CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
C
utting gales swept through the space, screaming a piercing warning. Manuel’s chest pressed into my back as he hunched over, crowding our bodies closer to the ground as the violent cyclone threatened to toss everything around.
The chill bit through our clothes, froze the sticky mud and blood to our faces, and deafened the world.
The wind shoved and shoved and shoved, like invisible hands, trying to upend us.
Luckily, the force failed. If we’d been standing on our feet at the start, it might have swept us off the floor entirely.
A taste of rage howled through the jet of turbulence, then I heard the ghost again.
Willa, grab Manny’s hand.
I blinked, and even though I knew whom the voice meant, I still blurted, “Manny?”
“I know. It’s okay,” Manuel murmured in answer, confirming my thoughts. He went by Manny? And the ghost knew?
Please! It’s the only way I can do anything.
Since he’d gotten us into this mess, I’d grab hold with both hands and cling on with my last breath if he could help.
My grip found Manuel’s on my arm, the uninjured hand. Who knew how badly the bullet had damaged his other one. It was bad enough he wasn’t using it.
We needed a hospital.
It took a minute of prying for Manuel to release me and clasp my hand. The cooling sensation solidified in our grasp, growing stronger. It almost glowed.
Then, as quickly as the onset of this bizarre cyclonic energy began, it died down. I peeked through my hair, trying to figure out what had happened.
Had the ghost been able to stop it just like that? So quickly?
Yes.
Manuel straightened, pulling himself away to assess the situation as well. Some self-preservation instinct sent my muscles jerking in alarm to ensure our grasp didn’t break.
It was caveman thinking—big windstorm bad, take hand, big windstorm stop.
It was laughably easy to perceive how old civilizations got caught up in their more outlandish traditions and superstitions.
“Don’t let go,” I whispered.
Ahead of us, Ben’s dad shifted and winced, as if an internal battle raged war within his body. Pierce struggled, his face turning puce with fury.
He groaned. He bellowed. He keened.
“Should we… go?” Manuel asked, sotto voce.
I nodded, holding my attention on the contortions and creepy gymnastics a man of his weight and age shouldn’t be able to achieve. It set my hair curling. “Yeah, we should.”
We helped each other up, fumbling because I refused to relinquish my hold. Conceivably, it was the only thing keeping that demonic wind at bay.
Manuel and I edged right, making our way to the stairwell with bated breath. Every painstaking moment could be the one where Pierce snapped out of whatever warred inside him.
Manuel’s excitement translated through his fingers. The closer we neared the exit, the tighter he clung.
Twenty feet.
A measly twenty feet remained, another cruelty on the universe’s part, when a bullet whizzed past us and dug into the stairwell’s cement wall with a gritty burst.
“I should shoot you now!” Pierce raged, stomping our way.
“Freeze!” a voice boomed. “FBI! Put down the weapon!”
Manuel and I sagged against each other, but otherwise, we remained frozen where we were. Tears of relief stung my eyes.
“Veritas,” I whispered, shaking so hard that it was a miracle the floor didn’t vibrate loose. With our hands still interlaced, Manuel crowded closer, a reassuring presence.
Pierce frowned. “I’m not surrendering my weapon. I’m an officer of the law! This is my turf. These two kids were breaking and entering. I got called to investigate, and they threatened me.”
“Really?” a voice drawled. “Because to me, it looked like they were trying to flee for their lives.”
Pierce paused, noting the caustic tone and switching tactics. “That you, Veritas?”
Veritas slowly stepped into our peripherals, arcing wide as he kept Pierce in his sights. He also had a gun, and another powerful wave of relief coursed through my veins. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“Damn.” Pierce only sounded mildly disappointed as he shook his head. “I was hoping it’d be one of the other agents who followed you to Fairview.”
“Really? And why is that?” Veritas stopped when we all stood at equidistant points on a triangle.
“Because this bitch somehow poisoned you with her lies. She painted me as the villain, and now, no matter what I say or do, you won’t believe me. I’d have preferred a more neutral party, one willing to hear me out.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Veritas focused so steadily that he probably wouldn’t notice a herd of rhinos if they materialized and stampeded through this level. “You could put your gun down nice and easy, and I’ll promise to listen to every scrap of evidence you’ve compiled on Miss Walker.”
Pierce snorted. “Fat chance of that. You’re just placating me. The second I’m unarmed, you’ll shoot me dead.”
Veritas tilted his head. “Shoot you dead? In what universe? We’re not vigilantes. We’re officers of the law. Do you make a habit of shooting people you suspect of wrongdoing, rather than rooting out evidence and concrete proof and relying on the justice system to lock them away?”
“No, but sometimes bad people hack the system. They make it work for them, and it isn’t fair.”
“Hmm, and you think Willa is someone who’s hacked it?” Veritas surmised. “Let me guess. Is it a gut instinct?” The question asked, assumed, and condemned all in the same breath.
Pierce took exception to that. “Fuck you! Yes, I know it in my gut! She’s trouble, trash, but that isn’t the only reason I know it. There’s evidence!”
Veritas nodded. “Yes, you mentioned that before. I’m listening.”
“Why? Are you judge, jury, and executioner now? I don’t have to share jack shit. I’m the law in Fairview!”
“Well, I’m afraid I can’t let you shoot these kids.”
Pierce laughed. “Trust me, Veritas. You do not want to get in the way.”
Veritas dropped some of his neutral facade.
“What are you going to do? Honestly? I’ve got you.
You have to take me out first if you intend to survive, and I promise you aren’t faster than me.
Can you hear the truth in my voice? Any path you choose, aside from surrendering, leads down the same road. ”
Pierce’s grip on his weapon tightened to the point of trembling. It was a miracle he hadn’t shot Manuel and me by accident. “You sound so confident. You smug government agents are all the same. Cocky sons of bitches who don’t know when to keep your damn noses out of where it doesn’t belong!”
“Yeah, we are,” Veritas agreed.
As if that was some signal, figures unfolded from the shadows, moving with stealthy precision and dressed head to toe in black. They more closely resembled SWAT than they did FBI.
Without looking away from Pierce’s gun, I was pretty sure I’d counted four newcomers—five to one. Those odds tickled me pink.
A nervous laugh of relieved giddiness threatened to bubble loose, but I clamped down on the urge. Knowing Pierce, he’d shoot us because that was what he really wanted in the whole wide world, and damn the consequences.
We weren’t free from the fire yet.
The newcomers fanned out, keeping an even spacing and remaining aware of their surroundings—all without uttering a single word. It hinted of intense training.
The whites of Pierce’s eyes grew. He looked like a cornered beast, about to lash out in a fight to the death.
One of the arrivals edged toward Manuel and me, but Pierce didn’t like that. Our protector halted about an arm’s length away.
Pierce growled, a sound that sent my hind brain into overdrive with the primal need to flee. Dark energy buzzed, increasing the smell of ozone, and ahead of us, wind whistled.
For some reason, my attention shifted, catching what my subconscious must have been screaming at me to notice.
His eyes—Pierce’s eyes—began to darken. Tentative tendrils slithered out, tasting the air.
My hand tightened on Manuel’s.
Then, Veritas’s and Pierce’s conversation drowned out, replaced by distorted whispers in a familiar soundtrack.
No, no, no, I thought in panic.
The onset of an attack could not have picked a worse time. Goosebumps trailed up my arms in waves, glowing and rippling from different touch points, as if ghostly hands, more than a pair, lay upon me, seeking… something.
Let me in, my very own ghost guide urged. His voice resonated clearer now, and I didn’t want to examine the reason why. Willa, I can fight them off.
Pierce or the swarming spirits?
Either possibility worked for me.
I shivered at the promise, because the concept sounded too good to be true.
At what cost?
He didn’t answer, so I must not have telecommunicated correctly.
I tried getting closer to Manuel, hoping the increased contact would provide a stronger link to the land of the living.
“Are you okay?” Manuel whispered, somehow audible even when Pierce and Veritas continued to converse in silence, Pierce yelling based on his body language and mottled complexion.
All his rage was muted as easily as hitting the button on a remote.
The agent to our right listened to our conversation. I hadn’t a clue how, but I knew it as surely as the fact that I’d always prefer the abbreviated version of my name and not Willahelm.
I shrugged, unwilling to respond aloud. Anything we discussed would be noted in some FBI report and sitting on Veritas’s desk by the end of the day.
Manuel clocked me rubbing my hand up and down my arm in an attempt to tame the violent goosebumps wreaking havoc on my system.
The whispers increased. It wouldn’t be long before my ears—brain, technically—could decipher the ghostly words. At that point, I’d be at the mercy of the episode, unable to do anything but ride it out.
In front of all these witnesses, still at gunpoint? That would be the worst-case scenario. At best, I wouldn’t have to experience the moment Pierce snapped and shot me, risking everything for his revenge.
Willa? You have to decide. There isn’t much time left.