Destroyer of Worlds (3 page)

So yeah, tonight had been goodbye. The final
farewell, the one they wouldn’t come back from.

“
It is not right. It should
not…not end like this.”
Grief and bewildered pain
because, despite having God-only-knew how many lifetimes worth of
memories gleaned from the corpses he’d inhabited, Gray still
managed to be naïve. He’d only dimly understood mortal sorrow and
mortal betrayal, until accidentally possessing Caleb.

Now, he knew them all too well.

I know. I’m sorry.

His sense of Gray shifted, as if a
great tiger curled half around him in the shared room of their
brain, both needing and giving comfort.
“The fault is not yours. Or mine. Or even John’s. It
simply…is.”
And maybe that was the hardest thing of
all.

God, they needed something to distract them.
Anything would be better than sitting around feeding angst back and
forth until they started writing emo poetry. Caleb reached blindly
for the sketchpad and a pencil, pulling it to him.

The sketchpad had an uneven edge.

Caleb frowned. Sure enough, a piece of paper
stuck just far enough out from the rest of the pad for him to
notice, like someone had ripped it out and stuffed it back in.

The hell? Damn SPECTR couldn’t even spring
for a sketchbook someone hadn’t already torn a sheet out of?
Half-expecting to find some crude joke at the “vampire’s” expense,
he flipped open the sketchbook.

Tape held the loose piece of paper very
precisely in place. Someone had written on it …but no crude taunt
or joke. Rather, a penciled letter, the characters so light Caleb
had to lean forward to make out what it said, even with Gray’s
enhanced sight.

Mr. Jansen,

You are in grave danger. SPECTR has no means
to exorcise the drakul. We don’t know why they’ve brought you here,
but be assured they will never allow either of you leave these
premises again.

Caleb bit his lip—there had to be cameras
everywhere, recording everything he did. He reached blindly for a
pencil and began to doodle idly on the paper beneath the note,
hoping the gesture looked casual while giving him a chance to keep
reading.

We’ve had our suspicions things are not as
they seem, but haven’t been able to gain access to the more
sensitive areas of the facility.

Do not attempt escape yet. Find out what
SPECTR is hiding. Do this, and we’ll aid your escape on Friday.
Once you’re free, you can contact us via the phone number
previously provided, and we will exorcise you.

Leave your answer written on this page.

The stylized symbol of a moth took the place
of a signature.

“
Well, fuck,” Caleb said.

* * *

Caleb drew.

He didn’t know what else to do, and he needed
to keep his hands busy, so he sketched on page after page, anything
which came to mind. Half the time he barely even paid attention,
ending up with wild, colorful scribbles which meant nothing even to
him.

The moths. Fucking hell.

How could they ask this of him? He wasn’t a
SPECTR agent or a cop. He was an artist who worked behind the
counter of a coffee shop to get by. Not a hero. Not John.

John.

Gray stirred.
“If these moths speak truly, John might be in
danger.”

What are you talking about? John’s the
original Boy Scout. He’s such a cheerleader for SPECTR, I can’t
believe he doesn’t keep a sweater, mini skirt, and pompoms in his
desk for emergencies. He does whatever they tell him.

“
No. He does what he
believes to be right.”

Caleb suppressed a sigh. That was all
he needed, for the cameras to catch him talking to himself.
Maybe it’s a human thing, but SPECTR is like
John’s family.
Especially after his biological family
turned their backs on him for having paranormal ability.
No matter what’s going on here, he’ll find some
way to make it sound like sunshine and roses.

Instead of responding with a thought, Gray
called up a memory: their first glimpse of John, hunkered down in
front of them in an abandoned house, his eyes the most brilliant
color Gray had yet seen, so blue the shade seemed like some
impossible magic. John had flirted and joked and done everything he
could to put Caleb at ease. Not because SPECTR said he had to, not
because of regulations, but because he operated that way.

How many other times had he done the same for
others? Plenty, going by what Caleb saw during their brief weeks
together. And maybe John had a blind spot when it came to SPECTR,
but if there really was something going on…even he would have to
see it eventually, wouldn’t he?

They had to warn him somehow. But how could
they?

“
These moths know where the
condo is. They can take a message.”

Huh, the drakul was starting to get
devious.
Even if they do…what if he doesn’t
believe us? What if he toes the line like a good little agent and
tells Forsyth all about it? The moths’ agent, whoever left us the
note, might get killed.

“
Do you not trust
John?”

He wants to kill you!

Sorrow and resignation.
“Yes. Because he believes it is the right thing to
do. But whatever is happening here is not right, and he will not
allow it.”

And maybe this was the most inhuman thing
about Gray: he sincerely believed in the innate goodness of someone
who wanted to execute him. Caleb certainly couldn’t have done it,
and for a minute he resented Gray for asking this of him.

Because he wanted to refuse. Wanted to jump
up, punch a hole in the door, or the wall, and get the hell out of
here. Even more, he wanted to sit on the couch and turn on the TV,
and pretend he was back in Charlotte and the biggest decision he
had to make was whether to show up for work tomorrow.

What had John said about Caleb’s bravery?
Because he sure as fuck didn’t feel very brave right now.

Shit. Between John and Gray, he would
get his ass killed yet.
Yeah. Okay. You’ve
made your point. Let’s do this, before I change my mind.

John’s legs burned by the time he got back
from his morning run on Sunday. The day was overcast, and the air
still held a chill this time of year, but sweat filmed his skin and
stuck his shorts to his butt. He hadn’t gone running anywhere but
on a treadmill for a while—since Caleb came into his life,
actually.

He’d gone almost five minutes without
thinking about Caleb or Gray. A record.

A flyer for a local pizza joint was stuffed
in the crack between door and jamb. John ground his teeth as he
pulled it loose. He got ads like this all the time, and they always
annoyed him.

Another piece of paper fell out from inside
the folded ad. John picked it up as he headed inside, then paused,
because this wasn’t the usual flimsy paper of the rest of the ad,
but thicker, more like the kind in Caleb’s sketchbooks. As he
unfolded it, his heart nearly stopped when he recognized Caleb’s
handwriting.

Hey Boy Scout,

I don’t know if these people will pass this
along to you or not. Shit, I’m not sure if I should even send it
all, but I think you’ll do the right thing. I hope so.

Something is going on here, and I don’t mean
the usual weird shit SPECTR deals with. I know you probably won’t
believe me, but Gray smells demons. I’m going to try to find out if
there really is something scary going on, or if I’m just being
paranoid.

Right now I’m safe—unless they find this
note, in which case I guess I’m fucked. Or unless you tell Forsyth
I’m sneaking messages out somehow.

I need you to trust me, just for a few days,
okay? You can’t tell ANYONE I sent this to you. I know I’m asking a
lot. I probably shouldn’t even send this, but if there is something
shady going on here, you need to know about it. I’ll call you on
Friday.

Love,

Caleb

John read the note again, twice, before
wandering to the couch in a daze. Who brought the note from Caleb
and left it for him? And why?

SPECTR RD was supposed to be a high-security
facility. No one should be sneaking correspondence out. Someone had
defied regulations to bring him this message from Caleb. Who?
Why?

It was his duty to report this.
Unquestionably.

Still holding the note, he wandered upstairs,
not even realizing where his feet took him, until he found himself
standing in front of the framed certificates on the wall of his
office. Low-Country State School for the Paranormal. United States
Department of Justice, Strategic Paranormal Entity Control Academy.
Citations, commendations.

SPECTR had been part of his life since his
teen years. It had been there for him when his own parents turned
their backs. It took a scared, suicidal kid and gave him a
purpose.

Caleb had to be wrong. He’d always viewed
SPECTR as the boogeyman. His paranoia probably kicked into high
gear the second he left with Forsyth. No wonder he’d acted weird on
the call the other day.

But Gray shouldn’t smell other NHEs there,
should he?

Maybe someone was possessed. Fuck, now he
really had to turn this over to Forsyth. Lives might be at
stake.

But Forsyth was an exorcist, and far from the
only one working for RD. How would a faust slip under the radar? It
didn’t seem possible.

Acid chewed at the lining of John’s stomach.
He’d planned to break SPECTR rules once already, by letting Gray go
when he successfully exorcised the drakul at last. But this was
something else, on a much bigger level. If Caleb had mistaken the
situation, if John didn’t report the security breach…

“
I need you to trust
me,”
Caleb had written. And John did. With his
life.

But with all the lives at SPECTR?

Fucking hell.

* * *

Monday morning, Caleb walked down a hallway,
two armed guards leading the way in front of him, two following
behind. The hall appeared more like what he’d expected from RD:
white walls and a white tiled floor, like something in a high tech
laboratory. Doors lined the corridor at regular intervals,
differentiated from each other only by the numbers set on the wall
beside them. Incense and chalk dust perfumed the air, mingling with
antiseptic and just a trace of ghoul rot, nearly imperceptible even
to him.

He’d spent the weekend being poked and
prodded. More blood tests, although what the techs thought they’d
find, he didn’t know. Running on a treadmill, while hooked up to
machines monitoring everything from his breath to his heartbeat.
Pissing in a bottle for a urine test of some kind. At least it gave
him something to do besides wonder if the moths actually delivered
his message to John.

The guards led him to an open door,
then stepped back to wait. He’d tried talking to them on Saturday,
but they’d answered his questions in short, clipped voices and
otherwise refused to engage in conversation.
No talking to the big, scary drakul, I guess.

“
I do not like
them.”

Which makes two of us.

“
Come in, Mr. Jansen,” Forsyth said by
way of greeting. The room was larger than Caleb had expected, its
floor concrete rather than tile. Sheets of paper covered in strange
symbols hung on the walls. Hadn’t he seen some of those in John’s
spirit ward?

An unfamiliar woman and man waited with
Forsyth, both dressed in the typical SPECTR uniform of suit and
tie. Caleb resisted the urge to nervously wipe his hands on the
baggy cotton pants he’d taken from the wardrobe this morning.

“
The tests today are going to be a bit
different,” Forsyth said, making no move to introduce the
newcomers. “According to Agent Starkweather’s reports, the drakul
can break through some spirit wards, correct?”

“
Yeah, that’s right.” John hadn’t been
at all happy about it, either, since spirit wards were one of the
main tools exorcists used to keep NHEs contained.

“
I see.” Forsyth turned to the two
Specs. “Let’s begin.”

The woman took out a piece of chalk and
sketched a ward on the concrete floor. Simpler than the one John
had drawn, as far as Caleb could remember, anyway.

“
It lacks its
power.”

You can tell?

“
Yes.”

The woman stepped back, and Forsyth gestured.
“Try to cross it, please.”

Caleb nodded and strolled over the sketched
sigil. His ears popped and sparks flashed against his skin. The
woman winced slightly, and he wondered if she felt the ward break
somehow. John certainly knew when Gray crossed his.

While Forsyth watched, the man drew another
sigil. “Again, please.”

Caleb crossed it.

They worked their way up slowly, alternating
between the two agents, until both of them worked on a spirit ward
together. To make it more powerful?

“
It feels so. But it still
cannot hold us.”

“
Again,” Forsyth said.

Caleb took a deep breath. Here’s where things
got dicey.

He walked up to the spirit ward—and stopped.
“The fuck?” he tried to sound confused.

“
What are you doing? There
is nothing preventing us from moving forward.”

“
Keep going, Mr. Jansen,” Forsyth
urged.

Caleb leaned forward, before jerking back.
“No. He doesn’t like it.”

Forsyth’s pale blue eyes gleamed avidly. “The
drakul?”

“
Right.” Caleb swayed, as if fighting
against himself to cross the sigil. “Fuck! I can’t!”