Tortured Souls (The Orion Circle) (23 page)

Logan lets out a low chuckle while he watches Carl dance around as though covered in bugs. Every time Daniel tries to grab at the webs, Carl dances away. Rebecca strides up and slaps Carl across the face.

“Get a grip!” she yells before backing away from the awestruck boy. “There weren’t any spiders left in there. It’s been sealed too long.”

“Uh, thanks,” Carl murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. “Um… are you sure there’s nothing on my back?”

“Carrll,” Rebecca growls, making him cringe.

Lights flicker on all around us, illuminating the large stone room. The room is circular, lit by numerous electric candelabra lining the walls. I guess Yardley wasn’t old school when it came to electricity. A black stone altar sits in the middle of the room. Before I realize it, I’m walking toward that menacing structure. Grooves are carved all over the rectangular structure. Better to drain you with…

“This isn’t for…” I trail off, my finger shaking as I point at the offensive altar.

“Maybe not human, but yes, I think the grooves are to drain blood from a sacrifice,” Mr. Kincaid says in a soft voice that echoes in the silent chamber.

“I think I should lower my barrier, see if anyone wants to communicate,” Logan murmurs while circling the altar. “My guess is something awful happened here.”

“I need to do it, Logan,” I say, cursing my sudden bravery. But the fact remains, the victims came to me in a vision, not him.

“Are you sure?” he asks, brushing my hair from my shoulder. When I nod, he sighs. “Okay, but let me hold you. Physical contact should help keep you grounded.”

I bite my lip to keep from smiling. Yeah, like I’d ever turn down an excuse to be held in his arms. He takes my hand, leading me over to a bare wall. We settle on the cold stone floor, and he pulls me between his legs. Once his arms are wrapped around me, I lean back into his chest and close my eyes. With a gentle push, I lower my mental barrier, allowing the psychic energy of the room to waft over me. Fear. Euphoria. Agony. Betrayal. Utter hopelessness. So many strong emotions invade my mind at once.

“It hurts,” I whisper in a raspy voice. “So much.”

“Stop thinking of your mental barrier as one big dam,” Logan says, rocking me in soothing motions. “You have different powers. Block your empathic abilities.”

“How?”

“Imagine a hallway with lots of doors,” he murmurs. “That door at the end of the hall, the one on your left. Can you see it?”

“Yes,” I reply, moving down the imaginary hallway in my mind. My body trembles from the influx of emotion.

“The door is slightly open and shouldn’t be,” he says as his arms tighten around me to quell my shaking. “That’s the door to your empathic ability. Close it and lock it.”

Focusing on his words, I slam the door shut, breathing a sigh of relief when the tide of emotions wanes.

“Ellie, are you here?” I call out. “Please, Ellie, tell me what happened here.”

I’m in the same room, but seeing it through the eyes of someone else. My arms are wrenched behind my back, held in an iron grip. Figures in black hooded cowls chant in low tones. My eyes dart around the room looking for help, some means of escape. But there is none.

Hot tears trail down my cheeks as my captors drag me toward a stone platform in the center of the room. The faceless monsters chain me by the wrists and ankles to the table. Black and red candles are placed all around my body. I struggle in my bonds, but it has no affect other than to cut the iron shackles into my skin.

Toneless chanting increases in fervor and volume as the hooded figures pace around the table in some strange ritual dance. My heart hammers, every beat painful. A figure garbed in a red cloak moves forward wearing a mask resembling some sort of demonic goat. My struggles renew when I see the long dagger clutched in his hand.

Oh God! No! Please, God, protect me from evil!

I yank on the shackles holding my wrists, but even slick with blood, I can’t slip free. The chanting is nothing but screams now as the goat man raises the dagger over my body. I clench my eyes shut when the dagger descends toward my torso. Sharp, unbearable pain! My head reels and my stomach rolls with wave after wave of nausea. Tearing. Agony. Then blessed darkness.

“Come back to me, baby,” Logan whispers in my ear.

He continues to call to me in low murmurs, coaxing me back from the nightmare vision. I latch onto his voice—concentrate on the feel of his hands smoothing my hair, his lips on my cheek. My eyes snap open, and I throw my arms around him, clutching his t-shirt in my fingers. I gasp out a choked sob when I try to describe what I saw in my vision. My ribs hurt. It feels as though someone ripped one right out of my body.

“I-I,” I stumble over the words, my mouth not obeying my brain’s commands.

“Shh,” Logan murmurs, kissing my forehead. “Give yourself some time to recover. You gave us all a good scare.”

“Scare?” I manage to squeak out the one word.

“You were in that vision for a long time,” he says. “I was getting really worried.”

A bottle of water appears in my line of vision. I take the bottle from Rebecca with a muttered thanks. She had the foresight to open it, and I take several long gulps. The cold liquid feels like heaven on my raw, parched throat.

“Was I screaming?” I ask after several more sips of water.

“Yeah, a lot,” Rebecca says in a shaky voice. “Do you remember what you saw?”

“Can’t forget,” I whisper, trembling from the memory. “I can still feel the pain. It was awful.”

“Tell us what you saw,” Mr. Kincaid says from across the room. “Take your time.”

“The cult did some sort of ritual here,” I murmur.

The water bottle falls from my limp fingers. It rolls across the room, spilling on the stone floor. I watch the liquid run across the stones, seeping into the seams.

The liquid should be red.

“Did you hear that?” Logan asks, his eyes darting around the room.

“It was Ellie,” I reply, closing my eyes. “They did something awful to her here. To all of the children. In my vision, I was Ellie. I… she was chained to the stone table in the middle of the room. The cult members were all wearing black cloaks and chanting.”

A keening wail fills the room, stopping my words. Poor Ellie. She suffered so much in life and is still a prisoner in death due to that dark ritual.

“I’ll free you, Ellie,” I call out to the restless spirit. “I’ll do everything I can. I promise.”

“What happened?” Logan asks, coaxing me to continue the story.

“The head guy, Yardley I guess, appeared. He was in a red robe and wearing a demonic goat-like mask.” My head falls to Logan’s shoulder as I gather the courage to continue. “He raised this curvy dagger over me… her. There was a shooting pain in my side followed by this awful wrenching sensation and a loud pop. He took one of her ribs. I think that’s what Yardley used to seal the spirits here.”

“A bone would be ideal to seal a spirit,” Mr. Kincaid says. He crosses the room and pulls me to my feet. “We need to get out of here. I may not be psychic, but I’m getting a bad feeling. I learned a long time ago to trust my gut.”

Mr. Kincaid ushers us through the secret passage before turning off the light and trapping us in inky darkness. Flashlights flare to life. I race behind the others, focusing on Rebecca’s retreating form. Hurried footsteps echo on the hardwood floor as we run from some unseen force.

The closer we get to the front door, the more I believe Mr. Kincaid is right. Pressure builds around us—crackling energy that sends my hair flying around my body. Logan grabs my hand, and a jolt of static electricity jumps from his hand to mine. He gives me an apologetic glance before lacing his fingers with mine. We burst through the doorway out into the bright afternoon sunlight.

Chapter Twenty-Four — The Barn

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Barn

As I gasp in deep breaths of fresh air, the immense pressure on my chest begins to fade. I collapse onto the porch steps, holding my head in my hands. Was that Yardley? Maybe he didn’t like us poking around his inner sanctum.

“What the hell was that?” Rebecca asks, hugging her arms around her body. “It was so cold. I can’t stop shaking. Was that Yardley’s ghost?”

“Whatever it was, it didn’t want us in that room,” Daniel says while pacing back and forth.

“Caw, caw, caw.” Several crows screech as they take flight from the railing.

A gust of frigid air blows from the house through the open front door. It hits me in the back, sending me flying across the gravel drive. Tiny stones scrape into my hands and arms as I shield my face from harm. When my body finally skids to a stop, I stay curled up on my side, afraid to move. I feel frozen. My entire body is so cold. It’s as though I’m immersed in a snowdrift. Each breath burns my lungs.

“Kacie!”

“Cici!”

The shouted voices sound so far away, yet I can feel the footfalls on the gravel as they race toward me. I open my eyes, searching for a dose of reality to drive back the frigid cold. My teeth chatter when I open my mouth to speak. Nothing comes out but a hoarse croak. Logan falls to his knees, skidding to a stop beside me. When he helps me into a sitting position, I blink in surprise. The blast I thought knocked me over, threw me several yards away.

“Kacie, are you okay?” Logan asks, cradling my trembling body against his.

“He’s afraid,” I say, my lips turning up into a grin. “When his essence plowed into me, I felt intense anger. But at the edges, I also felt fear.”

“Your hands are like ice,” Logan says when he grasps them in his. “And your arm is all bloody. I’m going to enjoy taking that bastard down.”

The anger in his eyes over my injuries warms my heart. As my body thaws, my arm begins to sting from the gravel burn. Logan helps me to my feet, supporting me on the walk over to the van. My jeans have several new holes in the thighs and on one knee. It was rather lucky I was wearing jeans and not shorts, or my legs would be as bad as my arm.

“Set her down here,” Carl says as he flings open the back door. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

“She needs more than a first aid kit, Carl,” Daniel says, helping Logan situate me in the back of the van. He cradles one of my arms. “We need to wash the road rash off.”

“Let’s head back to my house,” Mr. Kincaid says. “We’ll get Kacie taken care of and discuss our findings today.”

“No!” I shout a bit louder than I intended. Cringing, I glance up at Mr. Kincaid. “Sorry. We need to investigate the barn before we go. When Yardley’s spirit hit me, I felt his fear. We’re getting really close and he doesn’t like it at all.”

“That’s exactly why we need to leave,” Mr. Kincaid argues, crossing his arms over his chest. “He threw you ten yards, Kacie.”

Rebecca moistens a towel with some bottled water before handing it to Daniel. He wipes at my forearm with gentle strokes. I hiss at the sharp pain as little pieces of gravel break free from my skin, clattering to the floor of the van.

“His spirit used a lot of energy in that attack,” Logan says. He pulls me up on his lap while Daniel continues his ministrations on my arm. “He must be pretty weak right now. It’s a perfect time to poke around since I doubt he’ll have the energy to attack again soon. As long as you’re up to it, Kacie.”

I nod then rest my head against his shoulder. Closing my eyes, I return to the vision, trying to see the scene from objective eyes. During the vision I was frantic, terrified. I couldn’t think clearly enough to take in my surroundings in any detail. Something about Yardley niggles at my brain but I can’t quite figure out what.

“This one’s pretty deep, Cici,” Daniel warns.

The rag scrapes against the shoulder that took the brunt of the impact. When I glance down, rage bubbles to the surface. This was one of my favorite shirts! Gavin got me this Avenged Sevenfold shirt from a concert I couldn’t go to. He was so sweet, and the gift is a happy memory. Now the shoulder and arm are shredded. With tender fingers, I pull on the shredded material. It’s beyond repair. Damn.

“Actually, I think the shirt looks cool like this,” Rebecca says, noticing my distress over the torn shirt. “We can make the other side match. I’ll help you later.”

“Almost got it all,” Daniel murmurs, running the towel over my shoulder with a gentle swipe. “Yep, I think that’s the best I can do for now.”

I cry out from the pain when Daniel sprays the entire area with an antiseptic. Logan’s arms tighten around me, and I cling to him with my uninjured arm. The entire area stings so badly it reminds me of the time I fell on a fire ant hill.

“We’ll have Dr. Hayes take a look at it later,” Mr. Kincaid says in a calm tone, though he shuffles from foot to foot, revealing his anxiety.

I start to protest when Daniel winds a gauzy bandage around my arm, but the dark glare he shoots at me leaves the words stuck in my throat. I feel like the subject of a game of doctor. He wraps the bandage up over my shoulder before securing it with paper tape. Maybe a game of Egyptian mummy would be more appropriate. I can’t go home with my arm wrapped like this. Dad will flip. He’ll decree that the Circle is too dangerous, and no amount of Dr. Hayes’ brand of persuasion will change his mind.