Chapelwood (The Borden Dispatches #2)(107)

I don’t know how to explain the other noise, except to say it was the sound of something growling or groaning, a long way away. It was almost like the tone you hear when you’re trying to make a phone call, but choppier and thicker, and more alive.

Whatever it was, it was hungry. And sometimes, between those little bursts of humming, moaning, and throbbing, I would swear to God that I heard it call my name. Just a whisper, threading through the song, over and over again like it was part of the beat of a drum—lurking behind the notes.

Was it a song? I’m not sure. It might’ve been a song.

It was a cry, at any rate. And I wasn’t getting away from it, because it was coming from everyplace at once. Where could I go if I wanted to escape it? I could have heard that cry at the bottom of the earth, or on the moon. It would’ve found me anywhere.

But that didn’t mean I shouldn’t run.

I kept up what I was doing, hugging the building I couldn’t see, because it was something to feel, at least, and that was all I had—but the cry wouldn’t leave me alone, and it drowned out everything else, even the way I panted from getting tired and being scared.

That’s why I didn’t hear it when someone came up and grabbed me.

It took me by the arm with a snarl and a hiss like a big cat would make, but it had hands like a person—and it probably was a person, once. Now its skin was so white I could actually see it in spite of the starless night. I couldn’t see it real clear, but there was a pale oval for a face, and white spiders for fingers, gripping me hard and trying to throw me to the ground.

I kicked for all I was worth, and twisted my body to wrench free from the white thing’s grip, and it worked—but it also threw me free from the wall, and then I was floating again, a balloon cut loose from the string. I scrambled away, backward, then on all fours, and then up on two feet because it was faster. And that thing was coming, and it was yelling at me. I heard the yelling despite the booming sound, louder than thunder, because the thing behind me wasn’t alone.

I heard more of them—this time, I heard them before I saw them, swooping around the building I’d used for shelter, coming from at least one other direction, too. They homed in on me, and all I could see were those bobbing white spots where their faces ought to be. Were they wearing robes? I remembered the sea of dark robes and gloves the times I’d been forced to visit before, but I couldn’t tell—I was so confused, so turned around.

All I could do was dodge them, one at a time, and soon I wouldn’t be able to do that anymore. They were herding me the way a dog herds sheep. They were chasing me back toward the main building, I could sense it—or I could fear it. That meant I needed to go the other way, but it was blocked by more bobbing, weaving shadows hissing like somebody’d done let the air out of them.

I shoved one in the face, and elbowed another in the belly. I wondered if I knew them. I wondered if I was hitting my mother, or my father—no, probably not him. I’d feel more satisfaction than terror if I’d cracked him in the nose. Even if I couldn’t see his face and didn’t know for certain who it was—my gut would tell me.

I spun around, waiting for the next one, trying to stay light on my feet and keep moving so they couldn’t grab me; I squinted into the bleak, flat nothing and, lo and behold, I saw the trees. Just outlines, barely sketches . . . like chalk marks that hadn’t been erased all the way. But they got brighter as I watched, and I wondered what I was seeing.

Then I realized there was light coming up behind me.

I turned to look and saw a ball of glowing yellow headed my way. At first I thought it was a ghost—something like Father Coyle. But then I thought it might be something bad—like Reverend Davis. Then I realized I was wrong both ways, because it was a woman holding a lantern.

And something else.

It was Miss Andrew. I mean, Lizbeth. I was so surprised I stopped moving, and that meant something grabbed me right away. I went to shake it off, but this one held on tight and I couldn’t wriggle loose. The thing got its hand all tangled up in my hair and it hurt like hell, so I started screaming. Why not? They already knew where I was, didn’t they? There was no more sense in playing quiet and waiting to get killed.

Round and round I went, so I only saw Lizbeth in flashes. She dropped the lantern she was carrying and then two-fisted whatever she’d been holding in the other hand—and that’s when I saw it better: She was holding an axe.

Weird. Where would she get an axe? And why would she know how to use it like that? These were the thoughts going through my mind—in between screaming and wondering how I was going to get loose of this creature that had such a hold on me.

Another thing took me by the foot and swept me off my feet.

I dropped to the ground on my back, knocking the wind out of me—but the pain on my head kept me from giving up yet. I kicked like a madwoman, and my hair started to rip, tear, and break. It stung like crazy, but I kept on struggling because I only had to hold them off another minute or two. Lizbeth was coming. Sure, she was old enough to be my momma (even my grandma, I think), but she was coming—armed with an axe, no less—and I felt good about that. It was the first hint of hope I’d had all day, and I held on to it as firmly as I’d held on to the building while I ran in the dark.

Lizbeth moved a whole lot faster than anyone expected. She swung that axe harder than any lumberjack I ever heard of, and she caught one of the shadowed figures square in the chest. I gasped in surprise—that was murder, right there. Wasn’t it? No, never mind—I don’t think so, because, like I said, they weren’t human anymore, no how. You can’t murder something that’s not a person.