsion. Being so close made me feel like slugs were under my skin.

Aidan stood tall, shoulders square. The last time we had faced off against Jordan, he’d been knocked unconscious and I’d almost been raped.

I glanced at Phoebe, but she was looking at all the four others around Jordan.

“What are you doing here?” Aidan snapped.

The former bully sighed impatiently; the stench of metal made me well aware that it was blood on his breath.

“I’m here for my revenge, little boy.” His fingers flexed around my throat, and I struggled to break free. “And don’t think that I won’t get it,” he snarled, snapping his teeth just above my ear. The sound was sharp and powerful, not like a human jaw.

I stopped moving and focused on finding a way to get away from him so we could fight.