Summoning the Night
Page 53
“Let’s talk,” Lon demanded.
“Talk? About what?”
“For starters, why don’t you tell us about Jesse Bishop? We found your handiwork in the cannery. Was he your assistant? Did he help you snatch those kids, or did he catch you with your pants down?”
The magician’s eyes remained steady, but his fingers curled up under the edges of his robe sleeves like snails retreating into their shells. It took him several moments to answer. When he finally did, he sounded exhausted. Demoralized, almost. “You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“Why don’t you explain,” Lon suggested. “We’ve got time. Why don’t you also tell us why you were biting the kids you kidnapped thirty years ago?”
That got the man’s attention. A wave of surprise shadowed his face. “It’s no use, because you won’t believe me.” He backed up another step and hit the dresser, steadying his fingers on the edge of it. “There’s something far bigger going on that you can’t comprehend. The best thing you can do right now is forget you ever saw me and leave it alone.” His hand inched further back along the dresser top as he spoke. “Because it won’t end. If he’s not successful this time, he’ll just keep trying. Thirty years are nothing to him.”
“Who will keep trying?” Lon asked. “We saw Bishop’s bones. We know he’s dead.”
Merrin sighed. “Bishop was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Then who are you talking about? Why are the children being taken?”
Did Lon see Merrin’s hand moving? I stuck my own hand in my pocket, ready to retrieve my small caduceus.
The magician shook his head and looked away.
“We’re not leaving until you answer me,” Lon snarled, gesturing with the Lupara. He was too angry, not paying attention.
“Hey!” I shouted, my eyes on the magician’s roaming fingers. I tried to yank my caduceus out of my pocket but it got stuck sideways, like a bone wedged inside a throat. That cost me. The magician’s hand grabbed what he’d been seeking, some sort of engraved disk that fit into the palm of his hand.
The lights around the theater mirror flashed off and on as Merrin quickly pulled electricity and released kindled Heka through the disk, pushing it right into us. My hair blew back as charged Heka punched me in the chest so hard that it knocked me off my feet. I didn’t even have time draw a breath before I was thrown backward into the wall.
My leg twisted painfully as I tumbled to the floor. Lon’s head snapped to the side. The Lupara flew out of his hand—a deafening blast cracked the air when it hit the floor and went off accidently. The theater mirror shattered. Better it than me. The Lupara rotated near my feet like a lethal spin-the-bottle while the sharp scent of spent gunpowder blossomed.
And Frater Merrin was already racing down the steps.
I scrambled to pull myself up, afraid the vintage gun might go off again as Lon retrieved it. When I put weight on my twisted leg, pain flared. One of Lon’s arms flew out and snagged me around the waist.
“You okay?”
“Goddamn knee,” I bit out, testing it again. Better this time. Nothing broken.
“Can you—”
“Yes, go,” I shouted, pushing him toward the stairs. I winced as we raced down to the altar, wondering just how fast a man in his sixties with a bad back could run. Halfway down the stairs, I got my answer. The beaded curtain swung in the distance as commotion surged behind it in the foyer.
“Call the police!” Frater Merrin cried out between heavy breaths.
Awesome. Just what we needed. We stormed through the temple and tried to catch up with him. Dear God, I was hurting. A sharp pain shot up and down my leg with every step. It was all I could do to push it out of my mind and plow forward, a few steps behind Lon.
I heard the front door crash open. He wasn’t far ahead of us. A swell of angry cries rose up when we pushed through the beaded curtains and burst into the foyer. Lon flashed the Lupara and everyone backed up. Someone in the crowd echoed Merrin’s instruction to call the police.
We darted out the open door and took a sharp left through the covered walkway. It was pouring rain now. I tore after Lon, nearly slamming into him when he stopped short. His torso whipped around as he quickly scanned the sidewalk behind me in disbelief.
“What?” I looked past him. No Merrin.
“What the hell?” Lon mumbled breathlessly. He turned to the street punks still huddled against the inner wall along the sidewalk, smoking cigarettes and sharing a case of Milwaukee’s Beast. Only one of them was an Earthbound, a small boy with his hair dyed bright blue to match his halo, maybe sixteen. Lon singled him out, probably hoping for a little brotherly help. “Which way did he go?”
The blue-haired boy shrunk closer to the wall and shook his head nervously.
Lon repeated his demand to the rest of the punks, but was met with a sea of disinterested faces. No one said a thing.
With a growl, Lon shoved the Lupara back into his jacket and ran toward the street. I raced after him, cutting through a slippery patch of mud and dead grass. I bounded onto the cracked sidewalk half a block behind, but he wasn’t running anymore, only turning around in circles, searching. Traffic raced by, splashing sheets of rainwater as we both surveyed the area. A few umbrellas danced along the sidewalk on both sides of the busy road, but no man in ritual robes.
Frater Merrin had disappeared.
“Talk? About what?”
“For starters, why don’t you tell us about Jesse Bishop? We found your handiwork in the cannery. Was he your assistant? Did he help you snatch those kids, or did he catch you with your pants down?”
The magician’s eyes remained steady, but his fingers curled up under the edges of his robe sleeves like snails retreating into their shells. It took him several moments to answer. When he finally did, he sounded exhausted. Demoralized, almost. “You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“Why don’t you explain,” Lon suggested. “We’ve got time. Why don’t you also tell us why you were biting the kids you kidnapped thirty years ago?”
That got the man’s attention. A wave of surprise shadowed his face. “It’s no use, because you won’t believe me.” He backed up another step and hit the dresser, steadying his fingers on the edge of it. “There’s something far bigger going on that you can’t comprehend. The best thing you can do right now is forget you ever saw me and leave it alone.” His hand inched further back along the dresser top as he spoke. “Because it won’t end. If he’s not successful this time, he’ll just keep trying. Thirty years are nothing to him.”
“Who will keep trying?” Lon asked. “We saw Bishop’s bones. We know he’s dead.”
Merrin sighed. “Bishop was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Then who are you talking about? Why are the children being taken?”
Did Lon see Merrin’s hand moving? I stuck my own hand in my pocket, ready to retrieve my small caduceus.
The magician shook his head and looked away.
“We’re not leaving until you answer me,” Lon snarled, gesturing with the Lupara. He was too angry, not paying attention.
“Hey!” I shouted, my eyes on the magician’s roaming fingers. I tried to yank my caduceus out of my pocket but it got stuck sideways, like a bone wedged inside a throat. That cost me. The magician’s hand grabbed what he’d been seeking, some sort of engraved disk that fit into the palm of his hand.
The lights around the theater mirror flashed off and on as Merrin quickly pulled electricity and released kindled Heka through the disk, pushing it right into us. My hair blew back as charged Heka punched me in the chest so hard that it knocked me off my feet. I didn’t even have time draw a breath before I was thrown backward into the wall.
My leg twisted painfully as I tumbled to the floor. Lon’s head snapped to the side. The Lupara flew out of his hand—a deafening blast cracked the air when it hit the floor and went off accidently. The theater mirror shattered. Better it than me. The Lupara rotated near my feet like a lethal spin-the-bottle while the sharp scent of spent gunpowder blossomed.
And Frater Merrin was already racing down the steps.
I scrambled to pull myself up, afraid the vintage gun might go off again as Lon retrieved it. When I put weight on my twisted leg, pain flared. One of Lon’s arms flew out and snagged me around the waist.
“You okay?”
“Goddamn knee,” I bit out, testing it again. Better this time. Nothing broken.
“Can you—”
“Yes, go,” I shouted, pushing him toward the stairs. I winced as we raced down to the altar, wondering just how fast a man in his sixties with a bad back could run. Halfway down the stairs, I got my answer. The beaded curtain swung in the distance as commotion surged behind it in the foyer.
“Call the police!” Frater Merrin cried out between heavy breaths.
Awesome. Just what we needed. We stormed through the temple and tried to catch up with him. Dear God, I was hurting. A sharp pain shot up and down my leg with every step. It was all I could do to push it out of my mind and plow forward, a few steps behind Lon.
I heard the front door crash open. He wasn’t far ahead of us. A swell of angry cries rose up when we pushed through the beaded curtains and burst into the foyer. Lon flashed the Lupara and everyone backed up. Someone in the crowd echoed Merrin’s instruction to call the police.
We darted out the open door and took a sharp left through the covered walkway. It was pouring rain now. I tore after Lon, nearly slamming into him when he stopped short. His torso whipped around as he quickly scanned the sidewalk behind me in disbelief.
“What?” I looked past him. No Merrin.
“What the hell?” Lon mumbled breathlessly. He turned to the street punks still huddled against the inner wall along the sidewalk, smoking cigarettes and sharing a case of Milwaukee’s Beast. Only one of them was an Earthbound, a small boy with his hair dyed bright blue to match his halo, maybe sixteen. Lon singled him out, probably hoping for a little brotherly help. “Which way did he go?”
The blue-haired boy shrunk closer to the wall and shook his head nervously.
Lon repeated his demand to the rest of the punks, but was met with a sea of disinterested faces. No one said a thing.
With a growl, Lon shoved the Lupara back into his jacket and ran toward the street. I raced after him, cutting through a slippery patch of mud and dead grass. I bounded onto the cracked sidewalk half a block behind, but he wasn’t running anymore, only turning around in circles, searching. Traffic raced by, splashing sheets of rainwater as we both surveyed the area. A few umbrellas danced along the sidewalk on both sides of the busy road, but no man in ritual robes.
Frater Merrin had disappeared.
