James Swain - Shadow People

Peter had promised not to keep secrets from Liza, but there were times when he would have preferred not to give her a straight answer. It would have made things so much easier.

“I’d like to hear the answer to that question myself,” Garrison said.

“I have a friend who’s a witch,” Peter explained. “I’m going to call her right now, and ask her to cast a spell on Munns that will incapacitate him so I can get into the house, and free Rachael. The spell should also let me subdue him.”

“A spell?” Garrison said, sounding incredulous.

“Yes. It’s one of a witch’s more potent powers.”

“What will it do to him?” Liza asked.

“That’s up to my friend. Some spells can set their subjects on fire. Others make a person blind, or incontinent. My friend will know which one to pick.”

“Is this witch someone I know?”

Liza did not sound pleased. It was not the time to be discussing this, and Peter glanced into the backseat. “Her name’s Holly Adams, and she’s a student at Columbia University. I told you about her, remember? We grew up together.”

“I seem to recall the name. Maybe I should meet her one day.”

He decided to let that one go. They started to climb a steep hill. The scenery looked terribly familiar, and Peter realized that it was here that Munns had tried to end his life on three different occasions. It was a memory that he would just as soon forget.

“I’ve got a question,” Garrison said, eyes glued to the road. “This spell your friend Holly is going to cast on Munns, will it wear off?”

“Eventually, yes. A spell is never permanent,” Peter replied.

“How quickly?”

“It all depends on how strong the spell is, and if Munns is able to ward it off.”

“Can he do that?”

“He might. Members of the Order of Astrum have special powers as well.”

“That’s not the news I wanted to hear. If the spell doesn’t work, do you have a Plan B?”

Peter hadn’t thought that far ahead, and shook his head. “Afraid not,” he added for emphasis.

“Well, think of one.”

Peter stared out his window and gave it some thought. The night held the answer to many of life’s mysteries, and after a moment he knew what he must do. He’d enter Munns’s house and summon the demon inside him. The demon would destroy Munns, just like it had destroyed the criminals the night his parents had perished, and the assassin who’d entered their apartment, and the assassin in Hyde Park. His victims had been evil people, and it was because of their evil that the demon had done away with them. Munns would be no different.

That was his Plan B.

But how to tell Garrison? The demon was at the top of the list of things he was never going to discuss with the FBI agent. Only he had to tell Garrison something…

A gunshot interrupted his thoughts.

The car lurched to a stop, and Garrison rolled down his window. The night had grown still again. “That sounded like a high-powered hunting rifle,” he said.

“Do people around here hunt at night?” Liza asked.

“Not animals, they don’t.”

Climbing out, Garrison drew his gun. He motioned for them to stay put, and started up the road. Peter opened his door and felt Liza’s hand come through the seats and grab his arm.

“We’re supposed to stay here,” she said.

“I was brought here for a reason,” he reminded her. “I have to go.”

“Oh, God, Peter, this is scary. Please be careful.”

“Remember, I’ve got some powers of my own.”

He slipped out of the car, and headed down the road after Garrison. Pieces of glass crunched beneath his feet. Rounding a curve, he saw a police cruiser lying in a ditch, its warning lights flashing. Garrison stood next to the ditch, shaking his head in dismay.

Burns had taken the hit.

The bullet hole in the cruiser’s windshield was the size of a man’s fist. Garrison opened the driver’s door and the interior light came on. Still strapped in, the chief of the Pelham Police Department stared straight ahead with his hands clutching the steering wheel. The bullet had cut him in half, his lower torso drenched in blood.

“Didn’t see that coming,” Burns whispered.

“I’m calling nine one one,” Garrison said, grabbing for his cell phone.

“Too late for that. Tell my kids…” His voice trailed off.

“Tell them what?”

“That their father…”

Burns stopped talking and licked his lips. He blinked, and then he blinked again. Peter gently pushed Garrison to one side. Crouching down, he pried the chief’s hand off the wheel, and clasped it with both of his own.

“Let your thoughts go. It will make things easier,” Peter said.

Burns nodded and seemed to relax. Peter looked into his head, and saw that the chief had a lot on his mind. Some of it was meaningless, but most of it not. He owed five dollars to another officer that he’d been meaning to pay back; the dry cleaning had to be picked up; the upstairs bathroom still needed painting. Then there was the important stuff, his family. On the hard drive of his computer was a letter to his son stationed in Afghanistan that he had yet to send. He’d been meaning to tell his wife how he appreciated her waiting up for him at night, but never gotten around to it. To his teenage daughter, a simple I love you was all he’d wanted to say. Those were the things that were on his mind. And how much he was going to miss them.

Peter squeezed the dying man’s hand. “I’ll tell them for you.”

Burns’s eyelids fluttered. The look on his face was skeptical.

“I’ll make sure your son gets his letter, and I’ll tell your wife how important her staying up was to you,” he said. “And I’ll tell your daughter that she was the apple of her father’s eye.”

Burns let out a deep breath, satisfied.

“Anything else?” Peter asked.

Burns looked like he was drifting on a cloud. Then he was gone. Garrison reached in, and shut the dead man’s eyes.

Another gunshot ripped the still night air.

“Peter!” It was Liza, calling out in the darkness.

“I’m here,” he said.

“I heard another gunshot. Are you all right?”

“Get back in the car,” Garrison said. “You’re not safe.”

“Not until I know Peter’s okay,” she said.

Peter thought he was all right. But then again, maybe he wasn’t. Maybe the bullet he’d just heard had gone straight through his heart, and what was now standing here was a ghost instead. It was entirely possible. He ran his hands up and down himself, feeling flesh and bone.

“I’m not hurt,” he said.

“Please be careful,” Liza said.

Peter listened to her walk away. Then he looked up the hill. Munns’s house sat at the top, bathed in the bright moonlight. A two-story shingle box with a pitched roof and sagging gutters, it reflected years of neglect and disrepair. Back when Munns’s parents had owned it, it had probably been nice. But evil had a way of corrupting everything it came in contact with, even the exterior of houses.

He started up the hill. He wondered who the shooter was. Was it the man in the van who’d killed the first police officer? It really didn’t matter. Whoever it was had to be stopped.

“Get back here,” Garrison ordered.

Peter ignored him, and kept walking. He dug out his cell phone and pulled up Holly’s number. The call went through, and Holly picked up on the second ring.

“Get down before you get shot,” Holly warned.

He fell into a crouch. “You watching me?”

“Yes. You’re going to get killed if you’re not careful.”

“Where’s the shooter hiding?”