The Burning Time (37 page)

“You...you promise?” The look of frightened hope in Mitch’s eyes made John more determined than ever to change his life.

“I swear.” John stood up and took Danni’s hands. “I swear to you, too. We’ll find a way.”

Danni shook her head, not in denial but in mock exasperation. “Great. Bad enough I could never find a local guy to date. Now I’ve got a long-distance relationship with someone who doesn’t even own a car. You expect me to drive to South Carolina whenever I want to see you?”

John let out a small laugh. “I guess I’ll have to invest in a car.”

Danni poked him in the chest. “Get with the times. Ever hear of an airplane?”

A shudder ran through John. He’d never flown. Too many supernatural beings used the skies for transportation. Just then, the loudspeaker announced that the bus to Pittsburgh was boarding. From there, John would change buses three more times before he reached home.

He leaned forward and gave Danni a long kiss, her lips tasting of sweet lemonade. He held the kiss until he ran out of breath.

“We’ll start with a train.” He picked up his case. “It’s safer.”

“Safe is for ordinary people,” she said, giving him a wicked smile.

He shook Mitch’s hand and then climbed onto the bus. Until it pulled away, he waved to Mitch and Danni through the darkened windows and smiled every time they waved back.

Only when the town of Hastings Mills was well behind him did he think about Danni’s last words and nod.

Safe is for ordinary people.

Maybe someday I can be ordinary again.

Inuvik, Northwest Territories

The battered, decades-old pickup came to a halt in a cloud of black, oily exhaust smoke. The blowing snow made it hard to see more than twenty feet, and the scattered buildings of Canada’s northernmost town appeared ghostly.

“Sure I can’t take you into town, Father?” the bearded man behind the wheel asked, as his passenger got out.

“No, thank you,” said the passenger, his face hidden in the hood of his coat. “I need to exercise my legs.”

“Suit yourself. But be careful. This weather can kill you fast.” The truck pulled away, belching diesel fumes as it picked up speed.

The hooded man raised a hand as if to wave good-bye and traced a series of symbols in the subzero air. A quarter mile down the road, the wheezing pickup suddenly slid sideways on the icy pavement and flipped over. A moment later, a ball of flame shot up as the truck exploded. Thick smoke rose from the wreckage, creating a column of black rising into the sky. Overhead, the storm clouds began shifting colors, as if absorbing the smoke and becoming one with it.

In a matter of seconds, the falling snow changed to icy pellets.

Laughing to himself, the hooded man walked down the road until he came to the flaming wreck. After warming his hands over the hot metal, he reached into the battered, snakeskin suitcase he carried. In it were two books. His fingers gently caressed the one bound in human skin and then moved on to a waterstained, burnt Bible. He pulled the Bible out and tossed it into the fire. Then he pulled the white collar from his shirt and cast it into the flames.

Hidden by the hood of his coat, the flesh of his old man’s face twisted and reformed itself.

Moments later, a heavyset, middle-aged man strode down the icy highway toward Inuvik. As he grew closer, the howling of dogs echoed from the town.

In the land of the Inuit, the
Amaguq
had returned.

The End

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