A Barricade in Hell (37 page)

Churches were often full of ghosts, but I suspected this gathering wasn't made up of departed members of the congregation. They were connected to Fontaine, almost certainly victims. I couldn't tell if these spirits had been summoned by the power in the room, or come to watch Effie Fontaine of their own accord.

A blue velvet curtain parted at the back of the stage, allowing a double row of men and women dressed in dazzling white robes to march through the murky opening. They split the line at the front of the stage, half going left and the other half right. The choir was already singing a hymn and clapping their hands as they moved into place, voices blending in harmony. People in the audience began to sing and clap as well, caught up in the pageantry.

And it was a pageant, a show not unlike the revivals held in the church I attended as a child. I'd always appreciated the showmanship and fire of the pastors who traveled from town to town, and how they pulled people deeper into the fever of belief until they couldn't help but join in and shout hallelujah. The mild-mannered reverend who spoke from the pulpit Sunday after Sunday believed just as deeply, but his sermons inspired little in the way of passion.

Dora and I traded looks. Passion and belief were a potent source of power unto themselves. Effie Fontaine knew all the tricks.

A second hymn was nearing its end when I saw the man from the furrier's shop, Maximillian, slip from behind the left side of the curtain. If I'd been as enraptured as the rest of the audience, I'd never have seen him. He kept to the shadows at the rear of the stage, appearing to watch everyone at once and looking at no one in particular. I knew I didn't want him to look at me.

Another man, dressed in a gold-trimmed black robe and grinning broadly, stepped through the same center opening as the choir used. He strode to the front of the stage, roaming from side to side and clapping in time to the music. Tall and broad shouldered, and with his dark hair slicked back, he reminded me a great deal of the revivalists from my childhood. As the hymn ended and the music died away, he stood precisely center stage, still smiling and leading the applause.

“Brothers and sisters!” His deep voice had a slight Southern lilt and carried easily over the noise, his words so clear that it struck me as unnatural. People grew quiet, leaning forward in their seats to listen. He pointed at the crowd, picking out people in different parts of the hall. “I'm gratified to see so many people here tonight. While I see old friends, I see lots of new faces as well. Praise God, brothers and sisters, our campaign is working. The rightness of keeping our boys home where they belong is taking root in the hearts and minds of San Francisco. Effie's message of peace is spreading! Praise God!”

People clapped and cheered again. A low chant began in the back of the room, building until the sound was deafening.
“Effie! Effie! Effie!”

Dora's narrowed eyes and focused expression told me the preacher had all her attention, but she gripped my hand tight enough my fingers ached. She clung to Randy as well, fighting not to be swept away on a tide of emotion. The rising power in the room battered at me. I couldn't imagine how bruised Isadora felt.

Movement at the back of the stage drew my attention from the preacher. Maximillian had moved forward, coming more into the light. Behind him, the hazy forms of dozens of ghosts took on more shape and substance, moving with him. All the spirits following the hunter were children.

At the very front of the throng of sad-eyed young haunts stood the little girl spirit. She watched me intently. I'd no doubt that in the midst of the noise and the commotion, the cheers and shouts, she'd made sure I'd see her and pay attention.

One by one, the small ghosts transformed to streams of silver gray mist that darted toward the little girl spirit. She absorbed each phantom child into herself, outwardly appearing unchanged.

Bright blue eyes stared into mine, leaving behind a kind of truth that left me wanting to retch. All the child ghosts following Gabe home, gathered on street corners for me to see and watching outside the police station; Maximillian had marked all of them as prey, waiting his chance to take them unobserved. They'd all died at his hand.

Dora's words came back to me. Not all monsters confined their hunting to adults.

I still didn't know whether this innocent-looking little girl was a demon or a benevolent guardian, not for certain. Nor could I say what power brought this spirit into being, but now I knew her purpose. She hid the spirits of his victims from Maximillian and kept him from adding to Effie Fontaine's power. Not all his victims had escaped or found shelter with her. Her hatred of Maximillian and what he'd done sat in her eyes. She knew, as I did, that their souls were lost forever.

She looked tiny, frail, but she had the strength to resist all my efforts to banish her from my life. All ghosts were strong in the way they clung to the world of the living, refusing to move on until they'd fulfilled their purpose. Now that I knew her secret, I prayed she'd leave Gabe alone.

Music swelled again and the preacher onstage stepped to one side, looking expectantly toward the opening in the curtains. Light glimmered behind the small ghost, a hole in the shadows filling the back of the stage. The little girl spirit faded into the summer day I'd glimpsed before, taking her charges with her. Fleeing before the looming darkness preceding Effie Fontaine swallowed them all.

Miss Fontaine was smaller in stature than I'd imagined, compact and square shouldered under the scarlet robe billowing around her ankles. Dark curls framing her face were held back by a crown of flowers perching on top of her long, loose hair. She smiled and waved to the crowd, reminding me more of photos I'd seen of cinema stars greeting admirers outside the theater. People greeted her as such, getting to their feet and cheering wildly.

The people screaming her name couldn't see the darkness that rose around her, a murky twin taller and wider than the small woman standing on the edge of the stage. They'd have fled otherwise, or crawled under their seats to cower, heeding the animal instinct to avoid predators. I did see, but I couldn't run.

A sweet, rotten fruit smell filled the church hall, distracting me from Miss Fontaine's looming doppelgänger. The aroma was inescapable in the overheated room and teetered on the edge of being nauseating.

I didn't have to search far for the source. Curls of pale smoke rose up from incense burners a group of men placed against the foot of the stage, along the walls, and on tables near the door. Their clothing was much too rough to be a part of Miss Fontaine's inner circle. Day laborers no doubt, like the men Gabe told me about.

Dora leaned close to speak in my ear, her nose crinkled in distaste and pain lines deep around her eyes. She was panting, worrying me even more. “I've seen enough, we're leaving. I'm certain there's something more to this stench than merely bad-smelling incense. I'd rather not tempt fate. We'll make an exit as soon as she gets fully under way. Hopefully we can slip out without attracting too much attention. Try to hang on until then, Dee.”

“Don't worry about me.” The music had gotten louder again, making it impossible for her to hear unless I shouted in her ear. I squeezed her hand, hoping she'd understand.

Randy gripped Dora's other hand tight, but his attention was divided between hovering over her and keeping track of the people around us, watching everything at once the way Gabe and Jack did. He craned his neck, straining to see something at the other end of the room and sat back again, scowling. With Dora between us, I couldn't ask what he'd seen.

Effie Fontaine words echoed through the hall. The murmur of excited whispers, the sound of people shifting in their seats, and the small, random noises any group of people make faded away. All I heard was her voice.

“Bless you, brothers and sisters. Bless you all!” She spread her arms wide, a gesture encompassing the entire audience. “You help us do God's work when you spread the message of peace and bring others to hear me speak. Every new face I see tonight is a fresh chance to sway another heart, another soul to our side. I couldn't do this without you. Bless you all!”

The sight of Miss Fontaine smiling and the monstrous shadow mimicking her movements was horrible, trapping me in a waking nightmare. A second voice parroted her words if I shut my eyes to listen, and that was far, far worse. That other voice was deeper, larger, and held the ghost of a growl and the scrape of stone on stone.

I'd only half believed when Dora spoke of demons and other evils that walked the world, thinking them products of another age, another time. She'd explained that such creatures always found willing vessels among humanity, people whose hunger for power blinded them, or those weak willed enough to believe the promises made without counting the cost. That anyone was willing to damn themselves that way was nearly impossible for me to grasp.

But I couldn't deny what I saw while watching Effie Fontaine, or ignore the tremors snaking up my spine. Every word Isadora had said was true.

Cheers and applause punctuated Miss Fontaine's speech as she outlined why God's plan was for America to stay out of the European war. The power in the room rose higher with each shout, each chant of “Effie, Effie.” A few people in different sections of the church hall appeared to faint. Miss Fontaine's men rushed to take them away, leading those overcome by the moment through side doors that likely led to choir rooms, or Sunday school classrooms. My stomach clenched, afraid these unfortunate people had been marked by Maximillian and knowing they might never emerge again.

Dora's eyes were closed tight, shutting out the sight of Fontaine looming over us and the rapt devotion on the faces all around. Neither Randy nor I had proved useful in cushioning the double blow of power and emotion pummeling her. If the decision to leave were mine, we'd have already gone, and I'd begun to regret promising to wait on Dora's signal. The longer we sat in Fontaine's shadow, the more I worried.

Effie Fontaine's voice grew louder, more passionate, and that growling undertone echoed behind each word. “The way to lasting peace is not through more war! War is not God's plan. I beg you, brothers and sisters, don't listen to the lies of those who claim war is the answer.” She pointed at people in the audience, seemingly at random. “If they come to you, cast them out! Cast them out!”

I didn't see Miss Fontaine so much as look in our direction, but Dora shuddered violently, her breathing ragged and strained. Her eyes flew open wide, full of panic. Randy looked at me and I saw he'd come to the same decision. We couldn't wait. We had to get Dora away or risk losing her.

One of the double doors into the foyer at the back opened for an elderly man and woman, and closed behind them again. No one made a fuss about them leaving, raising my hopes we wouldn't be noticed in the confusion. And if Miss Fontaine's people did try to make trouble, Gabe and Jack and the men from the squad were just outside. All we had to do was get to the front walkway.

I leaned across Dora and shouted at Randy. “Help me get her on her feet! Don't stop for anyone!”

We half dragged her out of the row of seats and into the center aisle. Her chest was heaving and the tremors more frequent, all of which kept Dora from walking on her own. Looking into her face, I was certain she'd swooned. I got her arm over my shoulders and Randy took most of her weight, but she was so limp, so helpless, that moving toward the door was a struggle. That struggle was made more difficult by people reaching out to grab at our arms, our clothing, and pleading with us to stay, to embrace Effie's mission of peace. I'd begun to feel woozy as well. The thought of fainting and not being able to escape this mob terrified me.

I'd read accounts of crowds seized with a kind of madness that spread from person to person, sparked by the fervor of the moment. Being the focus of that madness was terrifying, made more so because I was sure this desire to keep us in the church hadn't arisen naturally. Crazed mobs were a superior delaying tactic, designed to keep us from leaving quickly.

Effie Fontaine had known we were coming all along. She was toying with us. Toying with Dora.

“To hell with it, Delia, I'm going to carry her. We'll never get out of here otherwise.” Randy fended off a man grabbing for his coat and swept Dora up into his arms. “She can yell at me tomorrow if she chooses. Stay in front of me and in the center of the aisle. Let's go.”

I'd half expected the door into the foyer to be locked, or for people to block the way, but neither of those things happened. The door opened easily and I held it so Randy could bring Dora through.

Three men stood between us and the door to the outside. Two of them were big, brutish-looking men, but they were just men. The third man was the one who made me wary. He carried the same tainted shadow double as Maximillian and Effie Fontaine.

This man was older and not overly tall, with thinning brown hair and a small mustache. My mother might have thought him dapper in his neat gray suit. I thought him dangerous.

“My name is Jonas Wolf. I work closely with Miss Fontaine.” He stepped forward, concern on his face, but not in his eyes. His eyes held victory and a look I could only call hunger. “Your friend is ill. Bring her back inside and let us take care of her.”

My eyes didn't want to focus, but I put myself between Jonas Wolf and Dora, determined to bluff my way through if nothing else. Randy pulled her closer, acting on the same instinct to protect her. Of the three of us, Isadora was the one most at risk.

We couldn't let this man touch her or take her anywhere. I clung to that thought in the fog filling my head. “There's no need to concern yourself on our behalf. We're perfectly capable of looking after our friend. She'll be fine once she gets some air and has a chance to rest. Now, if you and your men would just move aside—”