Page 65

Claire

M y assault didn’t damage Jim J; on the contrary, I’d just made him angry.

I scrambled to my feet and dashed for the direction Holly had left in.

He charged after me, into the cluttered mess of wood cutouts, and I nearly tripped over one shaped like a starfish.

I threw it in his path, stalling him for a few precious seconds as I fled.

He was quick, however, and caught up to me.

I snatched one of the tridents lying on the floor and turned, smashing it down over his head. It instantly snapped in two; it was a wooden prop. I used the end I still held as a improvised stake, stabbing him in the gut.

Jim J doubled over briefly but then began laughing.

He wrapped his fist around the impaled end of the broken prop and pulled it out, spraying blood.

I dropped the prop and tried to run again, but he lunged and slammed me against the painted backdrop.

The rusty anchor attached to it clattered to the floor with a loud, metallic thunk .

I shrieked, but that only inspired more cruel laughter .

“I enjoy your screams very much, my Vessel,” he murmured. “You’ll scream much more for me by the time we’re through.”

Fear was alive inside my body, but I wasn’t ready to surrender yet. I struggled in his hold, kicking and clawing at him. As he attempted to shield himself from my arms, I landed a knee in his groin.

Not even an immortal man could totally withstand that, it seemed, because he groaned and briefly released me. I twisted free and gained a few seconds of escape, but I heard him lumbering after me once more.

The loud bang of a gunshot rang out, and Jim J staggered. I glanced over my shoulder to see blood spurt out from a new wound in his chest. He toppled like a chess piece. I stumbled away from him, tripping over myself in my shock.

John stood at the back of the theatre, rifle raised. Relief surged through me at the sight of him, along with a new wave of terror as Jim J rose from the floor like a reanimated corpse, disoriented but surprisingly spry.

John shot him again. This time, Jim J managed to remain upright, and with an angry roar, he chased after me again.

I changed course and ran for the edge of the stage, toward John, trying to navigate around the long table.

He caught up to me, and I screamed as he pushed me hard.

Midair, I tried to twist away to avoid hitting the table, but smacked the back of my head on the edge.

Agony burst inside my skull, and I cried out. Wet warmth began to saturate my hair. Jim J grabbed a handful and yanked me to my feet, and I screamed again, the pain too intense to mask. John was nowhere to be seen now, undoubtedly having hidden himself among the aisles of the deserted theatre.

To my horror, Jim J leaned in close and licked across my cheek. I squeaked in outrage and disgust, but he just laughed and held me in front of him—a human shield. He didn’t need it for himself; I was bait.

“The joke, my dear man, is on you,” Jim J called out, amusement in his voice. “I love hide and seek.”

I tried to stomp on his foot, but I was too slow. He evaded me easily, then punished me with another hard pull on my hair. With his opposite hand, he withdrew a long knife, then teased the skin of my throat with the warm steel .

“I’ve never liked guns,” Jim J announced to the empty theatre, his voice echoing eerily in the stillness. “Too quick. Too efficient. The kill is something that the Prince of Pain savours . Death is a gift we give to our enemies; they should anticipate its arrival.”

My stomach dropped, but I didn’t dare move an inch with the edge of the knife pressed to my skin. Tension hung thickly in the air. At least the blood seeping from my scalp had slowed.

Jim J waited, but John didn’t reappear, and no sound announced his movements. I knew better than to think he wasn’t still there; he could be quiet as the grave when necessary. The best thing I could do was distract Jim J, in the hope that it’d give John the chance to make a move.

“James,” I managed to get out, my breath shallow. “You’re—”

He pulled the knife away from my throat and threw me onto the floor, knocking the wind out of me. I gasped, trying to catch my breath.

“You dare to address me, Vessel?” Jim J demanded. “Lower than dirt.”

He kicked me hard, making me cry out and curl into a ball. Half a second later, hot, sticky liquid hit my cheek; he spat on me.

“Now, you’ll see—”

Whatever grand announcement Jim J was about to make, it never came, because he was suddenly crushed underneath the falling weight of a bigger, heavier man. John had jumped from the rafters above and decked him. I scrambled on my knees to get out of the way.

John drew his knife, and as Jim J took in a huge gasp of air, he stabbed him in the back, angling the knife up under his ribcage.

Blows that would’ve killed anyone else, but Jim J barely flinched.

With a demented giggle that chilled my blood, he ignored the vicious stabbing that ensued; he barely seemed to feel pain. New terror flooded my system.

He’s not human—he can’t be.

He waited so casually, as though waiting patiently for John to tire. That’s exactly what he’s doing, I realized.

As though he’d had a sudden burst of adrenaline, Jim J rolled, violently knocking John off him. He sprang to his feet and kicked John—once, twice, and a third time for good measure. John curled into himself, stunned, and didn’t move .

A shriek of pure agony, not quite human, clawed my throat as I saw him lying there.

Jim J dove for me, tackling me onto the stage, and his tongue was back in my face.

I sputtered and spat at him, but out of the corner of my eye, I spotted John on his feet again.

The next second, the old, rusty anchor came down on Jim J, knocking him off me.

Before Jim J could react, John bludgeoned him again with the anchor. As he lay there, stunned, John raised the anchor one last time, grunting with the effort, and speared its sharp hooks into Jim J’s body with all his strength.

He hopped back, panting. Jim J’s manic grin returned, but as he tried to stand…he couldn’t. John had skewered him to the floor, and despite how he squirmed, the anchor was too heavy for him to move.

Still breathing heavily, John dropped to his knees beside me.

“Claire,” he exhaled, grabbing my face in his hands and examining me frantically. “Your head—”

“I think I’m okay,” I whispered. I had no idea if that was true, but now was not the time to worry. “What do we do now?”

John let me go and stood up again, setting his pack on the floor. He withdrew a matchbox from it, and struck one to ignite it.

“I’ll follow you, you know,” Jim J croaked, staring at me. “Wherever you go. You can’t escape your fate.”

“Neither can you,” John retorted, and before I understood what he was doing, he tossed the lit match into the cluster of wood cutouts and piled curtains.

Old and dry, they went up like a tinderbox, and the wood floor beneath them quickly caught, too. He struck another match and lit another pile of dusty theatre curtains. As the fire began to spread rapidly, Jim J called out.

“Help! Family! Please!”

His pitiful cries incited a new wave of loathing within me, and I was grateful when John clutched my clammy hand and pulled me toward an exit. A flaming curtain fell just as we left, covering Jim J, and his screams as he burned would haunt my dreams.

“It’s okay now,” John said, turning my face to look at him. His amber eyes were sharp and focused. “I’m going to get us home.”

I nodded, and he led through a series of hallways, then to a door that read Basement. At the bottom of the staircase, Holly waited, fidgeting nervously .

“Wondered when you’d show up again,” John said with disgust. “Thanks so much for helping us with Jim J, by the way.”

“I can’t let him know the truth; he’d kill me,” she said sharply to John, then turned to me, her face stricken.

“Your head,” she said, gesturing at me. “Are you—”

“I’ll take care of her,” John replied firmly, linking his arm with mine.

“You better,” Holly said, but her voice shook. “Take her and get as far away as you can. I’ll stall as long as I can, but the others will hunt you when they find out. Hide yourself in the woods at least until tomorrow.”

John gave a brief nod to Holly and pulled me toward an exit.

“Wait,” I said, looking back at my sister. “We can’t—”

“We can,” John said sternly. “And we are.”

“No,” I whimpered. “I can’t leave her again, not when—”

My protest was silenced by the sad, resigned look that Holly gave me.

“You need to go, Claire,” she said quietly. “I’ve made my bed, and my place is here.”

“But—” Tears streamed down my cheeks, and a sob escaped me.

If I’d been thinking rationally, I would’ve known we had to leave her. But I was exhausted, injured, and seized by frantic emotions I didn’t understand. Knowing she’d turned a corner made it feel like I was losing her all over again.

“You need to go,” she repeated. “I want you to.”

I stared at her, torn. My insides felt frozen.

“Claire,” John barked, snapping me out of it. “Come on.”

I swallowed reflexively and let him to pull me away.

The basement held a tunnel that led to the college on the opposite side of the road.

Crumbling and partially flooded with several inches of water, it wasn’t an easy trek, but it was better than the alternative.

With wet feet and my scalp still slowly oozing blood, we emerged into a warm June evening—into a world that appeared unchanged yet would never be the same.

The night was quickly illuminated by the burning theatre, engulfed in flames. Shouts came from the cultists, desperate to save their dear leader, even as it was futile. I did my best to put them out of my mind as we fled.