Dark Sacrifice (27 page)

“I don't believe you.”

A door opens at the back of the room—one of the horse stalls converted into a bedroom. Light shines out of the room, and I catch sight of a hunched form lying on the ground. Dena's head lifts and turns in my direction. She looks bad. Bruises turn her face a sickly purple and yellow color.

Tears spill from her swollen eyes when her gaze falls on mine. She shakes her head as her lips form my name. “Landry, no…”

The door opens wider.

Clarice steps across the threshold. She sees us and screeches. Her fists clench as she runs to her brother. She throws a punch at Red's head but he ducks. “Damn it, Bubba! How the hell did you manage to screw up the plan again?”

“I'm sorry. They showed up out of nowhere. What was I supposed to do? Let them go?”

Clarice's face blanches to the color of Dad's when she sees the blood staining the front of his shirt. His legs give out.

Clarice rushes forward as he slumps, and she wraps her arms around his waist. She eases him onto the ground. “Shit! We've got to stop the bleeding. Hurry and grab the first aid kit. It's under the kitchen cabinet.”

Red stares at her like she's crazy. “They've seen your face, Clary.”

“What?” She looks up to meet my eye and gasps. She rises from her knees and steps backward. “No! No, no,
no
, this can't be happening.” Her eyes shut for a long beat. Minute ticks of expression cross her face as she works through what this means.

Soon tears leak from beneath her sealed eyelids. “I told you to bring Mala LaCroix.” She scrubs her bloodstained fingers across her skirt. “She would've come on her own once she knew we had Dena.”

“Landry said she broke the curse on you.” Red waves the gun at her.

“So what? Not like she can't curse me again if I get in her way.”

“Is this about me?” I ask.

She scowls. “Ha, dream on.”

“Be honest.” I give her a sad smile, and her shoulder's slump.

“Maybe it started out about you. After I found out what my idiot brother had done to that old, slut witch, I figured we could get rid of Mala too. She cursed me, after all. Like I'd let her get away with doing that. Or with butting in on our relationship.” She gives me a sideways grimace. “Of course that was before I saw you talking to invisible people, but by then Red already had Dena.”

“Yeah, sis. Your plan sucks.” Red goes into the other room. I hear a cry, and he comes out of the room, dragging Dena behind him by her duct-taped hands. He throws her down beside Dad. “Let's just end this now.”

“But Landry…”

“He's seen your face. So has everyone else. The law's on the way so let's just kill them and get the hell out of here before we get arrested. Nobody else knows that Rathbone's dead. We'll use his gun, toss it where it'll be found, and they'll blame him for the murders.”

Reluctance slumps Clarice's shoulders further, but resolve hardens in her eyes. She's always been good about compartmentalizing her emotions. If it doesn't benefit her in the long run, she gets rid of it. Like with her favorite Barbie dolls. She only kept the valuable ones. The others she tossed in the trash. Boyfriends. She only dated those who could afford to splurge on her. The only reason she obsessed after me was 'cause she couldn't have me. She never loved me. She wanted to own me. And now that she can't, she's got no problem discarding me.

“You don't have to, Clarice,” I whisper.

Clarice gives a short shrug. “Sorry about this, Landry. Wish things could've ended differently. You understand why I've got to do this, right? Say you'll forgive me?”

“When hell freezes over.”

“Well, guess who's getting there first,” she says spitefully.

Clarice nods at her brother, who pulls me up onto my knees. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. Sharp twinges crack my spine. The demon's not fucking happy about what's going down.

“Why fight?”

Is this my thought or the creature's?

The awful awareness of the demon expands, filling my brain. Images play out. Dena, Dad, they're dying.
“Help them.”

It will save them if I retreat. Hide. Find a sheltered corner in my mind and close my eye. It'll come out to play with Clarice and Red. All I have to do is let it have control of my body.

Why don't I stop fighting?

'Cause the image of what it wants to do to them sickens me. Nobody should die like that. At least a bullet to the brain is clean.

“Murder is always messy.”

I grit my teeth and try to ignore the voice whispering in my thoughts, but with each second, it gets louder and mine grows softer. My heart speeds as my gaze flicks to the window by the front door. I thought a shadow crossed it. If anyone's out there, they'd better hurry. I can't hold out much longer. Neither can Red.

I watch Red's shadowed hand on the wall and the finger hovering by the trigger.

I close my eyes.

The crash of breaking glass jerks my eyes open.

The gunfire explodes in my ear, and I scream.

Blood runs down my face.

The demon waiting inside rushes to the surface.

B
ranches whip past my face. I grab for one and hold on for a brief second before I'm ripped free. My palm's warm from the blood, making my grip slick. George yells from far behind.

It sounds like my name. “Mala…”

I'm going to die.
My stomach crawls up my throat as Acker flings me into the air. I fly toward an elm. Jagged pieces of bark grow bigger. Individual stalks of moss are magnified. I can even see the march of ants across the trunk. It's like I'm moving in slow motion, but not. I'm moving fast.

I flash back to the girl I raised from the dead. I know how Lily felt—the fear, confusion, and, inevitably, the unfairness of knowing that when I fall, it's over. Will I hit hard enough to crack my skull like she did?

That's really gonna hurt. “Fucking Acker!” I yell.

My hands rise to cover my face right before I collide with the tree. Only I bounce, like I've smashed into a pad of cushioned air, flipping over backward in a somersault to crash to the earth. I lift my face and spit out a leaf. The air crackles, wavers, then solidifies into a grinning, pug-ugly face.

“Dena's been kidnapped,” I blurt out before he has a chance to torture me some more. “Help me find her.”

Acker crouches beside me. “So this is what it takes to finally get you to listen? Tried to tell you that days ago.”

“Maybe if you'd used your words like a grown-up ghost instead of trying to scare me to death, I would've been more receptive.”

“Still a smartass.”

“Always.” I sit up, rubbing my aching head.

Gloria Pearson steps from behind the tree. She flickers. Her haunted eyes glow with vacant rage, as if her battery cells have run down and can no longer keep her sane. “He killed me.” Her wail echoes through the trees.

“I know, Gloria. I'm so sorry.”

“Help me…”

The chill of her need settles over my skin and I shudder. Cold burrows deep, turning my core to ice. Goose bumps rise on my arms, and my teeth chatter. “Where's your body?”

“Fuck her body.” Acker shoves Gloria. The ghost screams and dissipates. “Save my daughter or I'll make your life hell on earth.”

Yeah, priorities. Dena comes first.
“Where is she being held?”

“Same place Gloria died.”

A gunshot rings out.

I lurch to my knees right when George barrels through a tangle of bushes. He doesn't see me crouched on the ground and trips. Our arms and legs tangle, each fighting to get free. George sits up, wild-eyed and panicked, until he sees me.

“Mala,” he cries, arms wrapping around my battered ribs. “I thought I lost you…” Blood drips from a scrape on his cheek.

“Stop squeezing me. It hurts.” I crawl out of his embrace.

“I'm sorry.”

“Did you hear—”

“Where else are you hurt?” He runs his hands down my arms. “Can you move your legs? How many fingers am I holding up?”

I cover his mouth with my hand. “Shush, I heard a gunshot.”

“What?” His head whips around. “Where?”

“In the direction of the pond. Landry…”

Screams come from the distance, too far away to pick out individual voices, but it sound like the twins. I lunge upward, steadying myself on the trunk of a tree. “Hurry, George.”

I hobble more than run so George catches up quickly. He grabs my hand, wrapping long fingers around mine. I stick to the path leading to the pond. Going off-road means fighting through the brush, and it'll take too long. I need to find Landry and the boys now. Even if it means I'm running into an ambush. Time's running out. It may already be too late.

“Acker said Dena's at the place where Gloria died,” I tell George. “The Acker hunting lodge.”

He sucks in a breath, nodding.

The path curves around a corner. I take it full speed and slam face-first into something hard. I ricochet off and fall to the ground. It's one of the twins, who grabs my arms, pulling me to my feet. George cups my face between his palms and stares into my eyes.
Why are there two of him?

“Her nose is bleeding.”

“Is she okay?” The twins pat my arms and back. One of them sticks a soggy tissue up my nostril. I try to focus on them, but…four knobby heads are two too many to focus on. My knees unlock, and I sink to the ground.

“She bumped her head earlier,” George says. “I think she's got a concussion. Can you take her back to her house?”

“You've got to help Landry…”

“…and Reverend Prince.”

“Must you finish each other's sentences?” I complain, shaking my head. The fog rolls off, and I blink. I must've missed part of the conversation. “What did you say happened to Landry?”

George stands on top of a downed log, talking into his radio. Reception must be sketchy here because he keeps stopping to move it. The twins huddle on either side of me with their shoulders pressed against mine—probably to keep me from tipping over again. My brain feels mushy.

“The bad guy caught Landry and his dad,” Daryl says over his shoulder as he gets up to walk over to the log. He stands on tiptoes, whispering up at George, “Tell them he's taking them to our hunting lodge. Dena's there too.”

I nudge Carl in the ribs with my elbow. “You're awfully quiet.”

Carl drags his index finger through the dust. “I'm scared. That guy's evil. He dragged me by my ear until it bled. He didn't care about hurting me.” He leans his head onto my shoulder and whispers, “Don't tell Daryl, but I still can't hear nothin' out of it.”

I bite my lip.

Carl nods, saying “That guy's gonna kill them. It'll take too long for the cops to get up here.”

I know.

George and Daryl return. “Backup's on the way. You guys get her home safely, okay?”

The twins grab my arms and help me stand. Once I'm upright, I brush their hands away, moving around to face George. “Where are you going?”

“I'm gonna go scout the area. The more information we have, the better to help the hostage negotiator.”

Crap. It's come to this. What's to stop the guy from killing Landry? It'll take at least two hours, maybe more, for the SWAT team to get through the bayou. George knows this as well as I do. “Oh, hell no. You're not playing hero and getting yourself killed. I'm going.”

“You'll just get in my way.”

“I'm fine.” I shove the twins toward the house. “Let's go.”

“Mala,” George groans, but doesn't put more effort in trying to change my mind. He knows me well enough to understand it's pointless.

My body feels like one massive bruise.

He shakes his head. “Won't you reconsider going back? It's not safe.” He speaks without inflection, but there is a slight tremble in the hand that brushes aside a branch from the path.

“I can do this.” I give him a sideways glance. “How are you holding up under the pressure? Bet you never expected a day like today.”

He shrugs. “I'm a deputy with the Bertrand Parish Sheriff's Office. I'm trained to expect the unexpected.”

“But a rogue ghost attack?”

“Well, that might be the most interesting story I'll ever get to tell.”

“Good God, no! My reputation's bad enough with all of the pesky rumors.”

George grins, but his alert eyes never stop scanning the surrounding woods. Even when teasing me, he's on duty. “Think of it as a good thing. Imagine all of the people you can help by using your abilities. How many murders can you solve by asking the victim who killed them?”

My eyes widen with each word. “Holy hell, you believe me.”

“I saw for myself.” He shakes his head.

I grab George's arm and pull him to a halt. Ahead of us stretches the barbwire fence bordering my property from Acker's. A
NO TRESPASSING
sign hangs on a tree overhead. Of the ghost himself, there's no sign. Maybe he went on ahead. “Acker was a freak survivalist. He booby-trapped his property. Dena taught me what to look for, so follow exactly in my footsteps. Okay?”

George nods. Tension holds his shoulders tight, and he keeps his hand by his gun belt.

I point out the traps as we make our way past—the colorless fishing lines attached to aluminum cans, which would alert anyone of our approach, and leaf-covered carpets with nails sticking out set in the earth at irregular intervals. I sabotage as many as I can without slowing our pace. They'd present a problem for the SWAT team when they arrive. All it takes is one person to set off a trap and their cover's blown.

“Over there…” I point to the converted barn sitting on a hill. Windows face in our direction, and the lawn area leaves virtually no cover for us to hide behind. It's too quiet. How do we know for sure that Landry's in there?

“Acker,” I whisper.

The old man appears in a storm of swirling leaves. “Hurry. Help my daughter.”

He looks terrified.

I sprint toward the lodge.

“Mala,” George hisses, but he's running too. He shoves me aside before I crash straight through the front door. His hands press down on my shoulders, and we squat beneath the front window. I peek inside through a slit in the curtain. My breath sucks in at the sight of Landry and Dena on their knees side by side.

Red Delahoussaye is holding a gun to the back of Landry's head.

He's about to be executed.

Acker materializes beside me. “My girl!” he bellows. A flowerpot rises from the ground. It revolves in the air, spinning faster and faster, and then shoots forward like a cannonball. The speed and force will take out anyone in its path.

“No!” I grab for the stem of the bush, but the thorns slice my fingertips as Acker sends the flowerpot crashing through the window. A high-pitched scream blends with the sound of breaking glass. The pot sails for Red's head, and he flinches. The gunshot reverberates deep in my chest. I shove the blinds out of the way.

George grabs my waist and hauls me back before I can climb through the broken glass. “Stay down,” he orders.

I'm shaking, so freaked I can barely think. I'm pissed until the throbbing pain of the cuts on my hands brings me back to reality. Yeah, climbing through broken glass is suicidal.

George waits until I give him a shaky nod, then runs for the front door. One good kick busts it in, but instead of running inside, he crouches beside the broken door. I crawl over until I can kneel beside him.

More gunshots ring out. Wood splinters break off the frame by George's face. He flinches back, his elbow bumping my chest. I crawl a little farther out of his way. “Sheriff's Office,” he yells. “You're surrounded. Lower your weapons.”

More screams come from inside.

George and I share a long look. He lifts a halting finger, and I nod. I'm brave but not stupid. Unlike him, I'm not wearing a bulletproof vest or carrying a weapon. He draws in a deep breath and swings his gun around the corner.

“Get on the ground! Get on the ground now!”

Unable to beat down my curiosity, I peek inside the room. The scene that greets me makes the spit dry in my mouth, and my heart stutters. Reverend Prince lies in a pool of blood beside Dena's prone body while her father stands above them, wailing. Acker tears at his hair, flickering in and out as if unable to materialize fully in his grief.

Landry has Red pinned against the wall with both hands. The bad guy's legs dangle a couple of feet off of the ground. Clarice is clinging to Landry's back with her elbow centered on his windpipe, and her other arm bracing it. The inability to breathe doesn't make him waver.

What's worse is the vacant look on Landry's face. He's checked out. Nobody's home but the evil demon. George freezes for a moment, unsure of who needs help. Obviously it's Red, since he's turning purple. I don't care if he dies. But he is distracting the demon from coming after us.

Shit! This is so bad.

George points toward Clarice, and I nod. We charge forward. I grab Clarice by the back of her stringy hair and yank. Strands rip from her skull, and she falls backward with a screech. I don't let her rise, but throw myself on top of her. She swings for my head, and I block her punch with my right forearm, wincing from the pain, then jab her twice in the face.

Her eyes roll up.

I glance at Dena, then hit Clarice a few more times until I'm sure she's unconscious.

George is having a rougher time of it. Somehow he's managed to get Red away from Landry—who doesn't look happy about being denied his revenge. Red's lying on the ground, but I can't tell if he's unconscious or…or worse. George sidesteps Landry's wild swings, dodging and weaving in a circle, always keeping Red as a buffer between them.

George holds the Taser in his hand but hesitates.

“Light him up, Georgie,” I yell. “It's not Landry.”

Landry turns at my voice. His eye meets mine. The gray has a yellowish cast. The alien presence flickers. No dumb beast there. It is calculating its odds for escape. At the same time, I know Landry's inside fighting to break free of its control. From the corner of my eye, I see George leap forward. The probes shoot from the Taser. Landry's back arches, and he falls with a guttural cry. His muscles lock, but as the charge dies, he lunges upward.

“Hit him again,” I yell.

George barely dodges the swipe for his ankle. He stumbles over Red, arms waving, and the Taser drops so he draws his gun from his holster. Landry crawls toward George with murder in his gaze. I just witnessed the strength he displayed while holding Red and Clarice. If he punches George, it's TKO, and then he'll be coming after me.

Landry will never forgive himself if the demon hurts me. And George might be feeling threatened enough to justify putting a bullet into him. I can't let either of those scenarios play out.