SEVENTEEN
IT WAS A COLLECT CALL from the Hilltop Correctional Unit. I told Elle I’d call her back.
Veronica whispered into the phone. “Listen to me. I found out someone was assigned to get inside your apartment and put a curse under your bed.”
“I don’t live in my apartment anymore,” I said, “and don’t act like you don’t know that.”
She was silent a moment, then spoke again, her voice pleading. “Owen, I just assumed it was your apartment. If you’ve moved, I have no idea where you live. I swear. But I’m telling you, someone snuck cursed objects into your bedroom. You need to go under your bed and get rid of them immediately. Take them outside and destroy them.”
I charged up the stairs and into my room, lecturing into the phone. “I know about that astral project stuff, Veronica.”
“Projection?”
“Whatever. I know you’ve been going to Ray Anne’s to spy on Jackson and coming to the church to mess with me too. And those letters—”
“What? I don’t know about any church, and I already told you, I’m done with that life. I haven’t gone anywhere near Ray Anne or Jackson.” She sounded convincing, but what else was new? “Owen, I called to help you. I meant what I said—I’m on your side.” Her voice broke with emotion. “And I could really use someone on mine.” There was a pause, then, “I’ve got to go.”
She hung up, and I scolded myself for being tempted to feel bad for her. Veronica was a wicked foe, not a friend—as slimy as the soaked strands of hair that were stuck to her astral-projecting cheeks last night. That’s why the assailants didn’t morph into Creepers when I gave the spirit-world orders: because they weren’t Creepers. They were witches and warlocks performing a sinister stunt I never dreamed was possible.
I dropped to my hands and knees and searched the dim, dusty space under my bed. Nothing there but a toppled stack of books. But when I slid the pile aside, I knew something wasn’t right.
I put my phone in flashlight mode and aimed it at an odd heap shoved against the wall. It looked like small bones bound together by a thread of bright-red yarn, placed on top of a nest of . . .
Is that human hair?
I used the corner of a book to snag the mound and slide it out from under the bed. Sure enough, there was a wad of long hairs in all kinds of shades—human hair colors. The bones looked like chickens’ wings and legs. Or maybe bats’?
In the center of the mass was an ordinary gray rock with a white pentagram painted on the smooth surface. I might have dismissed the whole thing as some stupid scare tactic had the sound of hissing not filled the air as soon as I moved the bizarre pile.
I took the plastic bin my mother had given me and dumped the contents on the floor. Then I scooped the cursed objects into the bin and hurried outside, hoping I wouldn’t run into anyone and owe an explanation.
I marched toward the pond, looking for a place where I could get rid of the objects.
I settled on drowning it.
I walked to the edge of the pond and dumped the nasty clump into the water, then used a stick to drive it down into the mud bottom.
Done.
Back in my room, there was no more trace of any snake bodies winding in the walls or the unnerving sound of hissing. Their witch-crafted nest was gone.
I glanced at my cell, wishing I had Gentry’s number to call and check on him. On the burner phone, I saw that my father had texted me:
Was he letting me know he was coming to Masonville?
I didn’t want to see him. At least I didn’t want to want to see him.
I didn’t text back.
I drove by Gentry’s that afternoon, and shocker, his mother said he wasn’t home, and she didn’t know where he’d gone or when he’d be back.
Finally, it was almost 7:00 p.m.—time for six local student pastors to meet up on the front steps of Masonville High with Ray Anne and me. Isolation came naturally to me, but if Ray and I were going to succeed at our mission, I had to get over that.
She and I stood side by side outside the school, waiting—hoping the pastors were already called to join us and we wouldn’t have to do much persuading. I was prepared to do most of the talking. She kept dabbing her eyes with a tissue and apologizing. “I’m so sorry, I can’t stop crying.”
I assured her it was okay and kept that same upbeat tone while explaining that, as it had turned out, she’d been right about Veronica. “It really has been her making appearances,” I said, “but there’s still nothing to fear—she’s no match for Scripture. Quote it, Ray, and she’ll run.”
She didn’t ask any questions or even nod. It was like she was too afraid to even acknowledge what I’d just said. On top of that, she changed the subject—my go-to maneuver, not hers.
“Where are all the Creepers?” she asked me. Other than an occasional fleeting glimpse, they were nowhere to be found on or around the school building.
I peered into the sky at the same spot where we’d witnessed Watchmen come pouring into our realm. “Maybe Heaven’s army is on its way, and they know it.”
The black Suburban drove slowly in front of the school, drawing our attention until it passed.
Ethan was the first to arrive, five minutes early. He managed to make Ray Anne laugh with one of his corny jokes. I wondered if she’d have laughed if the joke had come from me, but I shrugged off the pointless question.
The last guy showed up twenty minutes late, but at least all six student pastors—four men and two women—were finally here, gathered on the steps. They looked young, all but one in their twenties.
Ethan was the only person among them who had a defender seal. I was sure Ray Anne would have noticed it on him by now had she not been so anxious and distracted.
There was an awkward silence, like it was sinful for people from different churches to mingle. But that wasn’t as big of an issue as the fact that two of them were shackled. There was no way the metal-lugging lady and guy would believe what we had to say, and it’s not like they were in a position to link arms and fight alongside us. How could any shackled person be called to join us?
I was curious about how these people were responding to the Rulers’ intensified presence in Masonville and hoped I had enough compassion to detect it, along with any chain-links or cords—baggage of the soul—they might have been lugging around. At the moment, they all appeared fine.
We circled up, facing one another, and when Ethan offered to open the occasion in prayer, a refreshing breeze blew like some sort of divine thumbs-up. His prayer was a noble one, humble and sincere, asking God to please help us work together for the greater good.
Then I spoke up, and while I introduced Ray Anne and myself, she and I both spotted one of those massive stained-glass bowls high in the air, steadily lowering toward us—a reassuring sign that something good was about to go down.
I gave a less sensational explanation of Masonville’s current spiritual condition than the one I’d recently given Pastor Gordon, making a case for why we needed to start praying together, avoiding eye contact with the two shackled people in case those disgusting black scales covered their eyes. “I imagine you’ve noticed how lots of people around here are struggling with things like despair, strife, addiction, slumber—kind of like they’re asleep, spiritually speaking. And as you already know, pornography is a big issue too.”
Of the four males there besides me, all except Ethan lowered their heads. And the shackled woman too. Sure enough, as each of them eventually looked my way again, I saw it. Streaming movement in their eyes.
“The thing is, you guys . . .” I kept talking despite the huge distraction, fixing my gaze on their foreheads. “If we’re going to help people, we have to start with ourselves.” I swallowed my pride. “I mean, I’m having struggles myself. But it’s all intended to stop us from doing what we’re called to do, especially the mission to work together to transform our town.”
It took me off guard when the shackled lady came and stood beside me, announcing we were all invited to attend and bring students to a concert her church was hosting. Then she returned to her place—the open cuffs on the ends of her chains slamming the cement steps—and smiled at everyone, as if that one church event was the answer to everything.
Ethan spoke up, agreeing we should start praying together as a group—now but also weekly, suggesting Masonville High as the location since the students were our biggest concern. But another guy, Brandon, shot the location down, insisting his church would be more comfortable than an outdoor spot with no AC. Then that shackled concert girl, Shelly, said she could only commit to meeting once a month, at which point Brandon mumbled something under his breath that apparently offended Shelly; she crossed her arms and shook her head.
Out of nowhere, a guy asked the others how they go about doing Communion with their students, and the subject switched entirely to that. I tried to get us back on topic, but Brandon was dominating the conversation, breaking down the process he used to pass out wafers and juice in under five minutes.
I looked up. The stained-glass bowl was fading, disappearing into the sunny sky.
This was not going as planned. And somehow it hadn’t dawned on me that our gathering might draw major spirit-world attention. It wasn’t lower-level Creepers; they remained out of sight. The Ruler Strife rose up from beneath the parking lot, in broad daylight, and charged our way. He stared me down like he knew I’d been sipping on his toxic oppression.
Then he eyed Shelly. Her shadowy soul leaned forward, out of her face, and growled at Brandon, gums flared, before slipping back inside her skin.
I slapped my hand over my mouth. Had my soul, under Strife’s influence, been doing that same lurch-growl thing at people?
I saw the dread on Ray Anne’s face and wrapped my arm around her. She moved and hid behind me—a first for my normally daring girlfriend. But when the next being showed up, even Strife cowered like a cornered mouse.