6

Brenna had never allowed herself to think about how much she missed her husband—until now.

And that acknowledgment made her furious.

How long had it been? Two years? Probably closer to three. He’d just upped and disappeared one afternoon while she’d been out seeing the grief counselor he’d refused to meet. Craig had been determined that sorrow was best dealt with alone, which is exactly what he did when he’d left her in the most vulnerable time of her life.

It was early morning, and she’d tossed and turned for most of the night, making it impossible for her to see her son and tell him about his father. And that made her angry as well.

With a sigh, Brenna threw back the covers and shuffled from her bedroom to the kitchen, the shroud formed by lack of sleep wrapped tightly about her head. She needed coffee—strong and black.

It was how Craig was drinking it last night.

She set up a pot of coffee to brew and leaned on the counter waiting.

To say she’d been shocked to see her husband yesterday was an understatement. They’d ended up going to the bar in a nearby hotel, and as they took seats across from one another at a small table in the corner, she’d let him have it with both barrels.

He’d been smiling, but he wasn’t when she finished.

He had no right to smile at her.

Brenna poured herself a cup of strong-smelling coffee, rocket fuel, and allowed herself a small smile as she remembered the nervous, almost frightened look on Craig’s face.

“You have every right to be pissed at me,” he’d said, avoiding her eyes. “I wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d refused to even speak with me, never mind coming here.”

“So what’s this all about?” she’d demanded. “Is this going to be some sort of half-assed attempt to say you’re sorry for walking out on me . . . for walking out on our marriage during the hardest days of our lives?”

“I know I fucked up,” was all he’d said.

Her anger had been nearly overwhelming then. She remembered the feel of her heart racing, the blood thrumming through her veins as her pulse pounded in her ears. Thankfully, the waiter arrived at that point to take their drink order. She’d ordered a glass of cabernet although, if truth be told, she’d been tempted to order a whole bottle. Craig had ordered coffee—strong and black.

Brenna topped off her coffee and went to sit on the couch.

“You most certainly did fuck up,” she’d snarled at him, unable to hold back the anger and hurt that had pooled deeply inside her since he’d left. She was tempted to get up and leave him, as alone as she’d been these last few years. But something that she still didn’t quite understand had kept her there.

She’d glared at him for a few minutes, then asked, “Where did you go?”

Craig had shrugged. “Everywhere . . . nowhere. I was looking to escape . . . to get away from my thoughts . . . my guilt . . . the sadness.”

She slowly shook her head. “There’s no escaping that. It’s always going to be with you.”

“Now you tell me,” he said, and laughed sadly. There were tears in his eyes.

The waiter returned with their drinks, and they’d spent some time in silence, each pretending to be absorbed by the beverages.

“What I wouldn’t give for one of those,” Craig had finally said, motioning toward the wine with his chin as he picked up his coffee and took a sip.

“Oh?” she’d questioned.

“In the beginning, right after I left, I spent a little too much time at the bottom of a bottle. It took me awhile to finally realize I had a decision to make, either come up for air, or not.”

“And air won?”

“Eventually, but not before I hit rock bottom pretty hard.”

Brenna sipped her coffee now as she’d sipped her wine then while waiting for him to continue. She remembered his hands shaking as he’d drunk his own coffee and felt a tinge of sympathy for him. But it wasn’t enough to forgive him.

“It took me a long time to pull it all together,” he’d finally continued. “I actually saw some people who helped me.”

She’d been shocked by that statement, remembered thinking that maybe there was some small hope for him.

But then she thought of Ronan.

Their son had barely been mentioned the night before, and that bothered Brenna. She wondered what this new Craig would have said if she’d told him about her nightly visits with their boy. How she and Ronan spent just about every night together in a strange dreamworld.

She knew the idea was nuts, but so was traveling to another dimension to rescue kids from a psychopath who was planning to use them as sacrifices to an ancient god—yet she’d done just that not too long ago.

She leaned forward and turned on her laptop as she tried to decide how she really felt about reconnecting with her ex last night.

He’d said up front that he wasn’t there to rekindle their love or their relationship, that he had only come to apologize for having been so weak and selfish, for having abandoned her when she’d needed him most. His apology had seemed genuine, and she’d had to consciously stomp on a trickle of compassion that tried to seep to the surface of her emotions.

She’d asked what his plans were, but he’d just shrugged, saying simply that he wanted to make sure she had forgiven him before moving on with his life—whatever that might be. Brenna had tried to be civil as she’d told him it would be a long time before the glacier of her anger could even begin to melt, allowing the forgiveness to flow.

He’d laughed at her analogy but admitted that he still had a lot of work to do.

She stared at her computer screen, not really seeing it as she tried to decide how she felt about the previous evening’s encounter. A tiny part of her felt a certain satisfaction that Craig had returned, but the larger part resented it. He had given up his place in her life . . . in her heart . . . and now here he was attempting to force his way into that space once again.

How could she have ever agreed to have dinner with him later in the week? Disgusted with herself, she was about to open her e-mails when her phone began to ring. Grabbing the device, she saw the number and answered immediately.

“Isabel,” she said.

“Brenna, it’s Elijah,” the leader of the Coalition said.

“What’s up?” she asked, knowing that the strange old man didn’t call unless . . .

“There’s a situation unfolding at a school in Waukegan, Illinois. It will require your attention.”

“Tell me about it.” She set her computer down and went to the kitchen counter, where a notepad waited.

“It’s been reported as a hostage situation,” Elijah said.

“But you don’t believe it is.”

“No, I do not. A child managed to escape the building, and is saying that his classmates turned into monsters during Show and Tell.”

“Okay,” Brenna said slowly. “What do you think?”

“Not too long after the child told his story, the body of a teacher was hurled through a fourth-floor window. His throat had been torn out, and there were multiple bite marks on his body.

“I think the child is telling the truth.”

•   •   •

“Raisin Bran,” Theo said, pulling the old box of cereal from the cabinet and showing it to the little girl.

The child sitting at the kitchen island scrutinized the box and scrunched up her face. “Nothin’ else?” she asked.

Theo shook her head. “Nothing else, I’m afraid.”

“No Sugar Smacks or Capt’n Crunch?”

“What part of ‘nothing’ didn’t you understand?” Theo asked the child.

“I know, but I don’t like this kind,” Cassie said, grabbing the box and studying it closely. “There’re no prizes,” she pointed out with a pout.

“How about the prize of a well-balanced breakfast?” Stephen suggested as he breezed into the kitchen, carrying two cups from Starbucks. He handed one to Theo.

“Bless you,” Theo said, peeling off the lid and taking a careful sip of the strong, hot liquid.

“I don’t want a well-balanced breakfast,” Cassie said. “I want Fruit Loops.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place!” Stephen exclaimed. The phone had already begun to ring in his office, and he danced off to get it.

“He’s crazy,” Cassie said with a laugh as she watched him go.

“We all are a little around here,” Theo said, picking up the Raisin Bran and giving the box a shake. “Raisin Bran or eggs?”

“Scrambled?” Cassie asked, her eyes lighting up.

“I think I can manage that,” Theo said, going toward the fridge.

“Did I hear somebody mention scrambled eggs?” Griffin Royce walked into the kitchen, immediately going to his daughter and giving her a loving kiss on the cheek.

“Good morning, Mr. Royce,” Theo said, bringing the carton of eggs from the fridge to the stove. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine, Ms. Knight,” the man said.

“Theo,” she corrected him.

“All right, fine, Theo,” he said, pulling his daughter in for a hug. “Hopefully, this monkey hasn’t disturbed you in any way. I woke up to find she’d already escaped.”

“No worries,” Theo said as she cracked multiple eggs into a stainless-steel bowl. “I was already up and about when Cassie came downstairs. I don’t usually sleep well when John is out of town.”

“And when will the wayward John return?” Griffin asked.

“I haven’t talked to him yet today, but I believe sometime this afternoon if I’m not mistaken.”

“Theo.” Stephen poked his head into the kitchen, his tone serious as he interrupted their conversation. “It’s Brenna Isabel,” he said, holding the cordless phone out to Theo.

“Could you?” Theo asked Stephen. She pointed toward the bowl with the half-prepared eggs as she took the phone from her friend and assistant.

He made a face but picked up the whisk to continue where she’d left off.

“Brenna,” Theo said into the phone.

“We have a situation,” the Coalition’s FBI liaison said without preamble. “Elementary school in Waukegan, Illinois. It could be an infestation, at least one death that we know of so far.”

Theo felt a jolt of ice in her veins, agitating the things inside her. She made eye contact with Griffin and pointed to the small television set hanging on the wall over the breakfast counter.

The man grabbed the remote and pushed the power button, bringing the screen to life. One of the news channels was on, and Theo found what she was looking for.

“It’s on the television,” she said to Brenna.

“Shit,” Brenna cursed. “Was hoping to keep a lid on it. So much for that.”

“Anything else that you could tell me that might prove useful?” Theo asked, half listening to the call and half listening to the newscasters as they talked about the situation at the Waukegan elementary school. From the sounds of it, they believed an armed intruder had taken hostages.

If only, she thought, eyes studying the aerial shots of the brick school and the large police presence.

“Not yet, on my way to the scene. Just landed at the airport. I’ve sent a car to the house to take you to Logan, where a private jet is waiting to . . .”

“That’ll take hours,” Theo said. “We’re talking about children here.”

Theo’s eyes went to Cassie, who was watching her nervously, gnawing on the fingernail of her right little finger.

“It’s the fastest way,” Brenna said. “We’ll have Coalition agents here to help with the scene until you can get here.”

“It’ll be too late,” Theo said, feeling the markings upon her flesh starting to crawl, to counter the activity of the demonic inside of her.

“I’m sorry,” Brenna said. “If there was another way then I . . .”

“There is another way,” Theo said, an icy fist closing on her chest. “We’ll be there soon.” She hung up before Brenna could argue.

Knowing what she had to do.

“So I’m guessing this isn’t a hostage situation,” Stephen said, placing a plate of scrambled eggs and a fork in front of the little girl.

“No, it isn’t,” Theo acknowledged.

“Are we going?” Griffin asked.

Theo nodded. “Yeah, as soon as possible.”

“Can I go?” Cassie asked, digging into her eggs.

“No,” her father said. “Eat your eggs.”

Theo could see the beginnings of an argument brewing. “I was hoping you would stay here and help Stephen today,” she said to the girl. “He’s very behind in his work, and I think you are the perfect assistant for him.”

The child looked at Stephen.

“I really could use your help today,” he said earnestly.

“Oh, all right,” Cassie said, going back to her breakfast.

“I’ll get my things,” Griffin said, setting his coffee mug down and leaving the room.

Theo looked at her arms and saw that the marks were moving.

“Why are they moving?” Cassie asked, very seriously.

“Because the bad things inside of me are . . . excited.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s a chance that some children are going to be hurt very badly.”

“That’s not very nice,” Cassie told her with a firm shake of her head.

“No, it isn’t. Not at all.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Your father and I are going to try to help them.”

“Won’t the bad things try to stop you?”

“They will,” Theo admitted. “But they won’t succeed.”

“Good,” the child said, returning to her scrambled eggs. “You should never let the bad things win.”

Theo couldn’t have agreed more.

•   •   •

She left the kitchen, going out into the foyer to see Griffin descending the stairs carrying a satchel.

“I’m ready,” he said, hefting the bag as he reached the bottom step.

“Weapons?” Theo asked, eyeing the case.

He nodded. “Some things that have proven effective over the years.”

“We’re dealing with children, I’ll remind you,” Theo said.

“And you’ll just have to trust me,” he told her. “I’ve learned some things during my years with the Coalition.”

“Fine.” She hoped he was as good as he implied, but even more so, she wished John were back.

“Are they sending a car?” Griffin asked.

“We won’t be going to the airport.”

He looked at her strangely.

“This is where you’re going to need to trust me,” she said.

Griffin continued to stare. “Okay,” he said slowly.

“Because of the things inside of me,” she said, walking toward the center of the foyer, “I can do things as they can do.”

“Like?”

“Like get us to Illinois quickly. Just give me a moment,” she told him. “I need to kick a little demon ass first.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, opening a mental door into her psyche.

Where the monsters waited.

•   •   •

They knew that Theo would come for them, to enslave at least one of their foul kind to do her bidding.

They huddled deep in the darkness of her mind, their eyes glinting like jewels strewn across black velvet.

“So,” she said by way of introducing her topic. “Who wants to be on my good side?”

They continued to glare at her.

“Oh c’mon now,” she said, moving closer to where they hid. “You don’t really want me to come in and drag one of you out, do you? Think of how embarrassing that will look to your friends.”

They growled and hissed and gurgled their displeasure at her.

“I need a specific talent,” she continued, ignoring the sounds. “I need to get someplace very quickly, seconds if possible.”

Still, none of the foul things came forward.

“Look, I don’t have a lot of time,” she urged.

Billy Sharp sauntered out from the darkness. She sighed upon seeing him.

“What do you want, Billy? Come to negotiate for one of your friends? Well, no dice. Either one of you helps me, or I pick . . . and I doubt that will be very pleasurable at all.”

“I completely understand,” the demon wearing the face of her dead childhood friend said. “And we’d be honored to help you . . .”

“But,” Theo said.

“But we need something in return.”

“This again,” she said with a snarl. “This isn’t Let’s Make a Deal,” she told him. “This is me needing assistance immediately.”

“And we would gladly assist you with nary a struggle, if only . . .” The demon child paused.

“If only what?”

“Let us see,” Billy said simply.

“I don’t understand.”

“It is so very dark in here, inside your mind,” Billy said. “Let us gaze out through the windows of your soul.”

“You want to see through my eyes.”

“That’s all,” demon Billy said. “Not too bad, is it?”

“What’s the catch?”

Demon Billy looked shocked. “Catch? There is no catch. Let us see what you see while on this errand that requires such immediacy, and you’ll get what you need.”

“I kind of figured you wouldn’t want to watch television,” Theo said.

“Not our thing, I’m afraid,” the demon said. “So, do we have a deal?”

“Just to look out?” she sought clarification.

“Just to look out.”

She knew that she was probably making a terrible mistake, but time was of the essence, and there were children’s lives at stake.

“Okay,” she agreed. “But only for this assignment, then it’s back to lights out.”

“Excellent,” Billy said, rubbing his hands together and smiling as if he were about to have delicious cake and ice cream. He turned with a giggle and began to skip back toward the wall of darkness, watched by the two thousand demons, give or take, that he spoke for.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” Theo called after him.

“It’ll only be a moment,” he said, just before diving into the wall of blackness.

Theo started to believe that she’d been screwed when Billy emerged, holding the skeletal hand of something made up almost entirely of long, flowing black hair that moved in the air like seaweed caressed by gentle ocean currents. It didn’t appear to have any lower body, floating in the air like a balloon as Billy brought the thing closer.

She tensed as he released its claw, letting it slowly drift toward her.

“This is Elione,” Billy said. “A fiend of the air. I believe she is what you require.”

The fiend drifted closer as Theo stood her ground.

“Remember our deal,” Billy said.

“I remember,” Theo answered, preparing to allow the demon to come closer, so that she could assert control.

“We’ll be waiting,” Billy added.

And the fiend of the air rushed toward her, its hairy form flowing into her open mouth, her ears, eyes, and the pores of her flesh.

•   •   •

Griffin stared down at the woman’s twitching body and wondered how good an idea this was.

Certainly, any opportunity to get to the scene of the infestation faster was a good one, but truly, what was the cost?

He remembered how he’d been sent by Elijah to observe her at the Cho Institute, to determine the extent of fate that had befallen her. It was so much worse than they had expected.

Yet here she was now, functioning far better than they could ever have imagined. Certainly, the sigils tattooed on her flesh were allowing her the opportunity to control the demonic entities, and she appeared to be doing fine.

Better than fine, actually.

Theo moaned, her eyes rolling back into her head, and he wondered what was happening inside her.

“What’s the matter with her?” asked a child’s voice.

Cassie came down the short hall from the kitchen, looking quite concerned.

“She’s fine, darlin’,” Griffin told her. “She’s asking the . . . things inside her for help.”

Cassie looked at him. “I don’t think you can trust those things, Daddy,” she said.

“You’re probably right,” he said. “But Theo has a special way about her that just might work.”

Stephen came out from the kitchen, looking for Cassie.

“Sorry about that,” he said, extending his hand for her to take. “So, are you going to help me today?”

“You sure you don’t need me?” Cassie asked her father, looking back to Theo.

“I think we’re good,” he told her. “Thanks.”

“Okay,” she said, reaching for Stephen’s hand.

“Hey, how about a kiss for your dad?”

Cassie turned and darted into Griffin’s arms, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

“Love you,” he said.

“Love you back,” she answered, taking Stephen’s hand, the two of them heading toward his office.

Griffin knelt beside Theo, watching for signs of life. It didn’t even look like she was breathing now, and he reached his hand down to her delicate throat to check for a pulse.

Just as her eyes snapped open.

The eyes were totally dark, as if her skull had been filled with oil.

“Are you all right?” he asked, pulling his hand back.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice sounding raw and strained, as if she’d been screaming for a very long time.

Griffin then noticed the oddest of things. Her hair, already long, and past her shoulders looked as though it was getting steadily longer.

And looked like it was moving as if touched by a breeze that he couldn’t feel.

Or maybe it had acquired a life of its own.

Theo got to her feet, her hair covering her face. He could barely glimpse her wet, glistening eyes behind the intense growth. The hair, now down past her waist and getting longer, spread out around her, drifting in the air.

“Are we ready?” she asked.

He saw that her hands had morphed to something more resembling claws than fingers and was tempted to reach into his bag for a weapon, just in case.

“Yeah, there are kids’ lives at stake.”

And she nodded in agreement, beckoning him closer with long, spindly fingers with a hooked talon at the end of each.

“Closer,” she said to him.

Griffin hesitated but gathered his strength about him and picked up his bag, stepping closer.

Theo’s hair reached for him, and he nearly recoiled away but allowed himself to be entwined in the tendrils of black. He felt himself repulsed by the touch of the demonic, but he managed to hold his ground as the hair continued to flow, and grow, cocooning them both in row after row of hair the color of the darkest night.

Griffin’s eyes were covered, as were his mouth and nose, and just as he began to panic, he felt the world shift, and drop out from beneath his feet.

His body shifting from one place—

To another.

•   •   •

The thing that had been Caroline Rayland sat in the wheelchair of the nursing-home lobby, collecting its thoughts.

The television was playing on the wall across from where the demon sat, and something caught its eye.

The sound was turned off, but it didn’t matter. The demon knew from what it was seeing, what it was sensing, that this was an ongoing tragedy of an infernal nature.

It smiled, comforted to know that its birth into this world was indeed a timely one. That its purpose, foretold by the Lords of the Abyss, was to be fulfilled.

The demon shuddered. The responsibility that had been heaped upon it was nearly overwhelming, the future of its infernal kind dropped squarely into its lap.

It looked around the lobby. There were supposed to be acolytes to assist it, but it saw none. Its eyes kept drifting back to the television, hoping for a sign of something familiar.

Something that might remind it of home.

It had been so long since it had last seen the infernal realm.

From the corner of Caroline’s eye, the demon caught movement through a nearby window. It leaned forward in the wheelchair, watching a vehicle as it entered the parking lot, pulling into a space between two other cars, whose owners were part of the piles in the lobby.

It watched as the car’s door opened, and a man climbed out. He was tall and gangly, what hair he had cut short and close to the skull. The man sauntered across the parking lot toward the entrance.

The demon waited, making sure that the female form that it wore was innocent and harmless in appearance.

The stranger peered in through the window before going to the door to gain entrance.

The demon slid down a bit in its wheelchair, ready.

The man opened the door and stepped in, fixing his eyes upon the demon. “Hello,” he said simply.

The demon smiled, and the man smiled back.

“Oh, there you are,” the man then said.

The demon cocked its elderly head.

“I didn’t notice you there at first, but as soon as you smiled.”

The demon didn’t quite understand and tensed as the man approached.

“My name is Fritz,” he said, kneeling before the demon and averting his eyes. “I am answering the call of servitude. The infernal lords have sent me to assist you.” Slowly, the man called Fritz lifted his gaze to meet the demon’s. “You are the Cardinal, and I am your acolyte.”

The demon remembered its title, and smiled. Yes, the Cardinal, it thought, feeling a surge of importance flow through the human body it wore.

“Rise,” the Cardinal said, motioning for its servant to stand.

Fritz slowly rose to his full height. “How may I serve you?”

The Cardinal pushed itself up from the chair, noticing that it was still wearing the nightclothes of Caroline Rayland, stained and stinking of sweat.

“This form,” it said, continuing to examine the outside appearance. “To embark on a mission of such magnitude, a certain degree of modification will be necessary.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“This one,” the Cardinal said, raising a bare arm. It reached up with its other hand and sank its clawed fingernails into the flesh of the bicep and pulled the paper-thin skin away. “It’s far too frail for what is ahead.”

“I agree,” Fritz said.

“We will have to do this soon,” the Cardinal said, dropping the bleeding skin in a pile at its feet. “For if this body is badly damaged, or destroyed, it could very well be the end of me.”

“I understand,” Fritz answered.

“Good,” the Cardinal said, not quite sure how he was feeling about this acolyte. There was something the demon master could not quite put a finger on—something that annoyed it.

“We should be going,” Fritz said. “Wouldn’t be good for us to be here when the next shift shows up.”

“Yes,” the Cardinal said. “Though more bodies could provide further sustenance.”

“Though we’d be no further along to reaching the Vessel.”

The Vessel.

The demon suddenly remembered its importance. The acolyte was correct, which angered the demon lord. They needed to reach the Vessel to achieve their ends.

“True,” the Cardinal said, plucking at the front of its cotton nightgown. “We should dally no longer.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Their attentions were caught by movement on the television screen that hung on the wall. A Special Weapons and Tactics van was pulling up to the open area in front of the school, and men wearing black jumpsuits and holding high-powered rifles poured from the rear doors.

The acolyte started to giggle, and the Cardinal took its eyes from the screen to study the expression on the man’s face. There was a serious glee present there.

A glee that came from knowing far more than was evident.

“This thing,” the Cardinal said, lifting its bleeding arm and pointing to the large-screen television. “This is your handiwork?”

Fritz managed to tear his eyes from the screen to look at his new master.

“I set the wheels in motion,” he said, beginning to giggle again. When he saw that the Cardinal was not amused, he stifled his nervous laughter and coughed into his hand. “I’m sorry, a distraction from our true purpose,” he said.

The Cardinal nodded in agreement. “We should be on our way.”

“Of course.” Fritz turned and began to stride toward the door.

“Ahem,” the Cardinal said, clearing its throat.

Fritz stopped at the door, turning toward its master.

The Cardinal continued to sit in the wheelchair. Expectantly waiting.

“Sorry,” Fritz said as he returned to his master and began to push the chair toward the exit.

“Yes, I believe you are,” the Cardinal said with a growl of disappointment.