THIRTY-THREE

I SPED TO BRODY BRADFORD’S HOUSE, the biggest mansion in Masonville. The childhood home of Dan Bradford, the most notorious school shooter in America. I pounded on the double doors with both fists, calling Jackson’s name.

No answer.

Five more minutes of pounding and shouting. Nothing.

I pressed my forehead against the door, still trying to come to grips with how the secret society had managed to confiscate Jackson again. And how spiritual forces had successfully masterminded sidelining Ray Anne at the height of our mission. They’d known what a threat she was to their agenda.

I had no way to go get her out. As for Jackson, even if I had trusted Masonville’s police force, I couldn’t report him as a missing child this time. His own grandfather had him—a plot concocted by Mother Punishment, I was sure.

While rushing to my motorcycle, I called Elle, careful to avoid saying names. There was no telling who might be listening to our calls. “You know the handler?”

“Yes?”

“He’s got the child. You have to track him down, Elle. Please.”

I’d never heard her breathe frantically before. “I have an idea.” She hung up.

I paced in the street beside my motorcycle, already outplayed and outmatched fifteen hours before the group suicide was even set to go down.

Hard as I’d tried to beat my opponent, I’d walked right into a lose-lose trap.

If I managed to talk the students out of taking their lives tonight, I’d be guaranteeing that Jackson paid the price—his life in place of theirs. But I couldn’t just sit back and let the students die. Either outcome would grant Molek the spirit-world right to set up his throne alongside the Rulers.

“How could you let this happen?” I raged at myself. And, I admit it, at God.

I grabbed my helmet and held it in the air, ready to hurl it at the concrete as hard as I could.

I can’t take this anymore, God! You picked the wrong guy. This is too hard.

A crippling sense of despair came over me like a weighted blanket of rage and sadness.

Wait a minute . . .

Instead of throwing my helmet, I slowly lowered it onto my bike, then turned to look over my shoulder. There were the two big-eyed, pale-pink Creepers, soaked and shivering in a mud puddle in the grassy empty lot across the street from Bradford’s house, clinging to one another’s bruised bodies. They whimpered, stealing timid glances at me.

I’m exhausted. I’ve done all I can—this is too much pressure.

I stepped toward them.

I’m gonna lose. I always lose. It’s what I do. No—it’s who I am.

I stopped at the puddle, and they leaned away, tucking and covering their heads like helpless victims.

I have to leave town. Escape. I can’t save anyone, and I can’t survive here.

Their mouths weren’t moving, but that didn’t fool me.

“It was you.” They covered their ears, but I kept talking. “You two were on assignment at Ray Anne’s, pumping her head full of discouragement and defeat, acting like victims to deceive her into believing that’s what she was, like you’re trying to do to me now.”

There’s no hope for me. There never was.

“She felt sorry for you while all along, you worked to make her feel sorry for herself.”

I’m not enough. I don’t have what it takes.

I bent down, hovering over the malicious pretenders. “Is that the best you can do?”

No one loves me. Everyone rejects me. I’m always abandoned.

I huffed.

I don’t deserve to be loved. Not me.

Then finally, a silent moment in my mind. But all of a sudden . . .

I’m nothing but an orphan.

“No!” Anger took over. I reached out and tried to choke their feeble necks, but of course, my hands passed through them. So I stepped into the puddle, and sure enough, my God-given aura penetrated the water like a sizzling electric current, pumping them full of pain.

They howled and leaped out of the water—out of my aura—then stood upright for once, only as tall as children yet eyeing me with aggressive scowls. Villains now, not victims.

“In Christ’s name, stop your deception and go!”

Their skin started melting like wax, and out from their dripping, dissolving frames stretched two fully-grown Creepers—sure enough, the word victim was carved into both of their faces. Their playbook officially disclosed.

They charged past me, hissing until they disappeared into the Bradfords’ house.

Home sweet home, no doubt.

It was a victory, but it’s not like I could celebrate. A much bigger battle was still looming. I sat on my bike and lowered my head. “Lord, it looks like evil has already won and there’s nothing I can do. But the kingdom of darkness relies on distortion—false impressions, as if it can’t be beat. So tell me, God, where do I go from here?”

Nothing hit me but the drizzling rain.

I gripped my handlebars and closed my eyes, inhaling deep, exhaling long. “Tell me, God. I’m listening.”

More controlled breathing. Then the sudden mental picture of a person’s face. The last guy I wanted to see.

“Really?” I gnawed my bottom lip. “Fine.”

I drove to Central Hospital and tracked Ethan down in a hallway in the radiology wing. The floors were covered in death dust, like every hospital I’d been in.

“Owen, what are you doing here?”

Petty as it was, I couldn’t stand seeing Ethan in scrubs and that white MD-monogrammed coat of his. I knew it didn’t make sense, but it felt like he’d stolen my dream career out from under me. Still, I managed to say it. “Ethan, I need your help tonight.”

“Absolutely. What can I do for you?”

I fought back my annoyance at his too-nice persona.

“I need you to please meet me at Masonville High at ten o’clock. Something really bad is going down in the woods at midnight, and we have to go out there and stop it.” I was relying on Elle to find Jackson, trusting we’d have rescued him by then.

Ethan wanted the details, but I couldn’t risk word getting out—not until Jackson was safe. “Please, just meet me tonight, and I’ll lead the way.”

He looked at me for a couple of moments, then nodded. “Okay, man. You can count on me.”

I knew I could. That was just it—his character was so squeaky clean, so solid and dependable, I couldn’t relate to him.

He gave me his phone number, then started to walk away.

“Ethan?”

He faced me. It was too late now to turn back.

“How come you’re such a good person? Like, how do you do it?” I immediately regretted asking. It felt like I was a tail-tucked dog that had just acknowledged him as the alpha.

He gave me a kind smile. “Well, I definitely have my struggles. That said, it’s been a huge blessing to have parents that are people of faith. And growing up in a church community has been invaluable.”

“It has?” I didn’t mean to sound so surprised.

“I mean, there were times I didn’t want to go, and my parents made me. But looking back—all the Bible stories I learned at Sunday School, the songs I memorized and sang, plus my mom and dad praying with me at dinner and bedtime, the unconditional love and acceptance they always showed me . . .” He shrugged. “It’s caused me to want to know God myself. And he’s never let me down.”

It felt like a raw egg was oozing down my face—shame I couldn’t hide. One, for having only seen the faults in the church, hardly ever any potential upside. Two, for despising Ethan all this time when his only real offense was liking the same amazing girl as me. And three, my bitter envy. I couldn’t imagine dinnertime at the table with adoring parents, much less having been tucked in bed—and with a thoughtful prayer.

Ethan’s parents had loved and wanted him. But mine . . .

“So, I’ll see you at ten o’clock?” He hurried toward a nurse’s station.

“Yeah.”

I wandered out of the hospital, tempted to feel sorry for myself, even without any Creepers shooting pathetic thoughts at my head. But there was no time for that.

I raced to the cornfields and jogged to the abandoned house, anxious to know whether Molek was still restrained or roaming free. When I saw that he was gone—his throne missing too—my gut throbbed with adrenaline.

I tried jogging the whole way back but had to settle for a fast-paced walk a few times, sucking in air while mentally sifting through every detail Zella had reported to me. Was I overlooking something?

My motorcycle came into view as I recalled that Creeper she’d had with her. Deception was linked to Zella, I thought, yet she had clarity of mind—enough to choose life over suicide and realize the other students needed rescuing.

The demon hadn’t done its job at all.

I slid my helmet on, then froze.

Then again, maybe it had executed its assignment—using Zella to deceive me.

But not for long.