Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles, Book Two) (26 page)

She walked the few feet back to her car, opened the door and got in. She put her key in the ignition and turned. For a moment, the car sounded like it was going to start, then she heard a horrible grinding noise and the engine failed to catch. Worse, she felt the car shake slightly, as if something were underneath it.

“Don’t panic,” she said out loud.

It was probably nothing. Elyssa probably had been delayed, the noise behind the house was just some squirrel and her car was perfectly fine. There couldn’t be anything down there. She was just freaked out. She pulled the key out, closed her eyes, and mentally forced herself to calm down.

I’m fine
, she thought.
I’m fine. I’m going to open my eyes, put the key in the ignition and everything will be fine.

She opened her eyes—and screamed.

A figure stood in front of her car. She couldn’t make it out very well in the dark, but she could see enough to know it was holding a sword.

She jammed her key into the ignition and turned, still expecting something to happen. But that same grinding came again.

Without pausing, Summer grabbed her purse on the seat next to her and dug through it. She pulled out her cell phone, a brand new iPhone—a gift from her mom—and started dialing 911.

When she looked at the front of the car, however, there was no figure anymore. There was nothing outside.

She waited for the call to connect, hearing only static, hoping that maybe she was imagining things. There had been no figure, she told herself. She was just spooked.

But even she couldn’t believe that. She knew who was out there, the Prince of Sanheim, and he meant to kill her. Her car was dead—how and when that had happened she had no idea—and her phone, she saw with growing dread, had no signal.

“Why don’t you just come out and we’ll have a nice talk?” a voice called, and Summer screamed again.

The voice didn’t sound right, whatever it was. It sounded high and low at the same time, as if two people were talking at once.

Summer checked to make sure the doors were locked and then stared at her purse. She was alone and defenseless in the middle of nowhere. Or was she? Didn’t she have an old can of mace in her purse, the same one her mother had given her years ago when she went off to college? She had changed bags and purses many times since then, but she thought that had always made the transfer. “You never know when you might need it,” her mom had said. Though Summer had ignored her mother’s advice on virtually every other occasion of her life, she dug through her purse now and found she had followed through on this one.

Her hand closed around a small cylinder.

“Thank you, Mom,” she said quietly.

She checked to make sure the doors were locked—and then screamed again when the back window shattered.

She looked around frantically to see a figure coming around the side of the car, a sword in his hand. She scrambled to the passenger side as he came to the driver’s door and smashed the window.

The figure stuck its head through. For a moment, she locked eyes with her attacker—and screamed. His face was a pale white, more like a corpse than a person. And the red eyes seemed to bore right through her.

 “Step out of the car now, Ms. Mandaville,” the thing said, and Summer instinctively flinched away, “Or I will become angry and unpleasant.”

Summer unlocked the passenger door and scrambled to get out. She intended to make a run for it, holding nothing more than the mace can in her hand. But as she got out, she tripped, sprawling in the dirt. By the time she stood up, the thing was standing in front of her. She looked at it, gasped and looked away.

“I know,” the thing said and the voice reminded her of nails scratching on a chalk board. “Not very pretty, am I?”

A cold, white finger touched her cheek and Summer shrieked and pulled away.

“Is this how you conduct all your interviews?” the thing said.

“What?” Summer said. She forced herself to look at it.

“I came here to talk and all you want to do is run away,” he said. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now.”

“Okay,” Summer said slowly.

What did it want? Would it help to play along?

“Okay,” she said again. “Let me get my recorder.”

“You don’t need it,” the thing replied.

“Who are you?”

“I think you know,” the thing said.

“The Prince of Sanheim,” she replied.

The thing nodded and Summer fought not to look away again.

“One of them, anyway,” it said.

She had a moment to register confusion.

“I’m here to offer you a deal,” the thing said. “I need a reporter and word on the street is you’re the second best in these parts. Or the third, depending on whether we count Kate and Quinn twice.”

For an instant, she forgot her situation entirely.

“I’m the best goddamned reporter in this county,” she replied evenly.

The thing smiled—and Summer wished it hadn’t.

“Glad to hear it,” it said, and she wanted to put her hands to her ears. The voice grated the more she heard it. “Here’s the deal. You’re going to write what I want, when I want you to. That article you were planning on exposing Quinn? That’s just the beginning.”

“But he isn’t the Prince of Sanheim,” Summer said.

At least she didn’t think so. She didn’t know what the hell she was looking at. Was it possible it was Quinn with makeup? She was far from certain of anything anymore.

“Yes, he is,” the thing said. “And I need to dial up the pressure on him a bit, make him realize how precarious his situation has become. You publicly outing him is one way to do that.”

“You have proof?”

“I can manufacture some,” the thing said. “Enough to convince your editors. Maybe plant a little evidence to suggest he killed that banker.”

Summer took a step backward.

“But he didn’t, did he?” she asked.

The thing looked surprised.

“No, I would have thought that was obvious,” it said. “I did.”

Summer took another step back.

“So you want me to make up a story?” she asked.

The thing sighed dramatically, almost comically.

“Yes, my dear,” it said. “I do. And there’s plenty in it for you by playing along. I will give you story after story—more than enough to land you on the front page of your paper for weeks. I know every secret in this town and can help you publish all of them. You play ball with me and you’ll be a legend. That’s what you want, right?”

She did want that. Badly. She didn’t know why, but she believed what the thing said. It was crazy, but some part of her felt the truth of it.

“For the most part, this place doesn’t interest me,” the thing said. “I would prefer to burn it to the ground. But if you help me, you will be spared. I’m very kind to those who follow me.”

“And Quinn?”

“He has his options on the table,” he said. “He may join us—you two don’t need to be enemies any longer. Or he may oppose me, in which case you will have the singular joy of watching your nemesis utterly destroyed. Sounds like a win-win to me.”

It did, didn’t it? She had to admit it—some part of her was tempted. For one, it seemed like the only way to escape here with her life. And she would enjoy watching Quinn getting his just deserts.

But it wasn’t right and she knew it.

“What is your answer?” the thing asked.

“No,” Summer said suddenly, so quickly it surprised her. “I say no.”

The thing looked taken aback.

“I’m sorry,” it said. “I should have been more clear. If you refuse, you die. Right now. Join me and I’ll give you the world. All I ask in return is…”

“My soul,” Summer said.

Now that she had made her decision, it seemed obvious it was the right move. Work for this thing? No. Summer Mandaville was nobody’s damn puppet. The very idea enraged her. She couldn’t believe she had even considered it—even if only for a split second.

“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” the thing asked. “We’re just talking about words on paper, after all. It’s not your soul.”

“You’re not a journalist,” Summer said coldly. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

The thing still looked surprised. But as she watched, it slowly turned to anger.

“Very well then,” it said. “There are other ways to pressure Quinn.”

The thing brought the sword up from its side and strode toward her. But Summer was ready. She brought up her can of mace and sprayed.

For a moment, she thought nothing would happen. The can was old and might have long since been defunct. But after a split second, it sprayed a white mist into the thing’s face and it started screaming.

Summer didn’t wait. She saw the thing drop his sword and put his hands to his face, and she turned and ran.

*****

She didn’t have a plan. Instead, she ran into the woods, hoping to put as much distance between herself and that thing as humanly possible. She could still hear it screaming and the sound was almost more than she could stand. It seemed to echo throughout the forest.

She plunged in without a sense of direction. If she had to, she could survive the entire night out here, wait until morning and then find help. Loudoun County was filled with forests, but none so deep that there wasn’t an exit somewhere nearby.

But as she ran in the dark, occasionally stumbling, she had the disturbing sense that she was not alone.

It couldn’t possibly be the monster she had just left—at least she didn’t think so—but it felt like something was running along beside her.

She stopped to get her breadth. Summer tried to tell herself she was mistaken, but she wasn’t buying that. The only thing that had saved her so far was her intuition—and it told her that she was being followed. She gripped the mace in her hand, ready.

She waited a minute, but still didn’t hear anything. The sounds of the thing back at the house had stopped, a relief but also more cause for worry. It would come after her, but how fast could it move?

She decided to stop running aimlessly and instead walk as silently as possible. Even if there was something out here with her, she might be able to lose it.

But as she moved, she heard something nearby. It didn’t sound human, but instead like an animal—a big one. Whatever it was matched her stride for stride. When she stopped, it stopped. When she started, it kept moving.

Without thinking, she searched on the ground by her feet, picked up a rock and threw it in the general direction of where she thought the animal must be.

Summer Mandaville had never been particularly good at sports, but her throw could not have been more perfect. It sailed through the underbrush, clearing multiple obstacles that should have stopped it, and connected.

Summer heard a screech as the rock struck her target. She wasn’t sure what she hit, only that it sounded large—and angry.

She didn’t have time to think, but started to run. Behind her she heard a hissing and then the sound of something in pursuit. She turned to look and in the moonlight saw a dark shape leap from the shadows, gaining on her.

Summer emerged into a small clearing near a stream. Still looking behind her, she tripped and managed to regain her balance—but it was too late. The animal behind her leapt, knocking Summer down.

As she landed, she rolled over in the mud and tried to bring up the can of mace. She sprayed—but the animal was gone again.

She waited in the dirt, watching to see where it would come from next.

She heard a soft rustling around her, as if it were circling her in the forest just beyond her sight. Her brain was processing the brief glimpse she had of the animal when it attacked. It looked like no animal she knew. It moved like a giant cat, but had thick fur like a bear.

With her right hand still holding the mace, she felt around with her left for a stone or rock. When she found one, she held it—and waited.

She saw a flurry of motion as the animal emerged from the woods, its eyes shining yellow in the dark. For just a moment, it stayed there and Summer saw it smile with a row of sharp, glittering teeth. Summer didn’t wait. She threw the rock with all her might, aiming for the creature’s large head.

But fate was fickle. Just as her earlier throw had been perfect, the second went wide, landing nowhere close to the animal as it hunched down and prepared to pounce. Summer tried to bring the can of mace around, hoping to spray the thing as it landed.

But she was too late. The animal sprang at her in a motion that was almost too fast to see and sunk its teeth into her hand.

Summer screamed. The animal screeched in return.

Then it grabbed Summer’s leg and dragged her into the underbrush. 

Chapter 24

October 18, 2007

Quinn pulled on his shirt even as the pounding on his door grew more insistent. When he opened it, Stu Redcliffe stood there, flanked by three police officers.

“Quinn O’Brion, you’re under arrest,” Stu said.

Quinn didn’t have time to register shock as the police officers stepped forward.

“Please face the wall and put your arms behind your back,” Stu said.

Quinn could hear Kate come out from the bedroom. She had quickly pulled on one of his shirts and an old pair of yoga pants. He calmly faced the wall of their apartment and put his arms behind his back.

An officer stepped forward and cuffed him.

He wondered briefly if he was dreaming—if this was yet another bizarre test of Sanheim’s. The cold, metal feel of the handcuffs made him realize what a forlorn hope that was.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Kate asked Stu.

He handed her two documents.

“This is a warrant for Quinn’s arrest and another to search this apartment,” he said. “We want to bring you down for questioning as well.”

“For what?” Kate asked. “What are the charges?”

Stu barely hid the smile from his face. Kate could see how much he was enjoying this moment.

“For the murder of Summer Mandaville,” Stu said.

Kate and Quinn looked at each other, astounded.

“She’s dead?” Quinn asked.

“As if you don’t know,” Stu responded. “Come on.”

He nearly shoved Quinn through the door. Kate followed behind, stopping only to pick up her purse. She watched as two policemen started to go through the apartment.

As they walked out the door and down the front steps of the apartment building, Kate fished into her purse and pulled out her cellphone. She dialed Tim Anderson, who picked up on the first ring.

“They’ve arrested Quinn for killing Summer,” Kate said, and she tried not to think about the sheer unreality of the statement. She had never been a fan of Summer’s, but she had some sympathy toward her, particularly after their conversation late last year. She had never wished her dead.

“I know,” Tim responded.

“You could have warned us,” Kate said, unsurprised that he was already aware of the situation. Whatever sources he had in the police department, they were exceptional.

“Just found out about 20 seconds ago,” he said. “I suspect that was so that I could not, in fact, warn you.”

“Meet us there?” she asked. “With Holden’s lawyer, maybe?”

“I won’t need him,” Tim replied and hung up.

Kate wasn’t sure what to think of that.

She watched as Stu shoved Quinn into the back seat of the cruiser.

“You can take your own car,” Stu said. “Unless you want to go in handcuffs too.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Kate looked at Quinn through the window.

I’ll be right behind you
, she thought.

I know
, he replied.
Is she really dead?

I don’t know.
Probably.

All she felt from Quinn was a smoldering fury as the police car drove off. She jumped into their car and followed.

*****

Quinn sat in the interrogation room and waited. Stu had disappeared shortly after depositing him there in what was clearly an effort to make Quinn uncomfortable.

Instead, he just felt angry. Surprisingly, he wasn’t mad at the police. He was mostly mad at himself. He hadn’t murdered Summer, but she was dead because of him.

It’s not your fault
, Kate’s voice was in his head.

Yes it is
, Quinn replied.
The minute we made that deal last year, we sealed her fate. How many people are dead because of us?

How many people are alive, Quinn?
Kate responded.
We stopped Lord Halloween, remember? How many more people would have died that night if we hadn’t killed him?

Quinn grudgingly accepted the truth of that statement.

Is it enough? Is there someone keeping a tally?
Quinn asked.

If you want to blame someone, blame me
, Kate thought.

Why?

The minute we knew Elyssa had contacted Summer, I should have guessed she was on their target list.

I still don’t understand why,
Quinn thought.
Why her? She’s no friend of ours. They must know that.

Look around you,
Kate said.
This is why.

I realize that, but what does it gain them?
Quinn asked.
Do they want me locked away? Even if I was, do they think a prison could hold me? It’s mid-October. We aren’t even at the height of our powers.

This is all about sending a signal,
Kate responded.
Maybe Summer was always supposed to be killed or maybe she didn’t go along with some other plan. I don’t know. But all they’re trying to do is show us what they are capable of.

All they’ve done is make me conclude you’re right,
Quinn said.
I had some hope that we could be free of this. That surrendering to them might actually be an answer. I was kidding myself. I washed away his other murders—Madame Zora, the banker and God knows who else—out of a selfish desire to get out of the bargain we made with Sanheim. But I can’t be a party to this. Summer was a good reporter—a good person. She didn’t deserve to die. Neither did the others. I won’t bow down to a murderer.

Kate didn’t get a chance to respond. The door to Quinn’s interrogation room opened and Stu stepped through. He seemed unusually pleased with himself.

“Guess who I just heard from?” Stu said.

Quinn sat there impassively.

“The Pope?” he asked.

Stu looked annoyed. “No.”

“Weird Al Yankovic?”

“What the hell? No,” Stu said. “I just…”

“Buffy the Vampire Slayer? I really want to get this right,” Quinn said.

“Shut up,” Stu said. “Shut up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought we were playing a guessing game,” Quinn responded.

“We found your little book, asshole,” Stu said in a mocking tone of voice. “Who’s playing games now?”

“Which little book, Stu?” Quinn asked. “I have quite a few. Unlike you, I can read beyond a fifth grade level.”

“The Sanheim book,” Stu spat at him. He held up a piece of paper and read from it: “It appears to detail the legend of the Prince of Sanheim.”

“Yes,” Quinn said evenly. “So what?”

“So what?” Stu said. “Why would you have a secret book on the Prince of Sanheim unless you were the Prince of Sanheim, huh?”

“That is the best logic ever, Stu,” Quinn said. “Did you go to Police Academy? I mean the one with Steve Guttenburg and the guy who can make sound effects with his mouth.”

“Sure,” Stu said. “Play dumb. I can see you’re afraid.”

Quinn laughed at that.

“Oh, yes,” Quinn said. “Because there’s no other explanation except I’m the Prince of Sanheim. So if I owned, say, a book on Jack the Ripper, for example, that would make me Jack the Ripper? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Laugh all you want, you little dipshit,” Stu said. “We have you by the balls now. We have proof you were obsessed with the Prince of Sanheim. We know the other reporter was going to out you. That’s why you killed her, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”

Quinn sighed.

“I’m not going to bother responding to you,” Quinn said. “You can get me a lawyer now.”

Stu looked stricken for a moment, but then quickly hid it.

“Just can’t man up and admit the truth, can you?” Stu tried.

“Do you think this is NYPD Blue or something?” Quinn asked. “You can’t annoy me into confessing. This conversation is over.”

“It’s just getting started,” Stu said, but he stood up and practically stomped out of the room.

I think Tim has other plans
, Kate said.

Where is he then?

Strangely, he just walked into the building and walked right through to Sheriff Brown’s office.

He knows Sheriff Brown?
Quinn asked.

Apparently,
Kate replied.
Seriously, he walked in like he owned the place. He nodded at me, but he didn’t even say hi.

This just keeps getting better and better. Why is he involved, anyway?

You heard him, Quinn. He said something about us not keeping our tracks covered very well. He worked in this town for a long time. He had good sources then. Clearly he still has them now.

But does that help us or hurt us?
Quinn said.

We’re about to find out. Brown and Tim are coming your way. And apparently so am I. Tim just gestured for me to follow.

Two minutes later, four people entered the room. Stu was followed in by Sheriff Brown, Tim and Kate.

“He won’t talk without a lawyer, sir,” Stu said.

“Get us some chairs, Officer Redcliffe,” Brown replied.

Since Lord Halloween’s death, Brown had seen a surge in popularity. Quinn guessed that the recent murders might end that very quickly. The town had already lost its mind over one serial killer. News of another had everyone on edge.

Stu meekly complied and left the room.

“I understand you want a lawyer,” Brown said. “But Mr. Anderson here has some information that you might want to hear first.”

By this time Stu had returned carrying extra chairs. Brown curtly asked him to leave and, although he looked unhappy about it, Stu stalked off.

“Okay,” Quinn said, then gestured from Tim to Brown. “You two old friends?”

Tim smiled.

“Old enough,” he said cryptically.

Everyone sat down. Tim reached into his bag and pulled out a folder.

“When was Ms. Mandaville killed last night?” he asked.

“Estimates put it between 8 p.m. and 1 in the morning, “Brown replied. “Probably on the later side.”

Tim reached into the folder and pulled out a series of photos. The top two showed Kate and Quinn returning to their apartment through their front door. The photos looked like they had been taken from the parking lot. There was a time and date stamp at the bottom, showing Quinn and Kate walking in at exactly 6:47 p.m.

There were other photos underneath. Each had a time stamp of roughly five minutes apart, showing only a closed front door, lit by the hallway lights outside.

Quinn glanced through them, flipping until he found photos of police officers arriving at their apartment and knocking on the door. A photo then showed Quinn coming out in handcuffs at roughly 7:47 a.m.

“You’ve been watching us,” Quinn said to Tim, feeling stupid for stating the blindingly obvious.

“Yes,” Tim said. If he was ashamed, he didn’t show it. “I’ve told Sheriff Brown about the accusations Ms. Mandaville made against you, Quinn. I’ve had you under surveillance ever since.”

Quinn suspected he was lying. He would guess that they had been under surveillance for a lot longer than just a few days. Which raised the question: how much, exactly, did Tim Anderson know?

“As Sheriff Brown knows only too well, I have a long and sordid history with the killer who called himself Lord Halloween,” Tim continued. “I knew him quite well and would have considered him a friend. If I learned anything then, it was never to assume you know another person. I don’t know if Quinn is the Prince of Sanheim or not, but I know he wasn’t involved in what happened last night.”

“He could have come out the window,” Brown said. “He might have known he was being followed.”

“The windows are sliding glass—on the third floor of the apartment building,” Tim replied evenly. “It is difficult to imagine Mr. O’Brion could have gotten out, much less jumped down that far without hurting himself, and then magically found a way back up. I also want to be clear that I did not take these photos myself. I hired a private detective to do so. I’ve already contacted him. He would be happy to give the police any information they need to exonerate Mr. O’Brion.”

Kate had sat silently throughout this.

“Clearly these photos provide an alibi,” she said.

“For Ms. Mandaville’s death, yes,” Tim said. “My surveillance, alas, only goes back so far.”

“We didn’t have a motive,” Quinn said. “Yes, Summer had alleged I was the Prince of Sanheim. But you can listen to the tape of the conversation yourself, Sheriff. By the end of the interview, she said she wasn’t going to publish a story. Why would I kill her?”

“She could have changed her mind,” Tim said.

Quinn glared at him.

“Okay, whose side are you on?” Quinn asked.

“The side of the truth,” Tim said. “Did you kill Summer Mandaville?”