TWELVE

HUSHED VOICES POURED INTO MY ROOM like a sewer pipe leak in the ceiling. Unintelligible words. And there were more thuds, like pounding and stomping.

This wasn’t rodents.

I prayed, but like before, the foreboding voices only got louder. That didn’t exactly build my faith. But it did help me to hear what they were saying. I picked up on words like attack. Fear. Death. Then the most unsettling: Ray Anne.

My heart sank, but not my adrenaline. I threw my sheets back, prepared to beat these evil trespassers at their own game—whoever or whatever they were. I determined I’d pray even louder and longer than they were carrying on, until Custos and his soldiers hopefully arrived and ripped the tormentors from limb to limb. Or wing to wing. Molek’s ghoulish brown messenger bats had vowed to come after me at night. Maybe it was them, mumbling in high-pitched voices and flapping around the storage room, knocking stuff around.

My feet hit the floor, and there was an instant commotion on my balcony again, loud enough to make Daisy jump down off the bed and whine. I didn’t hesitate—just threw the double doors open, more irritated than scared. But I still flinched.

Veronica stood facing me in the moonlight, balancing barefoot on the narrow balcony handrailing.

“I see you.” She smiled, but it wasn’t kind. A strong gust swept across the balcony, but it didn’t even ruffle her thin dress or long hair.

“I know you’re not her.” I stepped boldly to the center of the balcony. “You’re a demonic pretender.”

She shook her head with a belittling hum. “Poor orphaned Owen. Always a step behind.”

It was a cruel thing to say, but evil is always vicious—to everyone. And dishonest. “This won’t work on me. Not again.”

She crossed her arms against her chest. “Silly boy. It’s already working.” She smiled wider. “You’re in my intentions. Always.” And with that odd remark, she fell backward off the balcony. I charged forward and leaned over the railing, searching for her—for her imposter—but it was gone.

There were no more whispers after that. Just the sound of my box fan and my noisy thoughts as I tried to come to grips with what in the world could be happening in the spirit realm.

The next morning, Saturday, I was laser-focused on what I needed to do. On my way out of the church, I called Elle and told her where I was headed. I hadn’t expected her to drop everything and meet me at a prison three hours from Masonville, but she said she had her own list of questions for Veronica. Fine by me. Elle was an expert at extracting information from people. Plus, she said she was able to call and use her media status to set up a face-to-face interview with Veronica versus having to talk to her through a glass barrier using one of those germy prison phones.

As I drove off the church lot, I spotted the black Suburban parked on the side of the road, but I made it past the outskirts of town without being followed. The open hill country roads were always where I did my best thinking. I let myself daydream awhile about what it might be like to move far away from Masonville. Just pack up and start a new life, with Ray Anne, of course. Settle some place where the spiritual atmosphere wasn’t off-the-charts toxic. But what kind of soldier defects at the height of a heated war?

By the time I pulled up to the penitentiary, I’d organized my thoughts and felt prepared to face Veronica. Mostly, anyway. I hadn’t seen the woman since the night she’d rammed a knife into my left bicep, completely demon possessed. So I wasn’t sure what it would be like to be around her now.

I secured my helmet to my bike, eyeing the security watchtower. There were Creepers perched on top and also roaming around the jail yard inside the tall barbed wire–lined fence, but what surprised me was the situation on the roof of the whitewashed Hilltop building.

I’d always assumed a prison would be covered top to bottom with Creepers—at least as many as crept up and down the exterior of Masonville High. But I’d never imagined a platoon of armored Watchmen would be patrolling the roof, moving at crazy-fast speeds and grabbing hold of any Creeper that dared try to slip into the building. I stood there watching as a Creeper slithered on the ground on its belly, hands draped at its sides, working its way toward the building. A Watchman leapt off the roof and drove his armored heel into the demon’s back, stuffing it down into the earth like garbage compacted in a landfill.

So apparently God didn’t just hand criminals over to the satanic kingdom. And who knew? Maybe there were family members, and people on the inside even, who knew how to wage spiritual war. The mere possibility energized me.

Elle parked next to me, and together, we entered the building and requested to see Veronica Snow, then went through the security process. We were instructed to take a seat at a certain rectangular table in a stark-white room, where we stared at the empty brown chair across from us.

It gave Elle and me a chance to discuss her ongoing effort to track down Masonville’s abduction victims, including Betty’s niece Tasha Watt and my friend Riley Jenson. “I don’t know if either is still alive,” she said quietly, “but I believe I know the city where they were both taken, at least initially. Washington, DC.”

“Who took them?” All these months later, I was still desperate to know—to hold someone accountable.

“I don’t know who abducted them and transported them, but I’ve narrowed the order down to a certain coven in DC.”

“They placed an order? For people?” I cringed. “What’s a coven?”

“An underground group of witches and warlocks. A branch of the occult.”

It was the sort of idea that, a few years ago, I would have scoffed at, dismissing it as conspiracy theory nonsense. I knew now it was anything but.

Elle covered a yawn. “Sorry, I’m so exhausted lately.” I wondered if it had anything to do with Slumber’s presence in Masonville, but she explained, “I’m up all night. There’s all these noises in my home, like the pots and pans are being tossed around in the kitchen cabinets and someone’s stomping up and down my stairs. But when I look, nothing’s there.”

I leaned toward her, trying to avoid the guard overhearing. He kept a close eye on us from the corner of the room. “You know it’s the presence of evil, right? They’ve been haunting my place at the church too. Stomping around the room above me and breaking things on my balcony.” And whispering, but Elle couldn’t hear spirit-world voices.

“I know it’s supernatural.” She tapped her pen on her pad of paper. “I have a theory about what’s going on. Pay attention to my dialogue with Veronica.”

Now and then, a female inmate passed by us, escorted by guards down the hallway. There were some Creepers inside the jail, but they were all attached to guards and convicts—evils these people had personally ushered in and probably swapped with one another, I concluded, since the Watchmen outside weren’t letting unattached Creepers in the building. What I didn’t understand were the shadowy figures darting around the room, passing through walls the way spiritual bodies do. They looked like Creepers posing as teenage boys.

Elle’s quick mention of the facility’s history solved the mystery: this place was believed to be haunted by the young men housed here in the 1800s. A superstitious lie, but it was enough to motivate Creepers to play the part.

Veronica entered, led by a guard, and I barely recognized her. She’d been stripped of all her makeup, but it was more than that—it was like all trace of her natural beauty had been wiped away as well. She was average-looking at best. Oddly so.

Her hair was flat against her head and gathered into a ponytail at the base of her neck, at her shackle. She wore a white jumpsuit, and her hands were cuffed in front of her. But it was her expression that was most unfamiliar. Sad, bloodshot eyes, like she was broken and fragile—hardly the lioness I’d known before. And nothing like the replica of her that had been frequenting my balcony.

I didn’t know what to expect she’d do when she saw me, but I’d have never guessed she’d walk over and put her head on my shoulder and cry. “Owen. Thank you for coming.”

Did she think I was here as a friend?

She finally backed away and sat. I waited for the guard to remove her cuffs before introducing her to Elle. They shook hands, then Elle got straight to business, starting with questions about the missing students’ involvement in Veronica’s mediation program in the days leading up to their disappearances. Veronica kept pressing her right hand to her heart, like she was filled with compassion for the abducted girls, but when Elle asked if she had any knowledge about what had happened to them and where they might be, she swore she didn’t.

I think Elle found that as hard to believe as I did. She turned up the heat. “Did you kidnap Jackson of your own volition, or did someone put you up to it?”

Veronica tucked her chin into her chest and rocked forward and back like a toddler wishing someone would hold her. “I can’t talk about that.”

“Without a lawyer present?” Elle asked.

“Without putting you in danger,” she whispered. There were two guards watching our every move now.

Elle leaned across the table and assured Veronica she was willing to take the risk in order to get answers. That’s when Veronica shifted her pitiful gaze to me, her formerly-striking green eyes a dull gray. There was no hint of the seduction she’d always come at me with before. “I didn’t want to hurt Jess’s baby—I swear. I—I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” She winced. “I didn’t mean to harm you either that night, Owen.”

It was a charade as dramatic as Bradford’s. I wondered if it was to support a plea of insanity at her upcoming trial.

“He’s been brainwashing me ever since he brought me to the United States.” A tear spilled down Veronica’s cheek.

“Who?” I asked her. “Where are you from?”

Veronica clammed up until Elle asked, “Who’s your handler?”

I had no clue what a handler was, but Veronica got wide-eyed, then glanced over her shoulder at the guards before staring down at the table. “I was born in Russia, but my parents were very poor and sold me to an American man who promised to take care of me and provide me with a much better life. I was eight years old. But I didn’t go live with his family like he’d promised. He put me in a boarding school with other children whose parents had given them up too, and he . . . would come see me every few weeks.” She slumped so low, her chin nearly rested on the table.

It was obvious the visits hadn’t been good.

“Is this man from Masonville?” I asked.

She nodded. “People think he’s a noble man who cares for people and wants justice in Masonville, but . . .”

She stopped there, but I was already confident I’d put two-and-two together.

“Tell us who he is so we can stop him and help you.” It sounded like Elle was sincere about helping Veronica.

Veronica shook her head no over and over.

“Your handler instructed you to take Jackson.” Elle didn’t ask but gently asserted.

Veronica finally gave a subtle nod, crying loudly enough that the guards stared even harder at us. Those shadowy boys flocked to her, glaring at her with stern, vengeful eyes as she poured her heart out. Or pretended to. “All these years, I did everything he told me—everything. And look where it got me. The pain and destruction I’ve suffered and caused.”

Elle reached into her purse and pulled out a bookmark, of all things, then slid it across the table.

“Sorry,” Veronica said, “I can’t take anything.”

“I know.” Elle placed it in her hand. “I just thought you’d like to read it.”

Veronica read just loud enough for Elle and me to hear. “Even if my father and mother abandon me, the LORD will hold me close.” She set the butterfly-adorned bookmark facedown, and more tears streamed her pale cheeks.

I took over the conversation, determined not to be swayed by theatrics. “Listen, Veronica—or Eva—whatever you call yourself. I’m not opening your letters anymore, and there’s no use in sending a Creeper—some demon masquerading as you—to taunt me or Ray Anne. She and I both know what’s going on, and we’re not afraid.”

At least I wasn’t.

“Please help us understand, Veronica.” Elle was a pro at keeping her tone firm, yet compassionate. “Have you been casting spells on us?” Elle gestured to herself, then me. “Loosing witchcraft on our homes? You’ve been ordered to, am I right?”

“It’s not me!” Two shadowy boys on either side of Veronica gripped her head, pressing their spirit-world fingers into her scalp, then pushed her down so that she banged her forehead on the table over and over, sobbing and babbling. Elle’s eyes went wide, but she reached for Veronica’s shoulder, hoping to make her stop, but she wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.

I sat tall in my chair. “In Christ’s name, give up your deception and go.”

Yeah, we’d now officially caused a scene—a weird one—but get this: the teen boys morphed into towering Creepers, the word haunting marred on every single one of their vile faces. They went rushing out of the room, slipping out through the walls.

One of the guards spoke into his two-way radio, about us, I assumed.

Elle raised her eyebrows at me, but Veronica didn’t acknowledge anything. She sat still now, her arms crossed tightly at her chest like she was bound in a straitjacket. “Okay, I’m choosing to trust you, Owen.” She spoke just above a whisper. She glanced at Elle. “Both of you.”

We assured her she could and moved our chairs closer. She spoke quietly, yet frantically. “There are certain chosen cities around the country that have already fallen to Cosmic Ruler control. Masonville is the final atmosphere that must fall in order for Molek to rise up and destroy America.”

Of course the insatiable Lord of the Dead wanted to exalt dominion over the whole nation—why hadn’t I come to that conclusion already?

I voiced my next question out loud. “Why Masonville?”

She didn’t bother answering me. “There are locals and also covens across the country, assigned by Molek and collaborating with my handler to release curses around the clock on Masonville, especially those working against his plan.” She eyed Elle and me. “You two are prime targets.” Then her gaze locked on me. “And Ray Anne is . . .”

“Ray Anne’s what?” I asked.

Veronica withheld a response to that question too.

“My handler has ordered me to do my part, to loose curses on you guys like he’s taught me since I was a child.” Veronica’s voice quaked. “But I refuse to do anything he says anymore. So I probably won’t survive much longer.”

One of the guards—the taller of the two—approached Veronica, motioning for her to insert her wrists back into a pair of cuffs. I glanced at the clock. There was over a half hour of our visitation time left.

“Excuse me?” Elle glanced at the clock too. “We’re not done—why are you taking her back?”

“Time’s up,” he mumbled.

Veronica locked eyes with us, silently begging us not to protest. “I’m coming,” she politely told the guard, then whispered a final time. “Those letters you’re getting aren’t coming from me, Owen. I’m done with that life.”

The guard studied all three of us, more inquisitive than he should have been. When a pointy-hooded witchcraft Creeper emerged from the floor with one of the guard’s chains fastened to its wrist, I became convinced the man was there on assignment—another operative in the occult.

Elle stood. “Thank you, Veronica.”

As we watched her being escorted away, I asked Elle, “Do you believe a word she just said?”

She exhaled, retrieving the flimsy bookmark off the table. “Most of it. But not the part about being done with that life. Even if they’re sincere, SRA victims almost always get manipulated into going back.”

“SRA?”

“Satanic ritual abuse,” Elle clarified.

My gut sank. Veronica wasn’t the only victim I knew.

On our way out of the building, I felt the need to caution Elle. “Don’t get sucked into feeling sorry for Veronica or believing anything she says.”

Elle handed me the girly bookmark, then fished her keys out of her purse, speed walking, as usual. “I feel for anyone who’s been raised in the occult,” she said. “Such unfathomable mind tricks and cruelty. That said, you don’t have to tell me to be objective and on guard.”

I walked beside her through the parking lot, comfortable enough with her by now to tell her, “My mom was raised in the occult—an SRA victim—and she made it out and never went back.” It was about as personal as anything I could have shared, although Elle’s lack of reaction made me think she already knew.

I stopped as a thought hit me. Maybe that was why Bradford was pursuing a relationship with my mom. So he could try to coax her back in. I’d never considered the possibility before. But surely she’d never go back to that life.

I kept the troubling thought to myself, but Elle planted more concern in me. “Honestly, Owen, I’m not sure about your mother’s current involvement or lack thereof.”

I huffed, offended at the notion, even if her suspicion was fair.

Elle opened the driver’s side door of her Audi. “I’m aware of your mother’s history and defection from the occult, and also how your father, Stephen, fought to protect her from their retribution when he and your mother were married.”

I clutched her arm before she could duck into her car. “Wait a minute. How do you know all that?” And why hadn’t my own father told me?

“Your ancestors played a key role in Masonville’s history; I’ve made it my business to uncover your family’s business.” She actually paused to put a stick of gum in her mouth. “Look, if you want the whole story, you could always ask your parents.” She said it with that know-it-all attitude that had grated on me from the first time I’d seen her reporting on TV. “I only have some of the facts—seems to me you’d want to take the lead on that one.”

Naturally, I wanted all the facts and truth I could gather about my parents’ history, but Elle didn’t understand. My mom refused to speak of her past, especially about my father, and him . . . he was so secretive, he and I could hardly communicate about anything. I’d been restricted to a few vague texts here and there on a burner phone.

Elle shut herself in her car, then lowered her black-tinted window. “I’ll be in touch soon, but in the meantime, do you know how to stop the evil that a nation full of witches is loosing on our homes? That’s more your area of expertise than mine.”

“Not really, no. But I’ll figure it out as fast as I can.” Add that to the other pressing dilemmas that already needed my attention and solutions.

“I sure hope so,” Elle said, “’cause it’s terrorizing my family.”

She put her car in reverse, but I didn’t want to let her go without asking, “What’s a handler?”

“A person in the occult who uses mind-control techniques and manipulation to dominate a vulnerable person—you know, get them entrenched in the secret society so they’re too afraid and brainwashed to get out. They mostly target children and teenagers.”

I bent down, eye-level with her. “I think I know the phony peace-keeping Masonville man Veronica described as her handler.”

She checked her rearview mirrors and lowered her voice. “I have my suspicions too. And wisdom demands that we stay as far away from him as we can for now—you hear me?”

I nodded, then extended the bookmark to her. “Here.”

“Keep it.”

I tried handing it to her a second time but there was no use. She drove off. I stuffed it in my back pocket, thinking maybe a bookmark would somehow come in handy soon. Elle had a way of giving me random objects I didn’t know I needed until suddenly, they were exactly what I had to have.

I was tense the whole drive back to Masonville, wondering if Veronica would send word to Detective Benny that Elle and I had come asking forbidden questions, hardly minding my own business like he’d threatened me to do.

The more I mulled it over, the surer I was: Detective Benny was Veronica’s handler.