The Thirteen (27 page)

TWENTY-SIX

S
ANDERSON, HIS EYES CLOSED
against the pain, could not believe what was happening. The world had gone crazy. What had that old woman done to him? What did Rowan mean? He hurt so much he wanted to give up. But they had to find Paula …

“Rowan, we have to go back to your grandmother’s, or to my house. Your mom will—”

“My
mom
is with those women. They’re all witches, even my grandma. They’re going to do something bad to her.” She sat up as tall as she could, defiant, clutching the steering wheel hard. The car seemed to veer of its own accord from side to side, no matter how hard she tried to keep it steady. But she was doing well. Considering.

Mr. Keyes, however, was fading. He just couldn’t take this in. He was leaning his head against the window and he was very pale. His ankle and foot were grotesquely swollen, the skin shiny and the toes like fat little sausages. She knew she should take him to the hospital

(although part of her was quite willing to skip that part, the hospital where nurses were
witches)
but she had to get to her mother. She wanted her mother so badly, badly enough that she couldn’t feel how brave she was being. She didn’t know it, of course, but it was the same feeling that sends mothers into burning buildings.

She could see the glow in the sky and knew it was where she had to go. It was the only light in the neighbourhood.

“There it is,” she said. He opened his eyes to slits and looked at the strange light. Even as they stared, a kind of reverse aurora borealis was taking place, dark shapes blending and changing, merging and breaking in the sky over the house, faces appearing and disappearing, each of them a mask of agony.

“Christ!” Mr Keyes gasped, and shut his eyes again.

Rowan pressed down on the gas, biting her lower lip. She wanted nothing more than to feel the crucifix through her shirt, but she dared not take a hand off the wheel.

And then they were upon the place. It was surrounded by feral ivy. Through gaps in the ivy she could see an abandoned car, a pile of tires, a burn barrel.

Rowan slowed down, and as she did, the gate opened wide for her. The headlights picked up the shapes of women, standing around as if they were waiting for her.

“See,” she said, sighing. “I told you it was witches.”

Mr. Keyes seemed to have passed out. She wished she could too.

She drove in through the open gates. On either side of the car
things
slithered and sneaked.

The house seemed to rise up and stretch itself when the car came through the gate. Whatever was spewing from whatever portal now filled the air inside with the darkest of spirits.

Izzy picked her way towards the door. The floor had begun to seep. Wet, viscous, with unidentifiable bits of flesh, hair, bone spread over every surface. The smell was beyond horrible, but she didn’t notice. For the past two hours she had used too much of her energy keeping it all at bay, begging her dark god to honour her loyalty, her love, her
worship
.…

But she was growing weak. She stepped through the blood and waste of a thousand years towards the door. Towards the girl. To rescue them all and return things to where they had been. Where they should be.

You did not die for nothing, my darling David. Mommy promises
.

Mr. Keyes stirred, looked around. Shuddered.

“I’m getting my mom,” Rowan said.

He let out a loud groan and reached for her. “No—”

He missed, and Rowan opened the car door. But she couldn’t get out. A dozen eyes were on her, and she was sure some of them weren’t human. A small thing—maybe a man, maybe a boy—stood ten feet from the car, its head misshapen and bulbous, patches of hair missing. It carried something in a bag that was trying to get out, and something else wriggled near its foot: a tail, slick and pink like a rat’s. The man-boy thing smiled at her pleasantly. It had a mouthful of perfect teeth.

She squeezed her eyes tight and then opened them again. It was gone.

Mr Keyes reached out for her again, catching the back of her jacket.

“No!” he said again, and yanked.

She pulled away. “Sorry, Mr. Keyes. I’ve got to find my mom.” She got out of the car, telling herself,
Just don’t look
.

From the front door Izzy saw the girl coming. She gathered the last of her strength. In her sweetest voice, made all the more sweet by genuine longing, she called out, “Rowan! Oh, goodness, you’re here! Come here, darling! Come to—

come to Mommy

At the sound of her mother’s voice, Rowan began to run.

From the back pocket of her jeans, Izzy drew the knife. She stood at the doorway with arms spread wide, a smile on her lips, her head tilted kindly.

“Darling,” she said.

Rowan ran without reservation towards her mother, who held open her arms for her to jump into. She was so relieved, so happy to see her, that she was laughing and crying all at once. “Mom, Mom, Mommy—” she cried, her eyes never leaving her mother’s face. And then

(no?)

she saw her mother’s expression seem to waver, the way the road will on a sunny day, up ahead on the highway.

And she slowed so suddenly she nearly tripped, and then her mother’s face seemed to briefly

(no)

split in the centre and spread apart. Rowan screamed, and her hands flew to her face even as her momentum carried her forward. She hit the hard earth with an
ooompf!
and lay there, face first in the dirt, for a moment completely birdy.

No matter
. Izzy dropped the Paula charade but kept the voice, since the girl couldn’t see her now. This was all very exhausting.

Sweat ran down Sanderson’s face. He didn’t dare look at his leg, but he could feel his calf straining at his pant leg. He couldn’t think about that now. He had to get Rowan out of there.

Gritting his teeth, he lurched upright, trying not to listen to the hum of whatever was outside the car. It sounded like voices, but not real ones. The kind you imagine in nightmares.

He moved just inches at a time. But he was moving.

Rowan coughed as she caught her breath, then struggled to her feet. Her hands were scraped and she’d torn her jeans at the knee.

“Hello, Rowan,” said her mother.

But Rowan was staring at someone else.

“Do you like magic?” Izzy asked. She held up a knife, not with menace or threat, but like a mom coming to the door hollering for everyone to come in for supper. Sunday roast.

I’ll carve

Audra was almost at the gate. She paused for a moment to catch her breath and search inside herself for any reserves of stamina she might have left. There was very little, but some.

Suddenly there was a car behind her, tires spinning on the gravel road. She turned and looked into its headlights. Gusto barked. The car slammed to a stop and the door opened.

“Mom?”

Paula jogged over to her and the two of them stood there in the blinding headlights. “My God, Mom, what are you doing here? We have to get you back to the hospital.”

Paula tried to pull her to her car. With the last of her strength, Audra resisted. “No. Listen, please. I made a terrible mistake. I loved you and your dad very much, but I owed my debt.”

“What are you talking about? I have to get you to the hospital. Rowan is missing; I have to find her. God, Mom, I just ran away from here. It’s dangerous! They’ve all gone crazy—”

Audra kept talking, insistent. “It was supposed to be your father that day at the Rileys’. I never meant for anything to happen to David. I thought I was securing your future—”

“Mom, now is not the time—”

“Then He took your father anyway. I’m so sorry. Paula, I tried to protect you. You and Rowan.”

Paula had stopped tugging on her arm. Her expression was confused, alarmed. She stepped back now. “Mom … is she here?”

Both of them turned to look at the house. The second-floor windows were eyes. The front door was a black maw, lit with fire, shapes dancing. There was something seductive about it, a scent, a music of its own.

“It’s a portal,” Audra said. “I have to stop this.”

Izzy grabbed the girl by her jacket and pulled her forward. Rowan resisted, then screamed loudly, shrilly, as only a twelve-year-old girl can scream.

Izzy stopped and shook her head impatiently. “That’s enough!”

“Where is my mother? For real!”

Izzy yanked at the girl again, using only one hand because the other was full of knife. “Be a good girl now. Don’t you like magic? Everyone likes magic. Come with me and I’ll show you some goddamn magic.” Then she realized what she’d said and she laughed.

“Help!” Rowan screamed.

With an irritated groan, Izzy raised the girl up off her feet. Something odd vibrated through her arm. There was a special weight to the girl, a forceful weight, a productive weight. It confused her, derailed her. The knife dangled from her hand as she puzzled over the meaning of the force.

Just as Rowan cried out, Sanderson managed to push open the passenger-side door. A thing, hardly human, grotesquely moulded, peered at him and said uneasily, in a surprisingly suburban, motherly tone, “You can’t go in there. You can’t get the girl—”

Its hand reached over and grabbed Sanderson’s ankle. He threw his head back to howl in pain, the world around him growing fuzzy. He felt as if he was about to faint, when suddenly the hand was removed. He opened his eyes to see the creature being pulled away from him, its face a picture of surprise, almost comical. What the hell?

And a fierce and nearly unrecognizable

(Tex)

wrestling the thing to the ground. The dog buried its face in the creature’s throat and Gusto leapt into the fray, tugging on the thing’s arm.

The creature fought back, wrapped its arms around Old Tex’s neck and yanked hard. Gusto leapt around them, barking, dashing in to nip at the creature and jumping out of reach in an age-old dance.

“Good dogs,” he managed. “Keep it busy.” Fishing his hockey stick out of the car, he jammed it under his arm. Then he started limping after Rowan.

The disgusting thing’s force waned with every snap of their jaws. Eventually Tex and Gusto snapped at air; the creature dissipating, fading, and gone.

Gusto leapt about in triumph, not noticing at first that Tex could not. The old dog sat down heavily instead, then lay down on his side, his chest rising and falling in gasps. Gusto sniffed around him, licked his face, whined.

Gusto stood watch over the old dog, snapping and growling when things from the shadows came close. Old Tex lay still.

The house glowed orange-red, like fire, although Paula could not see much beyond the open doorway. The air was so loaded with heat and fury that for a heartbeat she was paralyzed with fear. Above them the hydro line snapped and hissed with a life of its own; she could smell the sharp odour of burning wire. The line buzzed, a robotic purr, like a cat before it leaps.

Then her mother rushed forward. Izzy was standing in the doorway of the Chapman house, Rowan dangling from one arm. Paula screamed, a mother’s wail of anguish.

“Izzy,
stop!”
Audra yelled. Izzy looked up and saw her, and then a small, sad smile crossed her lips.

But Izzy was lost. She shook Rowan, and the girl groaned and pried at her captor’s arm, nearly scratching holes in it. Something was wrong.

The girl shouted for her mother, and there was Paula in the yard. Izzy thought,
Too little, too late
.

late

Then she realized what the weight, the
substance
of the girl meant. She howled at the moon. “You’re bleeding!” she shrieked.
“You bleed!”

The girl bit down hard on Izzy’s shoulder through the thin fabric of the expensive T-shirt and Izzy screamed, but it was not because of the bite, but because she was so angry, so tired of black luck. She gave a mighty heave on the girl, all the strength in her coming from elsewhere, not from her old, skinny body.

“I’m using you anyway! You’re His! I
promised
—” And she pulled Rowan with her into the ugly dark maw of the Chapman house.

The earth under Paula shifted and rose as if it was waiting to trip her, to eat her up. She fell twice, picking herself up only to have a creature jump in front of her and speak, in horrible tones,
YOU ARE NOT INVITED IN
.

It wrestled with something it held in its arms. and Paula saw that it was a piglet, eyeless, with a misshapen jaw that showed all its teeth.

Her mother walked up the porch steps, unimpeded.

“Mother!” It was a cry of betrayal, despair. Shame.

Izzy half carried, half dragged the child to the altar. The Master’s works faded in and out in the flickering light, the damned and the forgotten. The reek was incredible.

Rowan screamed and squirmed in her arms.

Izzy threw her on the wooden table. Rowan’s head knocked hard against it, rendering her briefly, thankfully silent. Izzy held her down with one powerful hand and with the other raised the knife above her head. She began her words of offering.

Behind her, Audra said, “She is David’s child.”

Izzy stopped in mid-breath, the name bouncing around in her brain.

Then Audra was right beside her. She put her hand on Izzy’s back, and Izzy was surprised to realize that she could still feel human.

“Izzy,” Audra said, “Rowan is David’s child. She is your granddaughter.”

Rowan could hear everything. When the woman’s hand let up on her chest, she curled into a protective ball. She dared not open her eyes. All around the table there were … 
creatures
.

“Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom …” she chanted under her breath.

Izzy turned to Audra. “No.”

Audra nodded. “Yes. I was afraid to tell you. She’s my granddaughter too.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me something like that, Audra? Something that could have—”

Izzy looked down at the girl on the table, curled up and now sobbing. Her heart went out to her. She bent over and pried the girl’s hands off her face.