Author: Jake Bible
Date: 2017-02-24 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Demons; Fantasy; Horror; Paranormal; Urban Fantasy
Description: Only a rag-tag team of gargoyles stands between humanity and extinction. Hell has released its ravening horde of demons, leaving most of humanity a puke-spewing, head-spinning mess of possession. Humanity's last hope? A team of misfit gargoyles--including a cigar chomping, hard-ass grotesque--come alive and ready for battle during the End of Days. They guard the last cathedral-turned-sanctuary atop a bald knoll in the North Carolina mountains. Gargoyle protection grudgingly extends to any human who can make it inside the sanctuary, but the power of the stonecutter blood magic, which protects t
Publisher: Bell Bridge Books

Table of Contents

Stone Cold Bastards

Copyright

PART ONE

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

PART TWO

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

PART THREE

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

Please visit these websites for more information about Jake Bible

About the Author

Stone Cold Bastards
by

Jake Bible

Bell Bridge Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

Bell Bridge Books
PO BOX 300921
Memphis, TN 38130
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-933417-60-8
Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-719-9

Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2017 by Jake Bible

Published in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

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Cover design: Debra Dixon
Interior design: Hank Smith
Photo/Art credits:
Gargoyle (manipulated) © Alfonsodetomas | Dreamstime.com
Background (manipulated) © Mega11 | Dreamstime.com

:Mcsb:01:

PART ONE

Morty & The Last Stonecutter

1

THE SMALL, GRAY head popped off and rolled toward the end of the bar. It slowed, then stopped by the puddle of sticky, congealed blood covering the faux teak, laminated surface.

“That squirrel?”

“Mmm hmm.” The man, the one eating the now eviscerated squirrel, the one happily slurping up the tiny intestines like bloody pasta, glanced up from his meal. He frowned, choked down the bite he had just taken, and squinted into the weak light of the approaching dawn. “Which one are you?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The squirrel-eater was maybe early thirties, emaciated—full-blown junkie chic minus the chic part. His brown hair was a tangled mess, matching the scraggly, bloody beard that sprouted from his cheeks and chin in malnourished patches. The piece-of-junk bar holding his meal leaned to the left, and had sunk a good few inches into the mud and muck of the trampled grass surrounding the high, wrought-iron enclosure the bar faced.

The man leaned back in the bar stool. The cracked Naugahyde’s creaking and groaning was the only sound in the still morning air other than the man’s quick licking of his lips. He rested an arm on the back of the stool and stared at the shape that stood on the opposite side of the iron fence.

“Not gonna tell me?” the man asked, sucking the tips of each finger, one by one. “You afraid that if I have your name I’ll have control over you? That it?”

“You’re new,” the shape replied, a low chuckle bubbling up behind the words.

“Maybe,” the man said.

“No, that wasn’t a question,” the shape said. “You’re new. Just out of Hell?”

“He is,” a new voice said from the massive iron gate only a few feet away. “His name is Anzu and I do not like him at all, Morty. Very rude fella, he is.”

“Sorry, Jack,” Morty, the shape, said to the gate. “He been out there all night?”

“He has,” Jack replied.

“That thing,” Anzu said and nodded at the gate’s two foot diameter face, also made of iron. “What is that? A Green Man?”

“I am,” Jack replied. He glared back at Anzu. “A Jack O’ The Wood, to be exact.”

“A jack o’ the off, to be exact,” Anzu laughed, spraying the disgusting surface of the weathered bar with spittle and squirrel bits.

“Sumerian,” Morty guessed, still only a shape in the early morning gloom. “Am I right?”

There was a flash of light, and Morty’s face became visible as he put a Zippo to the nub of a cigar clamped between his lips. Lips made of stone, hard and cracked. In the brief light thrown by the flame, it was obvious that Morty was far from human. His features were chiseled, literally, from granite.

“Hey, look at you.” Anzu laughed some more. “Ain’t you just the typical gargoyle. All fangs and wings and claws and shit. Where’d you come from, eh? Where’d that other one go? The little guy hiding in the grass?”

“He’s off. My turn at watch,” Morty said around his cigar, giving it a good, long puff to fully light the end.

“Watch. Watch, watch, watch. Watching,” Anzu said and nodded. “Watching me?” Morty didn’t reply. “Yeah. Watching me. Damn, look at you. They don’t make ’em uglier, do they?”

“Grotesque,” Morty replied, snapping his Zippo closed. The tip of his cigar nub glowed cherry red then died back to a brick umber, casting just enough light to see a heavy cheek here, a shadowed jaw there.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying,” Anzu responded as he tore back into the squirrel corpse, ripping off a back leg and crunching down on it like it was a mouthful of nachos. “Grotesque. Ugly as all hell.”

“Yeah, you’re new,” Morty said and leaned against the fence. “Grotesque is what I am. Not a gargoyle, a grotesque.”

“Huh?” Anzu asked. “What’s that?”

“There is a difference,” Morty explained. “Gargoyles are water spouts. Set into the corners of buildings to guide rainwater away from the stonework and foundation below. If the building had a moat, then the gargoyle would be large enough to divert the water out into the moat. Otherwise they would usually be aimed at a cistern or water barrel.”

“What are you telling me? There’s a difference?” Anzu asked.

“You’re Sumerian, right?” Morty asked.

“Yeah, so?” Anzu replied.

“Is there a difference between a Sumerian demon and an Assyrian demon?” Morty asked.

“Shit, yeah, there’s a difference,” Anzu snorted. He choked until he hawked up a hunk of squirrel flesh from out his nose. Splat. He stared down at it.

“Do not,” Jack begged. “Please do not do what I believe you will—”

Anzu picked up the snotty hunk and popped it into his mouth.

“Oh, he did it,” Jack whispered. “If only I could vomit. He’s been like this all night. You missed the toad.”

“Toad? You’re a hungry one,” Morty said.

“I eat,” Anzu replied and shrugged. “So, what’s this about Assyrian demons? Why do you care about that lot? Bunch of goat buggerers, if you ask me.”

“I don’t care about Assyrian demons,” Morty said. “Or about Sumerian demons. I was making a point that there’s a difference between a gargoyle and a grotesque, just like there is a difference between a Sumerian and an Assyrian demon.”

“You lost me,” Anzu said. “You’re all grotesque. Ugly as sin.” He giggled. “Maybe not that ugly. I have performed some sins that would crack your stone face in half, let me tell you.”

“He told me,” Jack said. “They are not pretty stories. I asked him to stop, but he would not. I do detest the new ones.”

“He’s not so bright, is he?” Morty asked Jack. “They must be getting desperate to send an idiot demon like him to watch our little piece of the world.”

“No need to get personal, friend,” Anzu said. He belched and patted his stomach. “Uh, oh. Feels like squirrel doesn’t sit well with this vessel.”

“I told you that,” Jack said. “I specifically said that you needed to cook the meat first or there would be consequences.”

“Cook? Like with fire?” Anzu said. He shook his head and gave Jack a wry smile. “Not gonna happen, green man. I just got out of a pit of fire; no way I’m ever starting one on purpose during my tour above.”

“What I am trying to educate you on,” Morty continued, returning to the previous conversation, “is that what you would normally call a gargoyle is actually a grotesque. A depiction of a human or animal form carved into the stone of a building.”

“Yeah, a gargoyle. Same thing,” Anzu said. “I’ve been through the orientation. We all have to go through it before they let us take a shift here.” He patted the bar. “Not that this is a choice gig. I mean, look around, I’m stuck at a rotting, moldy bar probably yanked from some suburban basement, plopped here in a muddy meadow at the top of a hill in the middle of banjo land.”

“It came from a recreational warehouse store,” Jack said.

“What?” Anzu replied.

“The bar,” Jack said. “It came from a recreational warehouse store. I was here when they brought it. It was much nicer then.”

“I don’t care where the bar came from,” Anzu snapped. “All I care about is doing my time so maybe I get transferred to one of the cities or something. See some real action. Have some real fun.” He belched and farted. “Get me a body that isn’t gonna keel over any second.”

The sky had begun to turn light pink and the gray of early morning was slowly fading. Morty shaking his head in disgust was much easier to see than he would have been only a couple of minutes before. It was also easier to see the scowl on Anzu’s face as Morty turned his back on the demon-possessed man and leaned heavily against the bars of the wrought-iron fence.

“What? You’re going to ignore me now?” Anzu snapped.

He picked up the mutilated squirrel and threw it at the fence. What was left of the tiny corpse split in two and the bloody rib cage smacked into a stone shoulder. There was the bright glow of the cigar butt, a huge cloud of bluish smoke, but no visible response from Morty to the assault.

“Grotesque, gargoyle, whatever,” Anzu said, flapping a bloody hand at the huge stone building that sat two acres beyond the iron fence. “It don’t matter none. This is all just a waiting game. We each do our time until one of us makes a move.”

“If you say so,” Morty replied, back still against the fence. He causally brushed at a spot on his shoulder where a stray piece of squirrel fur was stuck. The fur floated down to the ground, lost in the calf-high grass that filled the acreage on Morty’s side of the fence. “You’ll learn.”

“You will,” Jack agreed.

“I’ll learn? I’ll learn what?” Anzu asked. His body shook and he crumpled across the surface of the bar for a second before slowly pushing himself upright. “Forget it. I’m off shift. Harass the next guy, will ya? I don’t need your crap. Just gonna do my time and move on.”

“If you say so,” Morty repeated.

“I do!” Anzu snapped, jumping from the bar stool and onto his feet. He grimaced in pain as his facial features blurred for half a second. “Damn. Why does the shift change have to hurt?”

“Because you have chosen to possess a body that does not belong to you,” Jack said. “The pain you feel is the physical manifestation of the violation you have perpetrated on an innocent human being.”

“No such thing, green man,” Anzu said then coughed hard and collapsed into the muddy grass.

Morty smoked his cigar and waited. Three seconds later, the body stirred and issued a long, exhausted moan. Morty turned around, took the cigar out of his mouth, carefully snuffed it out in his palm so as not to crush it, then placed the butt back between his lips.

“That you, Todd?” Morty asked.

“It’s me,” the man whispered. He turned his head and bloodshot eyes tried to focus, failed, tried again, failed once more, then turned away from where Morty stood. “I don’t feel so well.”

“New guy,” Morty said. “He’s been eating all night.”

“All night?” the no-longer-possessed Todd asked. “Like what?”

“Squirrel,” Jack said. “Good morning, Todd.”

Todd groaned and clutched at his belly. “Feels like more than squirrel.”

“Possibly a toad or two,” Jack said.

“Sorry, pal,” Morty said. “Gonna be a long day for your body and whatever other demon they send to fill it.”

“No shit,” Todd said and groaned again. “Oh, man, do me a favor and tell the next asshole to at least pull down my pants and squat? I don’t want to wake up to trousers filled with crap tonight.”

“I will. I’ll be sure and have the next on watch ask, too,” Morty said, shrugging his massive, stone shoulders. The sun was cresting the hill and the hint of folded wings could almost be seen. “But you know demons.”

“Intimately,” Todd said. He sighed as his body shook with gastrointestinal discomfort. “And good morning, Jack. Sorry I didn’t say it before.”

“No apologies needed, Mr. Birdgman,” Jack replied. “You are in an unenviable position.”

“What’d you learn?” Morty asked, his granite eyes locked onto Todd as the man struggled to get to his feet. He waited for Todd to stabilize himself with a hand on the edge of the bar before asking again. “What’d you learn?”

“New demon named Anzu,” Todd answered, slumping into the bar stool. “Fresh out of Hell.”

“I know that,” Morty said. “I had to chat with him until he left for the shift change. What’d you learn about out there?” Morty waved a rocky hand at the horizon. “What’s going on in the weird, wide world?”

Todd closed his eyes, squirmed in his seat until he was semi-comfortable, then shook his head.

“New York is lost,” Todd answered after a few minutes of slow, deep breathing. “Last cathedral went down yesterday.”

“What?” Morty exclaimed, the cigar butt nearly dropping from his mouth. He repositioned it and frowned, heavy stone brows dropping low and knitting in the middle. “How’d they manage that?”

“Found some humans not possessed and suckered them into leading the attack,” Todd replied. “Took out St. Luke’s in less than an hour once the gargoyles were removed.”

“Grotesques didn’t put up a fight?” Morty asked, his stone-cut features shocked at the revelation.

“I don’t know,” Todd said. “Those details weren’t in the new guy’s mind.”

“I would assume the assault was similar to Boston or Paris,” Jack said. “Once the gargoyles were destroyed, their protection of their sanctuary fell and the demon hordes invaded. The grotesques were overwhelmed.”

Todd shrugged, wincing at the simple movement. “Probably.”

“New York,” Morty mused. “They’re winning.”

“You think?” Todd asked and laughed, wincing again as a groan of discomfort overtook his sarcasm. His hands went to his belly. “Oh, man, here it comes.”

He hopped down from the stool and hurried away from the bar. Behind him, toward the base of the hill, was a thicket of large oaks. He rushed down the hill, slipping and sliding in the wet grass as he went.

“Tell the next shift to lay off the critters!” Todd called over his shoulder. His bowels had begun to let loose several yards before he reached the oaks, but he kept going until he was lost in leafy shadow. “Please!”

“Will do, Todd!” Morty called after the man, but there was no response except the faint sound of a mess being made.

“Poor man,” Jack said. “He is forced to endure so much hardship and indignity.”

Morty didn’t respond. He kept his eyes on the spot where Todd had disappeared. After close to half an hour, the man appeared once more. He walked with his back erect and eyes staring at Morty. He slowly made his way up the hill and took a seat at the bar.

“Good Morning, Mordecai,” the man said and nodded. Then shifted his gaze to the gate. “Jack.” He looked up at the brightening sky. His stomach gurgled with painful intensity, but he didn’t show any discomfort on his face. “Looks to be a beautiful day.”

“Valac?” Morty asked. When the demon-possessed man nodded, Morty continued, “What brings you to Todd today? Sitting watch isn’t usually your gig.”

“No, it is not,” Valac said. His stomach gurgled again and that time he showed it. “But, apparently this vessel was disused last night, so management thought it would be wise to have someone of my stature inhabit the body while it repairs itself.”

“If you say so,” Morty replied.

Valac turned his gaze from the bluing sky to Morty. The demon’s eyes were made of flesh, but were infinitely harder than those of the creature made of pure stone.

“I say so,” Valac replied. “You should know by now, Mordecai, that I do not mince words.”

“Yeah, I know,” Morty said. “But you’re also a demon, which means you’re hiding the truth.”

“Is something coming?” Jack asked. “Something must be coming. Why else would they send the Treasure Hunter to sit with us?”

Valac only smiled and returned to staring up into the dawn sky. Wisps of white clouds, lazy and ephemeral, floated away from the mountains.

“Yes, it looks to be a beautiful day,” Valac said after several minutes.

Morty grunted then relit his cigar. He puffed at it until it was nearly non-existent, then put it out permanently before tossing the stub into the grass at his feet next to the hundreds of other stubs.

“What will you do when you run out of cigars, Mordecai?” Valac asked.

“Get more,” Morty replied, extending his granite wings.

“As if it is that easy,” Valac replied.

“If it was, then it wouldn’t be fun,” Morty said.

“Our ideas of fun differ,” Valac said.

“That ain’t the half of it,” Morty said and laughed.

“No, I suppose it is not,” Valac said without looking away from the sky. “Nowhere near the half of it, as you say.”

2

“VALAC,” MORTY SAID to another grotesque as his watch ended, and he walked up the hill toward the great stone cathedral that topped the rise.

The sun was almost set behind the building, framing it in an orange light that bordered on heavenly. The stained glass windows, the alternating colors of intricate stonework, the towers and tiled roof, were highlighted by a sunset perfectly framed between two mountain peaks. It was an idyllic image that people used to drive for hours to witness. A chance to see a piece of European history set in the middle of rural Appalachia.

Morty wished he could appreciate the countryside’s beauty more, but it was hard when faced with the ugliness of the possessed and the demons that controlled them.

“Be careful,” Morty warned.

The other stone creature, one cut to look like an elegantly dressed woman—although from a time several centuries earlier—paused and held a hand against Morty’s chest. Her features were finely chiseled, shaped into an exquisite beauty that Morty’s features completely lacked. He was the monster; she was the angel.

Yet she did not possess the wings Morty did; instead, her back was draped in a long, stone shawl that flowed and drifted in her wake. An impossible feat considering the shawl should be too heavy to be influenced by any air current she produced when she moved.

“Why would they send Valac?” she asked, the shawl settling silently into place as she stopped.

Five feet tall, a good foot shorter than Morty, the stone woman did not look to have the strength and bulk to stop a creature the size and breadth of Morty, but he had come to an instant halt at her touch. She withdrew her hand and frowned up at him.

“What did he say?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Morty replied. Her frown deepened. “Seriously, Olivia, he said nothing. I tried.” Her frown twitched at the corners. “Okay, I didn’t try. But Jack did, of course. He hates silence.”

“I am aware of that,” Olivia replied. “Valac really said nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“What about Todd? Did he say anything?” Olivia pressed as she saw Morty’s features darken. “Mordecai? What did Todd say between shifts?”

“New York fell,” Morty replied. “They finally took down St. Luke’s.”

Olivia sighed with a pain as old as the stone she was cut from.

“New York,” she whispered. “They are winning.”

“Looks like it,” Morty said and produced a fresh cigar from one of the crags in his stone body. He plucked his Zippo from another crag, lit the cigar, exhaled a long stream of smoke, then smiled down at Olivia as he clacked the lighter closed with a flick of his wrist and tucked it back into its hiding spot. “But, honestly? There is no winning or losing in this war, Olivia. Only won or lost. As long as we’re here, and the cathedral still stands, then they haven’t won and we haven’t lost.”

Olivia turned to look over her shoulder at the cathedral. She shook her head, but when she looked back at Morty, the frown was replaced with a smile.

“As long as we have your optimism, then perhaps we aren’t losing,” Olivia said. She patted him on the chest and moved on. “Artus would like to see you when you go in. He knows you are low on cigars and wants to speak with you before you foolishly go searching for more.”

“How does he know?” Morty asked without expecting an answer. “I swear, for a gargoyle stuck in a courtyard, that guy knows everything.”

“It is his job, Mordecai,” Olivia said. “Without him, we would be lost.”

“Maybe not lost,” Morty said and waved the hand that held his cigar around the grounds. “But we wouldn’t have this. That G is all that keeps us from dealing with our own horde of demons.”

“He is our protector,” Olivia said. “His power keeps the abominations at bay and our wards safe. Wards that could be the last of their kind very soon.”

“Wards,” Morty scoffed. “This job would be a lot easier without the humans to babysit.”

“You don’t mean that. Part of this job is keeping the humans alive,” Olivia admonished. “And it is not supposed to be easy, Mordecai.”

“Says you,” he replied, smirking around the cigar which was back in place between his lips. “I could sure go for a vacation.”

“What will we do with you?” Olivia asked as she continued toward the fence, the gate, and her scheduled watch of the rotting bar beyond. “Do not forget to speak with Artus immediately. He seemed tired and will need his rest tonight, so do not make him wait.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go see him,” Morty called after her then continued his way up to the impressive building.

Despite his need to hurry, Morty slowed his walk as he puffed on his cigar and studied the only home he’d ever known.

Originally built as a Norman castle in Wales in the thirteenth century, the cathedral was often abandoned, cycling through many hands—including the Benedictine monks who had created an exquisite abbey, which became a bishop’s seat, necessitating the transformation from a simple structure into a grand cathedral befitting a bishop’s title and privilege. As the inhabitants of the county abandoned their homes and farms for the possibility of a more prosperous life in England or the United States, the castle sat for decades, moldering and falling apart until a bootlegger named Byrne, second generation Irish-American, found it during a detour on his first trip to the home country with his new wife.

Morty knew the story well, having heard it repeated plenty of times as new humans arrived at the sanctuary seeking safety.

Byrne’s wife, daughter of one of the more successful moonshiners in the Appalachian region of the Southeast, insisted that the cathedral be placed not outside Boston on the estate land Byrne had purchased for them, but on the miles of acreage comprising her family’s land and which straddled the mountainous, rural border of Western North Carolina and Eastern Tennessee.

Piece by piece, stone by stone, the cathedral was moved across the Atlantic to be reassembled on ground officially known on maps as Hickok’s Knoll. But the locals called the place Margaret’s Patch, a gorgeous tract of hilled meadow with a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the surrounding mountains. Less than a decade later, Prohibition ended, as did Byrne’s fortune, and the cathedral lay empty once again, a stolid landmark on the knoll.

The cathedral led many lives—army hospital, sanatorium, arts college, and hotel—and had many deaths before it was purchased and restored to its original cathedral state by the Hickok’s Knoll Preservation Society.

Yet, during those many lives, one thing remained a constant: the grotesques.

When the HKPS got their hands on the cathedral, there were close to three hundred grotesques adorning the walls, the arches, the corners, the columns, and the courtyard of the historical building.

But amongst all of those grotesques, only one true gargoyle survived the years of neglect and change. A six-foot-long form carved into the likeness of a praying monk, Artus stuck out from one of the four corners in the cathedral’s central courtyard, spilling water from his mouth into a wide, deep basin below when it rained, or just looking down with patience and piety on those who enjoyed the sunny, private space that was surrounded by the cathedral’s internal walls, arched windows and doorways.

It was toward that courtyard Morty headed as he stepped through the cathedral’s wide, double doors, which were flanked by two towers reaching four stories into the sky. Two thin, but healthy-looking, men stopped him in the gallery. Morty’s eyes flicked to the nave, beyond which was the courtyard. If he wanted to get there anytime soon, he’d best listen to whatever complaints the humans had.

“Parsons, Birchstein,” Morty said, taking out the omnipresent cigar and tapping ash between the feet of the two men. “What can I do for you two this evening?”

“We hear you’re going on a cigar run,” Parsons blurted. “We got a couple items for you to look for.”

A man in his mid-forties, Parsons looked like he would have been at home in some Depression-era photograph of dustbowl farmers. All skinny limbs and angular joints, Parsons had a perpetual squint that made him look either stupid or constantly questioning the world around him. Unfortunately for the man, he was both.

Birchstein was just as angular and skinny, but he was half a foot taller and his eyes never squinted. His gaze held a wealth of knowledge that reflected his former profession as a social analyst for one of the most well-known, nonpartisan think tanks in Washington D.C. Back when Washington D.C. wasn’t overrun with demons and nearly burned to the ground.

“What he means to say, Morty, is that we would truly appreciate it if you could look for a couple of needed items,” Birchstein said. “Only if you have the time, of course.”

“Get me a list,” Morty said, and pushed past the two men. For a creature made of stone, it was like pushing past a couple of weak saplings. “If I have time, I’ll look. No promises.”

“Of course,” Birchstein said.

“Artus told us you’d look!” Parsons snapped as Morty walked from the gallery into the nave.

Morty stopped and slowly turned around. Birchstein had a hand over his face and was shaking his head while Parsons looked like he was ready to argue.

“Birch,” Morty said. “Explain to your friend how well I respond to orders by wards.”

“Come on,” Birchstein said, tugging at Parsons’s arm. “Let’s make the list. If he can get the items, then he can get them. If not, then not.”

“Artus said—” Parsons started, but was cut off by a hard slap from Birchstein. “Ow! What the hell was that for?”

“For wasting Morty’s time,” Birchstein said. He tugged harder on Parsons’s arm and gave Morty a shy, apologetic smile.

“If I was Elisa, he’d listen,” Parsons muttered as Birchstein dragged him away.

Morty watched them leave the gallery, headed around to the avenue lining the south side of the building. Once they were out of sight, he tapped off more ash from his cigar and turned back to the nave.

“They never learn, do they?” a voice called from the top of the column to the left of the nave’s entry. “Can’t push Morty. No, sir. Ain’t gonna happen.”

“Push Morty and he gets pissed,” a second voice said. “P-I-S-S-E-D. Pissed!”

The two voices broke into cackling laughter. Morty ignored them, refusing to look up at the two carved forms of sneering, twisted faces that were the capitals resting between the columns and the ends of a stone arch that separated the gallery from the nave.

“Artus wants to see ya!” the first cried out, loud enough for anyone within a couple of miles to hear.

“He’s waiting!” the other yelled, trying to beat the first’s volume.

“I know, I know,” Morty said, waving his cigar at them.

“Bye, Morty!” one called.

“See ya later, big guy!” the other shouted.

Morty put his cigar back between his lips and steadied himself for the gauntlet he was about to walk.

The nave.

A hundred feet long, and lined entirely with small, narrow makeshift beds up and down each side, the nave was the main living space for the humans that were housed inside the cathedral. The wards, as the stone creatures called them. They, in turn, were called Gs by the wards. An easy way not to make the mistake of calling a grotesque a gargoyle. Grotesques hated being called gargoyles.

“Morty?” a slight woman of about fifty asked from her cot. Hers was the closest to the archway that designated the end of the gallery and the beginning of the nave. “Would you mind talking briefly when you are done with Artus?”

“I’ll try, Hannah,” Morty replied. “I’ve been on duty since dawn and have a lot to do before I can stand still. If I’m able to stay animate, I’ll come find you.”

“Please do,” Hannah said, a sad smile on her face. She looked down the length of the nave and her eyes fell on a group of teenagers busy chatting loudly. “It’s important.”

Morty’s eyes followed hers, and he could tell the teenagers were intentionally pretending not to be interested in him. It was their little dance. They were very interested in him, and all the other Gs, but wouldn’t dare show it. That just wouldn’t be cool.

“Is it important enough that I need to stay and chat now?” Morty asked.

“Not yet,” Hannah answered. “But it will be soon.”

“I’ll swing by when I’m done with Artus,” Morty said. “I promise.”

Hannah’s bloodshot eyes went wide then softened as her smile grew. “Thank you, Morty. You didn’t have to promise, but I appreciate it.”

“Just wanted you to know I wasn’t blowing you off,” Morty said, his gaze still on the teens. “I’m bound by my promise now.”

Hannah nodded then went back to a game of solitaire she was playing on the thin blanket of her cot. Morty moved on, a sad look on his face. He felt sorry for Hannah. That deck of cards was missing the eight of clubs. She’d never win the game.

Morty suspected she knew the card was missing. It would be classic Hannah. Aware of the negative, but still able to push forward and make do with what was at hand. The act of play was what she needed, not the act of winning.

It was a concept that Morty understood completely. He had a duty to perform and that duty was to protect the wards that dwelled within the sanctuary’s walls. The job was perpetual, there was no endgame, no winning, just the constant play as hero and protector. It was a role he felt comfortable with despite his inclination to gruffness and occasional impatience with wards.

Technically, the magic that infused and animated the Gs only required them to protect the sanctuary, the wards inside simply being an extension of the building. If the wards left the sanctuary, then they were supposed to be on their own. But he had a hard time reconciling that with the reality. He suspected most of the Gs did too, despite their occasional gray opinions to the contrary.

As he walked, the sunset lit up the stained glass windows that lined the top of the nave, bathing Morty and the others in a multicolored light show. Many of the wards who had been heavy in conversation stopped to look up at the windows, their sad, distressed faces warming instantly.

The flood of color in their mostly gray lives was a small relief that came each day, a hint that the world could still be beautiful. Morty wasn’t immune to it, despite being made entirely of stone. He might have looked like a monster, but he was far from it. He knew beauty when he saw it.

How could he not protect all those who saw the beauty as well?

Especially when a portion of that beauty sat cross-legged on a couple of cots pulled together. A young woman, encircled by some of the young children who had been lucky enough to find the sanctuary, laughed and teased those children, joking about something that Morty couldn’t quite hear. There was nothing romantic about his appreciation of her beauty. And it wasn’t because he was a grotesque and she was a human. He, as well as the other Gs, simply weren’t made that way. Romance was for the flesh, not for the stone.

It was simply that, in spite of the technicality of their magic, there was affection for the wards from the Gs. Their bodies were stone-cold, but their hearts weren’t. Not always, at least.

Morty smiled around his cigar at the same moment she looked his way. He tried to pretend he hadn’t been watching, but he failed miserably as he did a half turn one way then a half turn the other way, finally deciding to keep moving toward the courtyard as the woman smiled back and gave him a quick wave. His bluff and bluster had never had the slightest effect on Elisa. She spoke briefly to the children then hopped off the cots and hurried his way.

He’d almost reached the end of the nave and the archway to the courtyard outside, but the young woman was quick and blocked his way before he could take more than a few steps. She was in her early twenties, a tiny fraction of the years Morty had spent on Earth, but the look on her face told the world around her that she had lived more life than many of the people in that nave combined. Morty wondered if what he liked most about her was the contradiction of her, or her similarity to him. Both kind and gruff, hard as a rock, but giving when it counted. Not an ounce of quit.

“Elisa,” Morty said as he tried to move past her. She wanted to talk, but Artus was waiting in the courtyard for him. “You look lovely, as always.”

“Save the compliments, M,” Elisa replied in the jokingly antagonistic manner the two of them had developed. It was almost a sibling relationship, instead of protector and ward. “I need something from you.”

Long, raven-black hair; dark complexion; high cheekbones; a body plump in places, muscular in others; eyes made of pure gray steel, Elisa Running Child was Cherokee through and through.

Except she wasn’t, as she’d told Morty many times. She’d never known a tribe. Never set foot on the reservation that was only a couple of dozen miles away from Margaret’s Patch. She’d been taken far away by her mother, a woman desperate to escape poverty and spousal abuse. Elisa had only her last name to connect her to the Eastern Band of the Cherokee Indians.

Running Child.

Which was what she had become, running from one bad situation to the next until she’d had enough of running and tried to hitch her way back to her people. She’d only made it as far as Margaret’s Patch. Then the Gates of Hell opened.

She was angry at the world, but she was also cautious, careful, practical, and always upfront. No games, no drama, no crap.

Which was why Morty wanted to put off whatever conversation she had in mind.

“I don’t have time, E,” Morty said. “I need to speak with—”

“Artus. Yeah, I know,” Elisa said. She waved her hands around. “Everyone knows. You’re late to the party in the courtyard.”

“Party?” Morty asked. “What party?”

He tried to look past her, but she blocked his view. Elisa was not a short woman. Six feet and broad-shouldered, she could be a formidable physical presence. But she rarely used that size to intimidate. She had a natural command of who she was, and Morty respected that. He especially knew it wasn’t easy being large without coming off as aggressive. It was probably why the children of the sanctuary looked up to her the most. Elisa had a way of being in charge without a need to be constantly noticed.

At least until she wanted to be noticed.

“What?” he asked, rolling the cigar between his lips. “What is it, E? I’m busy.”

He overcompensated and was a little too gruff with her. It instantly showed on her face as some of the joking fell away. A small widening of the ever-cautious eyes, a hurt twitch pulling down the corner of her mouth. Morty knew he’d pay for being a jerk, but he’d have to worry about that later.

“Nothing,” Elisa said, stepping out of his way and giving him the most sarcastic curtsey in the history of sarcastic curtseys. “Sorry to bother you.”

Now he’d stepped in it. Morty knew people looked up to her. When things got hard, which was all the damn time, eyes glanced her way and looked to her for guidance. All it would take to make his life in the cathedral very uncomfortable was for word to get around to one or two people of how he’d disrespected Elisa. The key to staying safe, to keeping the sanctuary of the cathedral secure, was order. Elisa could rip that order and precarious balance apart with just a sentence, if she chose to make an issue of this.

Morty growled his capitulation, a sound like grinding gravel in his throat. “What do you need?”

“You sure you have time?” Elisa asked. She straightened up from her curtsey and placed her hands on her hips. Her thumbs instantly hooked into the belt loops of her jeans, and Morty smiled. It was a habit she had when she loosened up.

“What?” she asked. “What’s so damn funny?”

A couple of the humans hissed at the word damn, but Elisa ignored them, her eyes focused squarely on Morty.

“What do you need?” Morty asked again.

“Pregnancy test,” Elisa replied. Straightforward, no explanation. “Can you get it the next time you go out?”

“What? For you?” Morty asked. He tried to keep the surprise out of his voice, but failed horribly. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.”

“Well, it kind of does matter,” Elisa said. She grinned as Morty tried not to look uncomfortable. “Just not for me. I’m good. Can you get it?”

“Who says I’m going out again anytime soon?” Morty asked.

Elisa cocked a hip and folded her arms in reply. A determined frown replaced her grin.

“Fine, I’m going out,” Morty said. “But I don’t know when. Doesn’t Highlander have one in the infirmary?”

“Highlander still thinks babies are brought in by the stork,” Elisa said.

“No, he doesn’t,” Morty said. “He knows exactly how babies happen.”

“Yeah, but you know he gets weird around me sometimes, so asking him for a pregnancy test is like catching a deer in the headlights,” Elisa said. “He freezes and all that autistic medical genius of his goes bye-bye.”

“You checked the supplies yourself?” Morty asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

Again with the hip cock. The frown deepened.

“Fine,” Morty said. “I’ll add it to the list.”

“Good,” Elisa said, the frown banished and the grin returned. “Thanks. I knew I could count on you.”

She started to walk away, but Morty tapped her on the shoulder. She didn’t flinch, but Morty could see and sense her instantly tense. Elisa didn’t exactly like to be touched, a fact Morty forgot all the time.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Answer me this,” Morty said as he pulled his hand back. “How the hell does everyone know that I’m going out soon?”

“We keep an eye on your cigar stash.” Elisa shrugged and then walked off.

The conversation was done. She was heading back to the kids and their eager faces, leaving a confused Morty in her wake.

“But I have that hidden,” Morty called after her.

Elisa laughed without looking back. “Sure you do.”

Morty grumbled as he continued to the courtyard, his mind going over the layout of the cathedral, searching for a new hiding place for his cigars.

When he walked out into the last rays of the sunset, he stopped cold. Every mobile G in the cathedral was there waiting, all stone eyes on him.

“Thank you for joining us, Mordecai,” Artus said from his perch high in the far corner of the courtyard. “Now we can begin.”

3

THE STONECUTTER took special care when carving Artus. He spent a year and a half getting the features right, making sure every detail was sharp, crisp, clear. When he was done, he did what all Stonecutters did, and smeared his own blood across Artus’s carved face. In that moment, there was the tiniest of flashes of light, but the spark was gone almost before it began.

The Stonecutter smiled and went about his day’s work, taking less care with the other projects in his workshop. For them, he was only a stonecutter. He was not the Stonecutter as he’d been for Artus. The other projects would never get the blood. They were simply carved stone, inanimate, heavy, sitting there to be picked up and moved by the wagon man, and taken to their new homes.

Artus would be picked up by the wagon man, as well, but this time, the Stonecutter would accompany the delivery.

Artus’s origin was a story Morty and the others had heard a hundred times, but he always replayed it in his head whenever he was in the gargoyle’s presence. He wasn’t sure why, and didn’t know if any of the other Gs did so as well, but it seemed to help remind him that no matter how hard his job was, Artus’s was much harder.

Installation of Artus took eight men, and a complex system of pulleys and winches. He was one of four gargoyles set in the high corners of the courtyard of the castle, which would become an abbey, which would become a cathedral, then become so many more things when moved to the New World centuries later to once again become a cathedral.

For the centuries in between, Artus looked out over the courtyard and had thought of nothing. He was designed simply to decorate the courtyard and to divert water out and away from the internal walls when it rained. He was hollow, and his wide-open mouth sent a stream into a large cistern that sat far below him. He was no different than the three gargoyles that decorated the other corners of the courtyard.

Except that he was the only one of them that had been made by the Stonecutter. He had been the only one gifted with the man’s blood. People tended to want to drink from his cistern more often than the others. Priests blessed the water that came down from his mouth, ignoring the three other sources. Those who stood beneath him, when it wasn’t raining, felt a sense of peace.

Many a priest, monk, noble, or visiting villager took solace in looking up into his stone face when their lives became difficult. Whether it was the magic the Stonecutter’s blood imparted or just the artistic skill with which the face was carved, those who gazed upon him always went away feeling lighter, happier, like maybe, just maybe, their troubles weren’t as overwhelming as they had thought.

Artus had been different even before the building was taken apart and moved, stone by stone, piece by piece, onto ships and across the ocean. Still, Artus had had no idea that something important was happening. He was only stone. He was an ornament. He was just a set of four.

But, when the stones, the pieces, the parts of the cathedral had finally arrived at Margaret’s Patch, he became a set of one. The other three gargoyles, his silent brothers in rain, snow, and sleet, hadn’t made the move. In fact, quite a few of the grotesques hadn’t survived the trip. Maybe a dozen or so remained intact, but the rest either cracked during shipping or crumbled upon the rebuilding of the cathedral.

Artus was still bound by stone—was stone—oblivious to the changes.

The three broken gargoyles were replaced by replicas, cut to look just like Artus in their reincarnation, instead of how they were before their unfortunate destruction. If Artus could have seen them, had eyes that weren’t stone, he would have stared at three identical images of himself.

Despite their perfect mimicry of Artus, the replicas never felt right, even to Byrne who’d been responsible for moving the stones. So the man had the imperfect replicas taken down, tossed them aside, and then he hunted for gargoyles, for grotesques, for carved faces and forms, for stone monsters and gods, for granite beauties and queens. Somewhere inside the gangster, there had been a romantic, a person who could feel the power and love hidden deep within Artus’s stony form. That romantic part, that part of Byrne that wasn’t a killer and crook, took vacations to places where he might discover new carved souls of stone to bring back to Margaret’s Patch.

And when the Gates of Hell opened, when the gargoyles and grotesques of the world that had been carved by Stonecutters awoke, Artus found himself in the company of some very special creatures indeed. It was those creatures, including Morty, he had told his story to, for it was all their story.

“Thank you for joining us, Mordecai,” Artus said, pulling Morty from his thoughts. “Now we can begin.”

“Don’t let me hold you up,” Morty said as he ignored the irritated looks from the others.

Morty was not the only stone creature standing below Artus, but he was the largest of the Gs. Spaced haphazardly in the courtyard was a mélange of comedy, horror, imitation, and caricature. From a foot high to Morty’s six feet, the Gs were carved in forms ranging from a large fanged goblin to petite faeries. Symbols of the eras in which they were carved, each G had been special to their Stonecutter, each worthy of being given the blood of the hands that had shaped them.

And just like Morty and Artus, they had awakened the day the Gates of Hell had opened.

“Is this meeting about when Morty is going out again?” a short, stout G with the body of a man and head of a donkey asked.

“No, Geffe, this meeting is not about that,” Artus replied in the patient, calm voice he used for all occasions, no matter the importance. “I would not call a meeting for that. You can coordinate with Morty yourselves if you have any specific needs.”

The needs were quickly voiced by all and the courtyard became a loud and raucous space filled with gravelly voices.

“Hey!” Morty shouted and everyone piped down. “Later, okay? Write it down, make a list. It’s not that hard.”

A three-foot-tall fawn raised a hand that held his pan flute and asked, “What if we don’t know how to write?”

“Come on, Deek,” Morty snapped. “Get someone to write it down for you. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to ask!”

“But it may be the last time,” Artus said, taking control of the meeting once again with those ominous words. “That is why I have called all of you here. I have already spoken to Olivia and she spread the word to the grotesques that are not mobile before taking her shift at the gates. I am afraid we may only have a few more weeks, perhaps only days, before the possessed surround us.”

Including Morty and Artus, there were nine Gs present. Byrne had collected many more grotesques during his travels, but he was not an expert, nor was he trained in any way when it came to the hidden powers of the universe. Only ten of the free-standing statues he found had been carved by Stonecutters. Possibly another dozen Gs were scattered throughout the cathedral, but, like Artus, they were immovable, some meant as weight-bearing pieces of the structure while others were simple, large tiles with faces set high into walls and placed in the center of doors. Only those grotesques standing below Artus, as well as Olivia at the gates, and one more G that kept to himself up on the roof, could move about at will.

These few were the last line of defense against the possessed and the demons outside the sanctuary grounds. The stationary Gs could only shout hurtful words and make awful faces. When it came time, the Gs standing in the courtyard, all looking confused at Artus’s words, were the fighting force that would decide whether or not the wards inside the cathedral lived or died.

“How do you know that?” Morty asked, voicing the obvious question for all. “You can’t leave that spot, Artus.”

“There are times I am given information,” Artus said. “I know not where it comes from, but when it does, I am confident it is the truth.”

“He knows not where it comes from? He knows not where it comes from?” Geffe mocked. “Cut the highfalutin’ BS, Artus, and lay it on us straight. How do you know we’re about to be surrounded?”

Geffe had spent a good deal of his time on Earth in various grotesque and art collections, but ultimately ended up being owned by a New Mexico rancher in the nineteenth century. He stayed in the family until one of Byrne’s men found him at an estate sale and knew his boss would love the donkey-headed thing.

Artus was used to Geffe’s blunt manner.

“Visions, as I have told all of you, are part of my magic,” Artus said. “I have seen the land surrounding the sanctuary. I have seen the multitudes of possessed who will fill that land, all wanting to get inside here at what remains of humanity.”

“What remains of humanity?” two faerie Gs asked. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Small, frail-looking, almost like they would break any second, the faeries were joined at the hip, their slight, female forms covered with carved vines and grape leaves, but only enough to keep a modicum of decency for those who might be offended by the nude form. On their backs, they each had a pair of wings, but the wings were small and chipped in so many places that they were only decorative. Their mouths were nowhere near as delicate as their bodies.

“How many more fucking sanctuaries are left?” the faeries, Nissa and Tessa, asked.

“One less, for sure,” Morty said, used to their profanity. “New York fell.”

Stunned silence. It was a silence only creatures of stone could make. The total absence of sound.

A barrel-chested G, about five feet tall, who looked like a storybook goblin, complete with bulging eyes, pointed ears, and huge fangs, cleared his throat.

“Is this verified, Morty?” Antoine asked.

“Valac took the day shift,” Morty said. “He’s controlling Todd’s body right now.”

Raspy gasps filled the courtyard instead of silence.

“Doesn’t prove anything,” Geffe said. “You hear it direct from Valac?”

“Todd told me before Valac came on,” Morty said. “Any of you heard of a demon named Anzu? He was the night shift. Todd plucked the info from his mind.”

“Yeah, he’s the new guy,” Nissa said.

“He didn’t say a word to us,” Tessa stated. “Just ate up everything he could get his shitty hands on.”

“That’s what Jack said,” Morty added. “Rude guy. Newly let out. Didn’t seem like much of a team player.”

“Anzu? I do not know this name,” Artus said, his features turning troubled. He shook his stone head and his expression returned to his paternal calm. “If he returns in Todd for a shift, study him. The Hierarchy of Demons would not have placed him at the bar if he did not have an important role to play.”

“That’s all there is to do when on shift,” Geffe said. “Just stand there and watch Todd being used like a puppet by some dumb demon.”

“There are no dumb demons, Geffe,” Artus warned. “The dumb ones have not been let out, and they will not be let out until the final days are upon us. Pray that does not happen.”

“We’re getting off track,” a four-legged G that looked like a cross between a lion and a large dog, said.

Xue sat on his stony haunches as whiffs of smoke drifted out of his large, wide nostrils. A product of one of Byrne’s trips to San Francisco, the G had been imported from China, rumored to have been plucked from a pedestal outside a crumbling palace or monastery. Byrne hadn’t known or cared; he’d just liked how exotic and mean the thing had looked.

And the lion/dog looked mean. Nearly as large as Morty, but lacking the height due to his quadrupedal nature, the G was muscle upon muscle upon muscle. If he were flesh and bone, he would look like a bull mastiff on steroids.

“Thank you, Xue,” Artus said, carefully pronouncing the name correctly—like shoe with eh at the end. “We have gotten off track, as happens so often with this group.”

Geffe and Deek began to respond, but Xue gave a harsh bark and the two Gs shut their stone mouths fast.

“We must prepare ourselves for what is coming. Valac’s presence is proof that time is short,” Artus said. “We will need to venture outside the sanctuary for supplies. Our wards will not last long with only the provisions on hand if we do end up under siege.”

“You ever been under siege before?” a small gryphon asked. With the head and front talons of an eagle, but the body, tail, and legs of a lion, the G could have been quite intimidating. If she wasn’t only a foot high and her wings weren’t broken nubs. “Well, I have. I would prefer not to do it again. Any way we can head this off, Artus?”

“No, Scythia, I am afraid it is inevitable,” Artus replied.

“So, whoa, hold your horses here,” the last of the Gs present said. “Nothing is inevitable, boss. Nothing. We all got choices. One of them being we leave this place and set out on our own.”

The group groaned and began shouting him down.

“Hey, hey, hey,” the G said. “Let a man, speak will ya?”

Four feet tall, the G was the perfect likeness of a 1920s Hollywood gangster. Pinstripe suit, fedora cocked to one side, even a stone coin that he continuously flipped with his thumb over and over, catching it with ease each time, the G was rumored to be the likeness of Byrne himself.

Except that he insisted he was carved in the 1990s, not the 1920s. No one believed him, since there was no way a Stonecutter still lived in the 1990s. It was said the last Stonecutter had died sometime in the mid-twentieth century, when American corporate prosperity changed the world and mass-produced cement replaced cut and shaped stone.

The Gs quieted down, but not completely. There were still some low grumbles as the G continued.

“Listen up,” Coins continued. “I know we have some spiritual obligation to protect this sanctuary and whatever meatbags wander in here.”

“Wards,” Artus said.

“Wards, meatbags, whatever,” Coins replied and shrugged, not deterred by the admonishment. “We all feel that obligation in our rocky guts. I know I do. I woke up with it just like the rest of you. But that don’t mean we have to die because we get a little indigestion whenever we leave the sanctuary grounds. I know I could learn to live with some cramps here and there. The key word being live. We stay here and we’ll end up so much gravel in no time.”

“Thank you for your perspective, Coins,” Artus said. “But leaving is not an option.”

“Leaving is always an option,” Coins said, flipping his stone coin into the air.

“Not for some of us. Not all of us can move about.” Morty caught the coin and it probably looked like he was about to crush it in his massive clawed hand, but instead, he slammed it against Coins’s chest. The smaller G stumbled back, but didn’t say anything, just took the coin from Morty and gave the big G a tip of his hat.

“We don’t leave,” Morty said.

“That is not quite true,” Artus said. “Some of you will have to leave in order to scavenge supplies. I only hope you have the decency to return.”

“The luck, you mean. The luck to return,” Geffe said. “If there are a ton of possessed heading this way, then we’ll be sitting ducks out there.”

“Very true,” Artus said. “Which is why we are having this meeting. Mordecai will leave at first light and survey the closest towns. He is the only one of you still gifted with flight. Also, his leaving will not cause a panic amongst the wards. When he returns, a team of you will accompany him out to the area he believes will hold the most promise for needed items.”

“Like that ain’t gonna cause eyebrows to be raised,” Coins said.

“I’m not the only one who can fly,” Morty said and the group grew uncomfortable quick. “I’m only saying. There’s one other who can fly just as well as me. Faster even. If this is as grave as you say, Artus, then he should come with me. We can cover more ground that way.”

“He has not left his perch since being placed there the year I was placed here,” Artus said. “But, of course, you are welcome to ask him. I wish you all the luck in the world.”

Throats were cleared, feet and claws were shuffled, eyes averted.

“Worth a shot,” Morty said and shrugged. “Maybe he’ll change his mind?”

No one responded to the half question, half hope.

4

ROAN WAS A Welsh dragon. Pure and simple.

With four legs, two wings, and a sharp, pointed tail, Roan was as dragon as any carved creature could be, even down to being hewn from some brick-red rock that had slowly faded to a deep pink over the centuries. Made of stone or not, he was the perfect likeness of the dragon that had adorned Arthur of legend’s banner. The curls of smoke coming from his slitted nostrils certainly aided in his authenticity.

“Roan?” Morty called out as he climbed onto the roof, quickly striding across the tiles to the spot where the dragon was perched. “You up here?”

“Where else would I be, Morty?” Roan replied. “This is my spot. At the peak between two towers.”

“Yep,” Morty said, oblivious to the pitch of the roof as he plopped down next to the dragon. “This is your spot. Problem is, pal, I think I need you to leave your spot for a few hours tomorrow.”

Morty puffed on his cigar and waited for an answer. None came.

He hadn’t expected one.

“Listen, I know we’ve talked about this before,” Morty began.

“Yes, we have, Morty,” Roan interrupted. “I remember each and every time we have discussed the subject of me leaving my spot. Can you tell me what the results of those conversations were?”

“Nothing,” Morty answered.

“Wrong,” Roan responded. “The results were that I stayed right here. In this spot. Like always.”

“This isn’t like always,” Morty said. “I need your wings and your strength. We’ve got to put in some supplies.”

Roan was much larger than Morty, but crouched low to the peak of the roof so his size was not as evident. When he uncurled himself, his full stature was quite impressive. A couple of embers popped from his nose and floated up into the early night’s sky, the sun having fully set during the meeting of the Gs below.

“Put in some supplies?” Roan grumbled. “Do I look like a pack mule to you, Morty?”

“No, pal, you don’t,” Morty said. “You’re too ugly to be a pack mule.”

Roan snorted and smiled, showing two rows of very, very sharp obsidian teeth. The Stonecutter who had made Roan had prepared for all contingencies, knowing full well that obsidian could be used on other grotesques, if needed. Morty hoped he’d never witness that.

“I will remain right where I am,” Roan stated.

“Yeah, except I really need your help this time,” Morty said. “Would I be up here asking if I didn’t?”

“If you were bored enough,” Roan said.

“Oh, come on,” Morty said. “Give me some credit. I visit when I’m not bored and I visit when I just want to hang out.”

“True,” Roan said. “But not tonight.”

“No, not tonight,” Morty said. “The wards are making a list of supplies they need and—”

“And you are almost out of cigars,” Roan chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m almost out of cigars,” Morty said.

“If you could breathe fire like me, then you wouldn’t be a slave to that habit, my friend,” Roan said and belched three smoke rings then sent a narrow stream of flame shooting through them. “See?”

“Show-off,” Morty responded. “Like I was saying, the wards are making a list of supplies. But it ain’t gonna be just a normal shopping list. We’re putting in provisions for the long haul.”

“The long haul?” Roan asked. He sighed. “A siege.”

Morty furrowed his rocky brow. “Yeah, maybe, I don’t know. Artus seems to think the possessed will be knocking at the gates pretty soon and won’t go away until they get inside.”

“They have tried that before,” Roan said. “They went away.”

“Artus doesn’t think they’ll go away this time,” Morty said. “New York fell and Valac’s down there at the bar, keeping an eye on us.”

“Valac?” Roan asked. “What does the Treasure Hunter want with our sanctuary? Seems a strange choice for demon management to make if they are planning a siege. I could see Leraje or Separ, possibly, but Valac? Doesn’t make sense.”

“Unless they are looking for something,” Morty suggested.

“Such as?” Roan asked.

“The way in,” Morty replied. “Valac hunts down treasure. Maybe management has decided that they need him to hunt down the key to opening our gates.”

“The gates below cannot be opened, nor can the grounds of the sanctuary be breached, as long as Artus remains intact,” Roan said. “That is the Law of Sanctuary.”

“Artus is getting tired,” Morty said. “I can feel it.”

“As can I. As can the demons,” Roan said. He turned and fixed his full gaze on Morty. “Which is why I cannot leave my spot. Do you believe our magics are infinite? Nothing is infinite. I must remain in place so Artus can continue.”

Morty nodded, making sure he didn’t turn his eyes from Roan’s gaze. Welsh dragons were very particular about eye contact. After a minute, Roan returned to staring out into the night. The two of them were silent for a long while.

“You’re giving Artus some of your power, aren’t you?” Morty asked.

“I am,” Roan replied without hesitation.

“Dammit,” Morty said and stood. “How long has this crap been going on?”

“Not too long,” Roan said. He patted the tile under his front claws. “I sensed his weakening when the last batch of refugees came to us.”

“Too many wards,” Morty said.

“No, it’s not the wards,” Roan said. “It’s just that Artus’s magic is old and this sanctuary is built upon new land. He would be so much stronger if the cathedral was still set in Wales, upon its original base and land.”

“Woulda, coulda, shoulda,” Morty said. “How long you got?”

“How long do I have, what? Before I tire and can no longer assist Artus?” Roan replied. “Long enough.”

“What does that mean?” Morty asked.

Roan responded with a shrug of his red shoulders and a puff of smoke from one nostril.

“Great,” Morty sighed.

“All is not lost yet,” Roan said. “Maybe Valac is here for some other reason besides the key to breaching our gates. If we find that other reason, then we might be able to forestall management’s plans.”

“You’re grasping at straws there, pal,” Morty said. He drew on his cigar then carefully put it out, tucking it away inside a hidden spot in his carved body. “But I guess we’re all doing that. Only a matter of time before we fall and the last humans are taken to be possessed like the rest of humanity.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Roan asked. “Morty? Have you given up?”

“Me? Give up?” Morty laughed. The sound echoed out across the acreage and was responded to by a high cackle from down by the gates. “Valac must be gone, because that’s Gorb on duty down there. I can tell by the cackle. Olivia hates that demon. I feel for her.”

“Yes,” Roan said. “But, we will not change the subject. Answer my question, Morty. Have you given up?”

“If I have, would I be asking you to come on a supply run with me?” Morty replied.

“A question does not answer a question,” Roan stated.

“No, Roan, I haven’t given up,” Morty said. “I may not love the wards as much as some of the other Gs, but there’s no way I’ll abandon them to the demons. I take my job very seriously.”

“I know you do,” Roan replied. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Well, now you have,” Morty said. He patted Roan on the left flank. “Listen, good talk, but I have to get below and sleep for a couple of hours. If I don’t, I’ll go solid in mid-flight tomorrow. Nothing like a half ton of granite plummeting from the sky to get the possessed laughing.”

“Do you know where you’re going?” Roan asked. “Which town you’ll try? There can’t be much left close by.”

“I’m thinking of heading into Bryson City,” Morty said.

“I thought it was overrun with possessed,” Roan said.

“That was months ago,” Morty said. “They should have cleared out by now. I’ll see if they’ve left anything to pick over, then head east to Sylva then cut up to Cherokee.”

“The casino?” Roan asked then grinned. “That’s where you’re getting the cigars from, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Morty said and gave Roan a quick wave as he retraced his steps back across the tiled roof to a small hatch. “You want anything while I’m out? Maybe some marshmallows to roast?”

“You are so amusing,” Roan said and shook his head. “I can think of nothing I need.”

“You should take up cigars,” Morty said as he climbed down into the hatch. “I’d be happy to share.”

“I already have my own source of smoke,” Roan said and sent a flame shooting toward Morty.

“Hey!” Morty cried and swatted at the flame even though it couldn’t hurt him. “No scorch marks, pal!”

“Be careful out there,” Roan said.

Morty paused just before disappearing over the lip of the hatch. “Yeah, thanks,” Morty said. “You be careful up here. If Artus is draining you too much, let me know. Between the rest of us we may be able to help.”

“You can’t, but thank you anyway,” Roan said and went completely still, making it obvious the conversation was done.

Morty finished climbing through the hatch and descended a tall ladder of iron down to a series of catwalks that crisscrossed the attic of the cathedral. Physics would dictate that a creature of his size and weight would crack the catwalk beams the second he set foot on them, but magic insured no harm came to any part of the sanctuary by one of its protectors. Good thing, or there’d be Morty-sized holes all over the cathedral ceiling.

He thought he was home free, ready to take his place in a shallow vestibule on the second floor of the south alley so he could get enough rest to keep him animate during his trip out foraging. But Hannah was waiting for him, leaning against the stone wall, her eyes expectant.

“I didn’t forget my promise,” Morty said even though he had. “I’m just beat, is all. I’ve been animate for over twenty-four hours now. I need some shut-eye before I shut down.”

“I know, I know,” Hannah said, bowing her head in apology. She held out a slip of paper. “I just wanted to give you this in case I didn’t see you in the morning before you left.”

Morty took the slip and opened it, his eyes narrowing at the words.

“Books?” he asked. “What about all the books in the library?”

“They’ve read them,” Hannah said. “At least the ones that are interesting. Most of those look like they were collected for show. Pretty leather binding, but boring words inside.”

“Hannah, do you know how much space books take up?” Morty asked.

“You’re strong,” Hannah stated.

“Well, yeah, I am, but strength isn’t the issue,” Morty said. “It’s a matter of bulk. I can only hold so much while I fly.” He held out his arms then wrapped them across his chest to demonstrate. “See? I can’t waste the cargo space on books.”

“We have to do something,” Hannah said. “The kids are getting bored. Bored teens are not a good thing. They’ll end up causing trouble which, from what I hear, is not something we can afford right now. I’d ask you to bring video games, but no power means no game systems.”

“I could look for one of those handheld thingies that one kid brought in last year,” Morty said. “Maybe I can find a few of those.”

“It’s been six years since the possessed took over,” Hannah said. “There aren’t going to be batteries to power the games. Books don’t take batteries and all you need is a bright patch of sunlight or a candle at night to make them work.”

“Hannah . . .” Morty sighed.

“If you can,” Hannah said, bowing her head again. “That’s all I ask.”

“How much trouble can bored teens cause?” Morty asked. “It’s not like they can go anywhere. And they don’t have the power to harm the sanctuary.”

“Has Elisa spoken to you?” Hannah asked.

“Elisa? Yeah, she talked to me earlier,” Morty said. “I don’t see how that matters.”

“She told you what she needed you to get?” Hannah pressed.

“Yes, but what does. . . . Oh,” Morty said as he suddenly realized just what kind of trouble bored teens could get into. “Pregnancy test. Crap. Stupid biological beings.”

“I’d ask you to find condoms, as well as books, but again, just like batteries, it’s been six years since any were manufactured,” Hannah said. “They’d do more harm than good by giving the horny devils false confidence.”

“Careful saying horny devil in a cathedral,” Morty chuckled. “You never know what you’ll conjure.”

Hannah gave him a polite smile and waited.

“Fine,” Morty said. “I’ll do what I can. Maybe I can find some magazines. They’re more compact than books. Or a stash of paperbacks. Might as well stock up in case we end up under siege.”

Hannah’s eyes went wide and Morty cursed himself.

“You didn’t know about the siege,” Morty said and held up his hands. “Hey, it’s not for certain, okay? Keep that news between us. Last thing anyone wants is for some of the less-than-stable wards to start panicking.”

“Get me some books to hand out and my lips are sealed,” Hannah said.

“Dammit, really? Blackmail, Hannah?” Morty responded, shaking his head. “I’ll do my absolute best.”

“Promise?” Hannah asked.

“Oh, for the love of. . . . Yes, I promise I will do my best,” Morty replied. “You know that promise probably just cost me the cargo space my cigars were going to take up.”

“Coins has been pilfering your stash,” Hannah said. “I know where he keeps the stolen cigars. If you can’t get more on your own, I’ll tell you the spot.”

“That little punk,” Morty grumbled. “Okay, deal. Books. I’ll get some books.”

“Thank you,” Hannah said and patted Morty’s arm. “You are a good man, Mordecai.”

“Not a man,” Morty said. “But thanks.”

“All right, not a man. But a good soul,” Hannah said. “Good night, Morty. Rest well.”

“You too, Hannah,” Morty said.

The woman turned and left, giving a grateful wave as she went. Morty waited until she was for sure gone before stepping into his vestibule. A latticed window was set into the wall of his vestibule, but the darkness outside, and the couple of torches burning in the avenue behind him, only allowed Morty to see his reflection, and not the usually great view of Margaret’s Patch.

Morty flinched as he stared. The reality of the situation was reflected back at him by the uncertainty in his own eyes. He knew bad odds when he saw them. Everything since Valac’s arrival that morning had confirmed the odds were bad. But for now, he could do nothing except rest. And hope.

He sighed as his body went rigid and his stone creaked into solidity. His eyes glazed over and Morty slipped into blissful nothingness while the granite’s magic recharged from the power of the sanctuary and the energy of the earth that it was built upon.

5

THE FEW POSSESSED stationed in the immediate area surrounding the sanctuary grounds—sloppily hidden in amongst the rhododendrons and locust saplings—took their usual potshots with heavy-caliber rifles. Morty easily swerved to avoid the volleys. Not that anyone expected the bullets to hit him. The possessed were bored and shooting at a flying creature made of stone was one way to relieve that boredom.

Morty took almost zero notice of the attacks. Even if the bullets had hit him, the damage would have been minimal. He was made of granite, yes, and granite could be chipped or cracked, sure, but short of highly specialized explosive rounds, there wasn’t a whole lot the possessed could do to him with rifles.

He was a creature of magic, after all.

Which was why a thing weighing half a ton could even fly at all. Morty might have had wings, but wings were not an automatic override of the laws of physics. To propel his bulk through the air, his wings would have needed to be ten times their size. And he’d need a jet engine strapped to his back.

Again, creature of magic.

Morty dwelled on the subject as he left the land around Margaret’s Patch and crossed over a low ridge, diving low into the empty holler beyond. A creature of magic. A magic creature. A grotesque made of granite, given life by the blood of the Stonecutter that had carved the G. No words needed to be said during the creation; only blood was needed to bind the magic of protection to the creature.

But the magic was far from consistent.

The grotesques and gargoyle of the cathedral on Margaret’s Patch had awoken one day with the simple knowledge that they must defend their sanctuary, and all that were in its boundaries, at all costs. Some of them had memories of their old, inanimate lives; some didn’t. Some had extensive knowledge of who and what they were, like Artus, while some didn’t.

Each of the Gs had a unique power and skill set. Morty could fly. And he was big. Crushing and smashing things with his huge, granite fists proved to be part of his skill set. Although, he doubted the crushing and smashing were part of any magical gift. That particular gift came from the Stonecutter who gave him those big fists and muscle definition.

Below in the holler sitting on the porch of a rambling log cabin, two of the possessed lifted their hands high, extending only a single finger on each hand. Morty didn’t need to look closely at the gestures to know which fingers they were. He was used to the profanity and insults flung at him every time he had to venture away from the sanctuary and out into the demon-possessed world.

Morty had never known the world beyond the sanctuary in the before. He wasn’t one of the Gs who had woken to find he had secret knowledge of the rules of the magic that governed him, the reasons for the Gates of Hell opening, or what the world was like as he had slumbered in solidity. His eyes had popped open. He’d known the Gates of Hell had finally fallen; he’d known he had to protect the sanctuary from the soon to arrive hordes of demon-possessed vessels, and he knew what he was and the rules of his existence. But that was the extent of his awareness. Everything else he’d learned from Artus and the others.

Artus. Roan was right: magic was not infinite. Artus, poor G, wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer. Even with the red dragon siphoning off some of his own strength and giving it to Artus.

Morty shook the thought from his head as he swerved to avoid hitting a rusting radio tower that topped a ridge. The crisscross of metal was dead, had been for years, but in the beginning, when there were still humans possessed of souls and free will instead of demon puppeteers, the radio tower top had blinked red as it transmitted waves across the region. Men and women took shifts, calling to other survivors, whose numbers grew less and less with every passing day, telling them there was hope in the Appalachian Mountains.

Then the power went out and that was that.

Some in the sanctuary said that a crew had been sent to the power plant on the Pigeon River, but they never came back. The possessed had been waiting for them.

Slowly, as local survivors realized their homes were going to become their tombs, people began to leave their neighborhoods and towns. The very lucky few found the sanctuary of Margaret’s Patch. The not quite as lucky, but still lucky considering, found death. The rest found an unwanted intruder digging into their souls, taking control of their bodies.

Morty glanced down at the intersection of two dirt roads below him and shook his head as a group of possessed waited for him to pass over, asses bared and aimed up at him. They were communicating, tracking him, telling other groups which direction he was going. If timed correctly, demons could jump from one possessed body to another over short distances and pass on information then jump back to their original vessel. Grapevine of the damned.

Not that it was easy. Having two demons in one vessel was dangerous. Morty had witnessed heads exploding, stomachs bursting open, mouths wide and vomiting pea-green sick everywhere until the body was nothing but an empty husk. They must have seriously wanted to mess with him bad to risk breaking their vessels.

Their dangerous mischief worried Morty. Demons got bored, as all creatures did, magic or non-magic, but the risk was not worth it to simply alleviate boredom. Valac appearing was proof of that. Hell’s bureaucracy was sending out some important memos, and one of those was to track Morty. He grumbled at the added attention, but there was nothing he could do about it except wait and see what they had up their demonic sleeves.

Onward, Morty flew until the density of trees began to thin and the dirt and gravel roads became cracked pavement, then faded blacktop. Morty followed one of the blacktop paths until he reached the edge of the former town known as Bryson City. As he landed by a burned-out husk of a gas station, Morty ratcheted up his senses, taking in every sound, smell, taste, and movement. He waited for the attack, but it didn’t come.

Morty wasn’t stupid. He knew the possessed would be on him any minute. No matter where he went to scavenge, a mob soon arrived. Sometimes the mob was easy to handle, sometimes it wasn’t. Morty didn’t know what type of mob the day would bring, only that there would be a mob. Always was. He’d told Roan that Bryson City should be clear, but he didn’t believe that to be true; a comforting lie was so much simpler than the truth.

On his back was a large duffel bag, empty and deflated, ready to be filled with necessities. Morty didn’t waste any time. He jogged his stone ass over to a dark and dirt-coated pharmacy. It had once been part of a national chain. Banners announcing that week’s sales, a week that was long in the past, could be seen through the grimy windows. The banners were moving.

Morty grumbled and walked around the back of the pharmacy, finding a door wide open. Well, not so much wide open as ripped off its hinges and thrown against a Dumpster. Morty grumbled again. Took some strength to rip a steel door off and toss it like a beanbag. He wasn’t happy to think of one of the vessels not only being possessed by a demon, but possessed of that kind of muscle power. Usually, the possessed were limited to their mortal abilities. Yes, the bodies could be pushed to the limits since the demons inside cared little about the non-fatal pain and damage they caused to their vessel half the time. Still, the vessel that tore the door off had to have been huge.

Morty gave the door a quick glance and stepped into the gloom of the pharmacy’s back storeroom. He’d been to the pharmacy plenty of times, so he knew he was not going to find any drugs, antibiotics, or other helpful medicines. All of that had been pilfered as soon as the populace of Bryson City knew things were going severely sour. No problem. He was after other items.

He strode past the crushed and broken pill bottles that littered the floor around the counter where once a pharmacist had given free advice about heartburn and high blood pressure medications. Morty didn’t glance at the ubiquitous rack of reading glasses that lay on its side, its contents strewn about. Demons could see in the pitch dark, look across chasms that bridged Hell below and Earth above without going mad (more than they already were), and detect magical spectrums that even the Gs couldn’t see. Reading glasses weren’t exactly needed. The frames and lenses cracked and crunched under his stone feet.

Morty studied the signs that hung above the looted aisles until he found what he was looking for. All of the tampons and pads were long gone, but the pregnancy tests were untouched, or at least not pilfered as boxes sat askew on their shelves. Morty didn’t know which brand was better than the other, so he grabbed a couple of each and threw them into his duffel bag.

Next on his list were condoms, despite Hannah’s skepticism of their value. He searched the entire store before seeing them in a broken display case set directly under the pharmacy counter. Only a few boxes were left and he grabbed all that he could. He chuckled at the idea that even when the Gates of Hell were wide open, some folks worried about safe sex. Humans were weird.

Taking the time to do a quick scan of the rest of the store once his main objectives had been accomplished, Morty picked up some stray candy bars, a few bloated and forgotten cans of diet soda, and as many old magazines as he could stuff into his duffel without taking up too much space.

Not that Morty expected to fit all the supplies needed into his one duffel bag. He had a system when it was time for a big run. Fill what he could into the duffel and leave the rest in a convenient pile in some secure location. Then, under the relative cover of night, he would fly in with extra bags, fill them, deliver them to the sanctuary grounds, and return for more supplies, making as many trips as necessary. Usually, he could complete three trips before the night shift of the possessed caught on and began sending up flares and calling others to the position of his cache.

Three trips was better than no trips.

With the wards’ requested items stowed in his duffel, Morty gave the pharmacy a last glance then retraced his steps back through the ransacked shelves and out the back storeroom.

He stopped when he reached the open doorway. It had taken the possessed longer than he’d expected, but they finally made an appearance.

“Hello,” Morty said to the two dozen possessed that stood on the cracked pavement of the employee parking area behind the pharmacy. “Lovely day, don’t you think?”

By the look of their weapons—aluminum baseball bats, sledgehammers, pickaxes, lengths of rebar, metal pipes—Morty surmised the dregs of the area’s low-level possessed had been sent to gum up his day. If there’d been any important demons inside the vessels, they would have held firearms. Demons followed a bureaucratic hierarchy where seniority mattered. Low on the totem pole meant crude melee weapons. The higher a demon rated, the more sophisticated the weapons. With human manufacturing at an end, and the demons’ inability to master even the simplest of electronics without frying them, resources were finite, especially munitions like explosives, so the demons weren’t going to risk losing precious grenades to some schmuck that had just stepped foot inside his new vessel. The schmuck had to prove himself first.

Unfortunately for the couple of dozen possessed that stared hard at Morty, all they were going to prove with their bats and pipes and sledgehammers was how well, or not, they could take a serious beating by a creature made of stone and powered by ancient magics.

Except Morty was not in the mood. His time being solid had helped recharge his energy levels, but he had a forced sense of urgency due to the looming nightmare Artus feared. It was a weight on his stone shoulders. One he didn’t need or want. What he wanted was to get the stuff on his list piled up, hopefully find some cigars for himself, and head back to the sanctuary grounds where he could rest up for a couple hours before dark.

Dealing with a mob of possessed would seriously cut into his rest time.

“Listen, I know you all are following orders, but is there any way we could pretend we had ourselves a little row and maybe, just maybe, skip the actual fighting?” Morty asked. “I’d appreciate it and I know the vessels you are desecrating will appreciate it. This won’t go well for them if you come at me.”

There were a couple of laughs and a few hisses. Morty shrugged.

“I thought I’d try,” Morty said right before a broken beer bottle came flying at his head.

He didn’t flinch or move, just let the bottle shatter across his left cheek. He reached up and flicked shards of glass from his shoulder then focused on the group.

“Okay, who threw that?” he asked. “Be a man, or woman, and admit it.”

No one admitted to the act of violence. Instead, the mob closed on him, weapons held high, teeth bared, eyes black as the darkest night.

6

“YOU BASTARDS NEVER learn,” Morty muttered as he assessed the mob, his eyes hunting for the strongest and weakest amongst the possessed. “This is going to be a long day if I have to deal with this crap at every stop.”

The first possessed vessel reached him, a two-foot iron pipe held in each hand, and the rest of the group stopped to let him take on Morty by himself. The guy must have been good if the others were willing to wait their turns.

Morty lashed out with a lightning-quick haymaker from the right and shattered the possessed’s entire face. Blood and bits of bone went flying in every direction. Skin tore and flapped down onto the possessed’s neck. The broken man screamed then coughed as his throat filled with blood and teeth.

Morty hit him again with a left before he could fall and what remained of the possessed man’s head tore right off, tumbling across the pavement, coming to rest next to the broken door and the Dumpster against the pharmacy’s back wall. The decapitated body stood still for a half second then crumpled into a heap of useless flesh.

Then the crappy part happened, the part Morty hated and could never get used to no matter how many times he witnessed it.

The demon inside burst free from the broken body’s chest, sending more blood and bone splattering everywhere. It was nothing but an amorphous blob of black smoke. That wasn’t the bad part. The bad part was the ear-splitting screech of rage and anger the demon made as it floated for a brief moment then protested being sucked down into the ground, the smoke disappearing through cracks in the pavement—the demon forced to return to the netherworld below and possibly an eternity in the pits until a new position on Earth became available.

It was a bureaucracy, after all, and rules and protocols must be followed. One could say a lot of things about a demon-possessed apocalypse, but to call it unorganized would be woefully incorrect.

“Guys, I have a big day ahead of me, so if we could avoid the one-on-one attacks, that would be great,” Morty said. He gave the mob “come at me” gestures with both hands and waited.

They didn’t come at him. Half were staring down at the broken body, the other half were glaring at Morty so hard he thought a couple of them might pop their eyeballs out right there on the pavement.

“Guys? No?” Morty sighed. “All right, I’ll come to you.”

He moved his half-ton body with the speed and agility of a creature a fraction of his weight. Morty had already picked his targets and knew exactly where to strike the first blow. He didn’t count the body on the ground as the first blow, but as more of a warm-up.

Two possessed women, each holding fire axes, stood to the left of the mob. Morty lunged at them, tearing the head off the first woman with a single motion then slamming that head into the second woman’s face before she could raise her axe. He plucked the weapon from her hands, flipped it around, and impaled her with the handle before she knew she’d been attacked.

With two down, Morty moved swiftly through the mob. The next target, a young man with a long, hipster beard, went down hard. Morty held what remained of the beard in his hands then let the bloody hair fall from his palm as he sent a knee into the midsection of a middle-aged man with more tattoos covering his possessed body than Morty could count.

Tattoo man held a length of pipe. Then he didn’t. The pipe disappeared from the man’s grasp then reappeared inserted into one orifice and coming down out of another. Morty twisted the pipe laterally and it shredded the man from the inside out, cracking open his midsection and sending ribs and guts flying this way and that.

Six of the possessed finally recovered their wits and threw themselves at Morty with a fury and intensity that made him raise a stony eyebrow. He took two hits from an aluminum bat before he tore it away from the possessed attacking him. A severed hand came with the bat and Morty flicked it off then used the weapon to crack open three of the six skulls before him.

The remaining skulls stayed intact, but their owners not so much. Morty impaled the last two, one of which had already suffered the indignity of losing his hand and the very bat that was sticking out from his belly. Morty almost laughed at the look on the man’s face as he glanced over his shoulder at the woman also impaled with him like a skewer of human for the barbeque. It was such a pitiful look.

Blobs of black smoke screeched and were sucked into the ground as Morty continued to dismantle the possessed mob.

He tore out a rib cage and used it to bludgeon a woman as she swung a pickaxe at his head. Taking the pickaxe, Morty swung it underhand, leaving it embedded in the crotch of a man that came at him with what looked like a broadsword. Morty shook his head, wondering where the hell the man had gotten a broadsword in Bryson City.

A sledgehammer nailed Morty in his right shoulder, and he stumbled to the side half a foot. His right arm shot out and he grabbed the attacker by the neck and lifted him off his feet. While the move looked good in superhero movies, it was far from anatomically accurate. Instead of the attacker dangling helpless, hands grasping at the grip that slowly choked him, he gagged and spat, his eyes bulging until the body’s weight tore the muscles and tendons that held head to neck and neck to shoulders.

With nature’s scaffolding shredded, the vertebrae in the upper spine could no longer stay intact. Crack, snap, dead.

Morty tossed the dead man away and focused on the last remnants of the mob. Five possessed men stood in a semi-circle, all looking terrified of the stone monster before them. Morty winked and two of the men flinched. They nearly turned and ran, but the three others hissed and they stayed in place.

“You can’t beat me,” Morty said. It was said not in a bragging tone, but stated as a mere fact. “Look around, guys. Took me all of one minute to rip your friends to shreds. One minute. I was made for this stuff. I mean, I wasn’t carved this size with these muscles and these claws and these teeth so I could play peacemaker. I was carved to kill, pure and simple.”

“There are billions more of us,” one of the possessed men said after his entire body shuddered then stilled.

Morty knew exactly what that meant.

“Who am I talking to?” he asked. “Someone new has joined the party.”

“Hello, Mordecai,” the possessed man said. “You have done a lot of damage here.”

“Valac? Again?” Morty asked. The possessed man nodded. “Not pulling bar duty today? I’d ask if you ever get tired of slumming it, but now you’re here.”

Morty held out his hands to indicate the dirty, grungy surroundings they stood in.

“Why are you hanging around?” Morty asked. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“I was on my way to do just that,” Valac replied, “when I caught notice that you had gone on a field trip and were busy killing some of the staff.” Valac nodded at the bodies. “Impressive, but I expect nothing less from a grotesque of your caliber.”

“Thanks?” Morty said.

“What I am gathering from the lesser entity inside this vessel is you are on a mission and very busy,” Valac said. “So, I won’t keep you. Go ahead and fetch your supplies, Mordecai. I’ll send a memo for you to be left alone.”

“Why?” Morty asked.

“Why not?” Valac responded with a shrug. “These lesser demons can’t defeat you. All that will result from these kinds of confrontations is the waste of perfectly good vessels. And, Hell knows we are in short supply of vessels these days, Mordecai.” He grinned so wide it almost tore the vessel’s cheeks open. “Some might say we have completely run out and there is only one place left with fresh vessels to be harvested.”

“You’re joking, right?” Morty asked, knowing he’d never get a straight answer. Not from a demon. “You’re saying that the wards at our sanctuary are the last unpossessed humans left on Earth?”

“I’m not saying anything,” Valac said. “Except for you to have a nice day. Pile up all the supplies you want and do that back-and-forth thing you do. In the end, none of it will make a bit of difference.”

“If you say so,” Morty said. “But, I’m not going to take my safety for granted because you’re feeling gracious. I’ll still be watching for the knife in my back.”

“As if anyone could pierce that stone body of yours with a simple knife,” Valac said.

“Figure of speech,” Morty said.

The two watched each other for several seconds before Valac reached up and wiped at the blood that started to pour from his nose in a steady stream.

“Time is up,” Valac said, flicking the blood from the back of his hand. “I stay too much longer and this vessel will fall right apart.”

The possessed body shuddered and Valac was gone. The demon left wiped and wiped at his nose, but he couldn’t stanch the flow of blood.

“Well, shit,” the possessed man said before collapsing to the ground. The black smoke blob of evil leaked out from the body’s mouth then screeched and was lost from sight as it wormed down through a crack filled by scraggly dandelions.

“You guys gonna listen to your boss or stick around for more fun?” Morty asked the remaining possessed.

They actually looked like they wanted to fight it out, but one of them finally broke the standoff by turning and walking away. No words of goodbye or taunts, a simple about-face and gone. The others followed quickly and Morty was once again left alone at the back of the pharmacy.

He turned to the open back door and sighed as he saw the duffel bag there. It had a couple of pounds of offal covering it. Morty walked over and picked up the bag, wiping the guts and blood from it the best he could. He slung the duffel over one shoulder and looked up into the sky.

Storm clouds were brewing. The threat of a rainstorm was on the air, but there was no way to tell if it would open up over Bryson City or wait and dump its contents on a nearby area. The weather in that part of the world was as unpredictable as human emotions as far as Morty was concerned.

Morty thought about launching himself back up into the air, but he hated flying in a thunderstorm. Not that he attracted lightning or anything, but if an errant bolt hit him, it would put him down fast. He was strong and made of magic, but lightning beat rock any day.

Making sure the duffel bag was secure on his shoulder, Morty set off at a brisk walk, ready to be gone from the pharmacy and the corpses he left behind.

7

THE TWO SUPERMARKETS Morty passed, set across the street from each other, were empty. Completely stripped. He’d scavenged the last useful items over a year before. Not even what he’d left behind remained on the shelves. So he kept on walking, ignoring the stares of the possessed who sat on the curbs outside the parking lots of both supermarkets.

The possessed men and women held the usual assortment of weapons, but none made a move to put them to use. Morty kept his eyes forward, looking down the road for a very specific shop he hoped still held what he needed. When he reached it, and saw what was written on the cement sidewalk out front, Morty couldn’t help but let his shoulders slump slightly in defeat.

“Really?” he asked aloud then turned and shouted, “Really? You guys suck!”

“ALL GONE STONER,” the spray-painted words read outside Nick’s Discount Smokes.

“We’ll see,” Morty said as he stepped over the words, superstitiously worried if he set foot on the lettering he’d make them true.

The front door and windows of the smoke shop had long been shattered. When the world began to crumble, those who needed their nicotine fix had hit the town hard. Luckily for Morty, the local smokers were far from the tobacco elite. Every carton of cigarettes was quickly pilfered, but the vast majority of the cigars in the back room humidor were left untouched. The clientele for those had probably decided to stay in their retirement mansions or vacation homes that were dappled across the hillsides in the general area.

The words on the sidewalk had proved to be authentic. Morty hurried through the shop to find the humidor empty. Well, not entirely empty. Someone had the decency to leave a large pile of feces right in the center of the humidor floor. Corn and all.

“Doesn’t matter,” Morty muttered. “I have more.”

He left the store and stalked his way through Bryson City until he came to an unassuming neighborhood filled with small brick ranch houses. He paused outside his destination, looked around to make sure he wasn’t being watched, then crossed the dead lawn and entered the house, shutting the door behind him quickly.

Morty knew without searching the house that his stash of cigars was gone. The smell that hit him said as much.

HAHA was written on the entryway wall in two-foot-high letters made of crap.

Four stash houses, and two tobacco shops later, and Morty was ready to tear some more heads off.

Instead of head tearing, Morty went back to his true mission and began gathering supplies needed for the sanctuary. It took him close to four hours to get together almost everything on the list. He had six neat piles of supplies set up at the edge of town, only a few feet from where he’d first landed earlier in the day.

Morty looked up at the sky as he rolled his head on his neck, easing the tension from his stone muscles. He had about four more hours of daylight before he could effectively retrieve the supplies without fear of being hassled by the possessed. Although, after his interaction with Valac, Morty had a feeling he could start hauling right then and not be bothered at all.

But he had a system and he liked to stick to his system.

To kill some time, Morty decided he’d fly a few miles away and see if he couldn’t try to wrangle up some cigars from the casino. The building didn’t hold a lick of food any longer, but it seemed to have a never-ending supply of cigars and booze. The trick was retrieving them from a casino completely surrounded by the possessed. Demons didn’t play craps or blackjack, but they were attracted to the aura of misery that hung over the building.

When first opened, the casino had been a symbol of frivolity and mindless entertainment. But beneath the surface was the ever-oppressive feeling of life being sucked straight from the customers who walked the smoky floors and played the games of chance. With every pull of a slot machine’s handle, another piece of humanity was lost. The psychic residue from desperation was like demon crack.

But, the possessed didn’t go inside; rather, they hung out on the grounds, soaking up the bad mojo that seeped out from the edges of the doorways.

Surprisingly, the glass doors and windows that fronted the casino hadn’t been broken. Morty never quite figured out why. Yes, they were made of bulletproof glass, but plenty of high-security and “unbreakable” buildings had been destroyed by the possessed.

Not the casino. The doors were intact. The windows were intact. Dirty and filthy with grime, but intact. Morty hadn’t ever even seen a footprint within a meter of the front doors. The dust that coated the walkway always remained undisturbed. The lack of demon interest in the building itself was puzzling, but fine by Morty. One less building to clear.

The grounds were so packed that the skinniest of Gs couldn’t squeeze through the crowd, which stood a hundred deep on all sides, even in the back by the stage doors where performers like Loretta Lynn, Dolly Parton, Toto, and others would exit to get back on their tour buses. A hundred deep all around.

Good thing Morty had wings and magic to power them.

He didn’t bother looking down at the horde of possessed. He knew they were there; he knew what they looked like, and they didn’t make much difference to him. He wasn’t planning on sticking around for very long. He had work to do and needed to get to it, so a quick snatch and grab was his only agenda.

Landing on the roof, Morty stretched his wings wide before folding them in on his back. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, always a little tense after a flight. The stairwell access door stood like an obelisk, a monolith in the middle of the roof, surrounded by a sea of tar paper and air vents.

Morty made his way to the door, but was forced to stop as his left leg broke through a patch of tarpaper. He frowned down at the mishap, surprised that the roof was already weakening. Sure, it had gone years without maintenance, but it was still surprising.

He plucked his leg free of the hole and stood for a second as he scanned the rest of the roof, hoping to see other weak spots. But he wasn’t a builder, a roofer, or a person who knew a damn thing about construction, so the scan only lasted a few seconds before he realized he was wasting time. So what if the roof caved in and he fell through? Not like the fall would break him or anything.

Morty made it to the obelisk of the access door without any further trouble. He opened the door and was struck by the stale smell of cigarettes. Even when the state had outlawed smoking in public places, the casino, situated on Cherokee lands, legally continued as a pro-smoke environment to the irritation of the state. Gamblers liked their nicotine, especially those who haunted the slot machines. Decades of cigarette stink assaulted Morty as he stepped into the dark stairwell.

Since he’d had his cigar stash safe in his many caches, he hadn’t been to the casino in a while. As he made his way down to the top-floor penthouse, he couldn’t quite remember if he’d emptied the suite of all of its smokeables. He decided he’d give it a quick peek before descending to the first floor where he knew there would still be some hand-rolled treasures.

“Jim,” Morty said as he stepped from the stairwell into the foyer of the penthouse. A corpse lay propped up with its back against the elevator doors. “Staying busy, I see.”

The corpse was so dried-out that it was hard to tell if it had been a man or woman just by looking at it. The name tag on the vest that covered its fake tuxedo shirt said “Jim”, so Morty took the name at face value and assumed the corpse was male.

“Here to check my stash,” Morty said, nodding to Jim as he stepped past the dead man and entered the penthouse.

The suite was a mess. Whoever had stayed there when the Gates of Hell had opened, really did a number on their guests. There was arterial spray and the remains of long-dried intestines everywhere. It was as if someone had tossed the guts like party streamers here and there. No bodies were left in the penthouse, not even bodies of those who had obviously been eviscerated, but evidence of death was plain as the day that filtered in through the closed drapes that covered one entire wall.

Morty opened those drapes, oblivious to the dust that exploded from the material. It had been a while since he’d come to the casino. He looked out at the landscape and sighed at the beauty of the mountains. They were gorgeous, but sad, a jewel in a dead landscape. Morty knew there was no real life out there except for on Margaret’s Patch. The sanctuary wasn’t visible from his vantage point.

He sighed again as he moved to the ornate bar, which sat opposite the grand windows. Booze he didn’t care about, but the five-foot humidor under the bar he did. That was where the good stuff sat.

Except it didn’t. Instead of boxes of fine cigars, there was a note that he had left for himself. Morty almost smacked his forehead with his fist when the memory of leaving the note rushed back to him.

“Sorry, pal,” it read, “but you smoked most of these and then took the rest to your third stash house in Bryson City. Head there for some tasty smoky treats.”

“Too late for that,” Morty said to the note before crumpling it up and tossing it out into the middle of the room.

Morty stood there with his granite palms facedown on the bar top. His eyes narrowed as he tried to remember if he’d find the same note on the three floors below. Directly under him was another luxurious, full-floor suite, but it couldn’t be called the penthouse since it didn’t occupy the top floor. Below that were two floors of quarter suites. None of the floors had ever been advertised by the casino back when it was open. The rooms were strictly for high-rollers and special guests.

Morty wasn’t sure if he’d emptied the suites below, but couldn’t waste the time looking. He left the penthouse, gave Jim a courteous nod, and found the stairwell again. ’Round and ’round he went, down level after level of landings that led to a new floor until he was on the fourth-floor landing.

He had his hand on the door’s handle, ready to push it open and step out into lobby of the top tier of the casino’s auditorium, but he stopped. There was a noise. It was faint, far off, and strangely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He thought he should know the sound, but it didn’t quite ring the right bell.

Morty pressed against the door and cracked it open slightly, carefully, but the noise didn’t get any louder. It wasn’t coming from inside the casino. Morty growled, knowing he couldn’t go hunting for cigars when some mystery noise could present a threat. He also growled because, if the noise wasn’t coming from inside the casino, then it was coming from outside. Which meant going all the way back up to the roof for a look-see.

The roof was the only place he could get a view of the entire area surrounding the casino. The rooms were useless because they only afforded a view from their windows’ perspectives. Good view if you were on a vacation with the missus and ready to play some slots, but horrible if you were trying to perform a simple threat assessment.

Morty said goodbye to his cigars and stomped his way back up, level by level, landing by landing, until he came to the roof access door once more and shoved it wide.

The noise was louder, but still not quite recognizable. Morty thought it was mechanical, an engine possibly. He looked up in the sky, hunting for an airplane. He remembered seeing airplanes fill the skies the first few weeks after the Gates of Hell had opened. People trying to flee a nightmare that could never be escaped. Morty had no idea where any of those planes went, but wherever they landed, he knew what was waiting for them. The same nightmare they’d tried to flee.

When the Gates of Hell opened, the event wasn’t like literal gates that spilled demons onto some causeway in New Jersey. No, the opening was metaphorical, a spiritual opening that flooded the Earth with evil. Fly away all they wanted, those people had nowhere to run. The evil was everywhere, and running had already been too late the moment the idea for escape entered a human brain.

Technology didn’t like the demon energy. Circuits and boards and wires shorted out and went up in poofs of smoke any time a possessed person barely looked at a car or computer or even a handheld radio. Simple weapons like firearms were good, and demons were great with fire, but anything with a mechanism that included an electrical wire was fried instantly. So, the sound couldn’t have been from a plane filled with possessed out for a sky-diving trip.

But Morty looked up anyway.

The sky was clear of all flying objects except for a couple of stray birds here and there. Crows and ravens, mostly, but a gull was up there too, all circling for signs of possible scraps.

The noise became louder, and Morty was certain it was an engine. So he walked to the edge of the roof and looked down. He was on the stage door side, the alley behind the casino directly below him. A hundred possessed were down there, but nothing that could be the source of the noisy engine.

He continued around the roof, looking down to see more of the same—a lot of possessed keeping that weird distance from the walls and doors of the casino, but nothing mechanical.

The engine noise continued to grow until Morty finally had it pinpointed as coming from the area of the main entrance to the casino. Looking down, there—racing right at the building—was a truck. A truck. Racing at the building. It was an understatement to say Morty was shocked and surprised.

What he wasn’t shocked and surprised about was the possessed’s reactions to the truck. A new noise joined the engine. Those possessed with firearms were busy firing bullets into the truck’s windshield, sending spiderweb cracks then a full-on explosion of safety glass showering in on the driver. A driver Morty couldn’t see.

“What in the stupidity of everything holy are you doing?” Morty asked down at the truck. Not that the driver could hear him, but Morty felt the words needed saying. “Where do you think you’re going?”

It was a full-sized pickup truck, one of those used by farmers and ranchers to pull their trailers. Big, heavy-duty tires up front and double axles in back meant the thing could take a beating and still keep going. Although, Morty could see a line of steam starting to come up from under the hood as the possessed switched their aim from the windshield that didn’t exist anymore to the engine block.

The truck kept coming. It bounced up over curbs, drove over the skeletons of long-dead shrubs, clipped a Volkswagen Beetle Cabriolet, sending the abandoned vehicle spinning into a group of firing possessed, tossing most of them into the air, their bodies broken and destroyed.

On came the truck, straight toward the main entrance.

Morty seriously debated his unwelcome conclusions and options. If the truck was being driven, then it had to have a driver. A driver that wasn’t possessed, a driver that was human, a driver that would need some help. Morty could offer that help.

But why?

He wasn’t back at his sanctuary. He was on the roof of the Cherokee casino, not on the roof of the Margaret’s Patch cathedral. Whoever was driving that truck was not his ward. He owed that person zip. Zilch. Nada. Nothing.

Morty would be totally justified in wiping his hands of the huge hassle of saving the idiot human and go back to Bryson City to start moving the supplies. If the supplies were still there. He was giving about fifty-fifty odds on that. The possessed who had dogged him in Bryson City might have found the supplies and stolen them, trashed them, or pissed all over them and smeared them with crap. Despite Valac’s orders. The possessed couldn’t pass up an opportunity to defile things.

He had enough problems. He no obligation to the fool who was plowing through the horde of possessed straight at the front doors. No obligation at all. Except for maybe, just maybe, a moral one.

Elisa’s face, Hannah’s face, and especially Olivia and Artus’s faces popped up in his mind. They’d argue the moral obligation point.

Sure, he could decide not to tell them when he got back, leave out the entire casino part of the day, but then he’d feel guilty lying to them, even to the humans, especially to Elisa, and eventually he’d crack. Because, dammit, he always cracked, and they’d think he was an amoral ass no better than Valac or any of the demons that possessed the human bodies that walked the land.

Guilt hurt his brain.

Morty looked down right before the truck was lost from sight under the covered valet parking overhang, and his stone heart stopped.

His decision was made for him in that last glimpse before the truck was gone, the noise of it crashing into and through the casino’s front doors filling the evening air.

No human drove that truck. He knew that for a fact. Yes, he was twenty stories up, but he knew what he saw.

No face made of flesh and blood peered out the windshield-free opening. The hands holding the steering wheel weren’t covered in skin.

No, what Morty glimpsed was a creature of stone. A creature like him. And it had driven a truck into the first floor of the casino.

He looked over at the roof access obelisk. Too slow. He needed to get down there fast.

Morty stepped off the roof and laughed as he went into freefall.

8

A TWENTY-STORY drop made quite a mess. The possessed he didn’t hit were sent flying as a wave of fluids and flesh slammed into them. Several more layers were knocked off their feet as the pavement buckled under them upon Morty’s impact. A dozen possessed might have been broken by his fall, but Morty was way too big for the bodies to actually break his fall.

He chuckled then got to his feet to face the angry horde that surrounded him. Morty got a brief glimpse of the tail end of the truck sticking out from the casino’s entrance before he was swallowed up by the horde.

Despite their overwhelming numbers, it was only a six-on-one fight. That’s how many possessed could get at him at any one time. Morty didn’t have to think of it as fighting a horde of possessed, but as fighting groups of six over and over and over. Kill three, move closer to the entrance, defend against three behind him, kill them, turn and kill three more, move closer, defend, kill, turn, kill, move, kill.

Morty’s fists were non-stop pistons of violence. They demolished faces and skulls, ripped into bellies and rib cages, tore off arms, snapped legs. He never let those fists rest for even a moment. Even as the horde tried to use its mass to keep him from moving forward, Morty’s fists never tired. They crushed, killed, smashed, killed, pulped, killed. Everything in front of them died. Or behind when he turned to cover his back for a moment or two.

Someone shot him with a pistol and he had the firearm ripped from the possessed’s grip and shoved down its throat before he could even tell if it was a man or woman he was killing. A pistol. Seriously? It was almost embarrassing. There was always one asshole who tried it. Which meant there was a demon suddenly back in Hell having to explain to management why he was standing there with his (or her) thumb up his (or her) butt.

That made Morty laugh.

“What’s so funny, stoner?” a possessed man snarled as he slammed a hunk of rebar into Morty’s right shoulder. “You think dying is something to laugh at? I hope so, because that’s what’s about to happen—”

The man’s head popped off his neck like a dandelion before going fully to seed. Pop and gone.

Morty rolled the shoulder where the rebar hit. That had hurt. Had to have been obsidian shards on the rebar and Morty didn’t like it, but he also didn’t have time to think too deeply about it. Not that thinking deeply was his forte. He was the punch-into-guts kind of deep, that was it. The continuing ache in his shoulder was annoying, but got no worse.

Morty pressed on, ripping and shredding, punching and crushing, step by stone step until he was under the valet overhang. Most of the horde began to back off, keeping their distance from the casino entrance. Another thing for Morty to think about when he didn’t want to be thinking at all.

A possessed leapt onto his back, wrapping his arms around Morty’s neck as Morty reached the tailgate of the crashed truck.

“What are you trying to do?” Morty asked, filled with annoyance and a little surprise. “You can’t choke me.”

“A message,” the possessed man hissed into Morty’s ear. “A message from management.”

That was new.

“Well, what the hell is it?” Morty snapped as he tried to pry the possessed man’s arms loose. The guy was big, as big as Morty, and clung tight. “Just tell me already or get off!”

“She is not yours,” the possessed man said. “She is ours. You have no jurisdiction here, so walk away. Fly off, silly gargoyle. Leave here while you can.”

“Grotesque,” Morty snapped. He knew that management was messing with him by calling him a gargoyle, but the misnomer was so infuriating sometimes. “Grotesque, dumbass. And tell management something for me, will ya?”

“What is that, stoner?” the possessed man asked.

Morty reached up and back with both hands then clapped them together. The possessed man’s head burst like a water balloon. A water balloon filled with brain and blood. Morty shook the headless corpse free and squeezed past the truck.

It was a tight squeeze and he had to bend part of the door frame to get his bulk around the front of the truck, but he did it and was finally back inside the casino. The possessed horde waited outside, shouting obscenities that mainly consisted of what they would do to his stone orifices when he came back out. While some of the threats sounded intriguing due to their anatomical impossibility, Morty understood he’d best make his exit from the casino’s rooftop.

The novelty of mass destruction had worn off, and he was done playing with the possessed for the day.

“Hey!” Morty called out as he walked away from the destroyed front of the truck.

Liquids poured from the engine block and pooled in the casino’s old carpet. Smoke and steam drifted up from the crumpled hood. Morty was going to ignore the truck, but a brief glimpse of flame flickering from the engine caught his attention. He found a fire extinguisher on the wall a couple of feet away and aimed it at the truck.

Nothing happened. It hadn’t been charged in years. No matter. Morty ripped it open with his hands and tossed the chemical contents onto the engine, suffocating the flames before they could spread and set the casino on fire. If the casino burned, then so did the stores of cigars, and Morty was not going to let that happen. Not when his Bryson City supply was being attacked by the possessed.

“Hey!” Morty called again, his voice booming and echoing back at him from the empty casino floor.

Lines upon lines of slot machines stood between him and several avenues of escape. Whoever was driving the truck could be anywhere in the casino. Anywhere. Morty was tired of sighing; it had been a day of sighing, but he let another one pass his stone lips as he picked a direction and started walking.

“Okay, don’t answer me,” Morty said. “I don’t know why. It’s not like you snuck in here under the cover of darkness. You kind of gave yourself away with the whole drive-through-a-horde-of-possessed-and-crash-into-the-casino thing, pal.”

No response.

But Morty didn’t need one. As he passed between the banks of slot machines, the unmistakable tang of blood hit him like a freight train. The unexpected scent knocked him back a couple of steps, and he had to shake his head a few times to get himself on track again. The mystery kept getting weirder and weirder. There was absolutely no reason blood should have that effect on him. But it did.

He pushed through the overpowering smell and made it to the end of the rows of slots. At his stone feet, only an inch from the granite claws that stuck out from his toes, were several large drops of blood. Morty had a visual to go with the olfactory assault. The drops trailed away toward one of the many bars that were scattered throughout the casino. Morty followed, his senses dialed up to maximum and fists ready to go flying if anyone or anything jumped out at him.

The bar was one of the nicer venues in the casino. At one time, at least. All expensive wood and highly polished chrome, both of which had seen better days. The seats, from the bar stools to the booths, were imported leather. From the look of the velvet rope that lay useless on the floor of the bar entrance, the venue had been VIP-only. Or wanted to look that way.

Morty stepped over the velvet rope and stopped, his eyes scanning the interior of the bar, looking for more drops of blood. He could smell it, but couldn’t see it. The physical trail ended where the bar began. The smell was so strong that Morty couldn’t tell where it came from. It was everywhere. So he stood there, waiting, watching, while outside the casino, the demon-possessed hordes howled curses and vile threats at the destroyed entrance.

“Eventually they’re going to come in here,” Morty said to no one. “They haven’t tried before, but you may have given them a reason. A closed door is one thing, a wide-open wall is another.”

He waited, but there was no answer.

“Hello!” Morty yelled. “I freaking saw you drive in here. I saw what you are, even though I can’t believe it, so show yourself.”

Again, he waited, but still no answer.

“You must have a human with you,” Morty said, walking forward with cautious steps. The fact that the truck’s driver was stone had him spooked already and the intense smell of blood wasn’t helping. He paused halfway down the bar. “What is your problem, pal? If I made an entrance like that, I’d be all top hat and tails while singing Puttin’ on the Ritz. You can’t start the show with flash and dazzle then not deliver an actual performance. Hello?”

The thing he was chasing, and the wounded human, were in the bar somewhere, Morty was positive of it. But, since they didn’t want to reveal themselves, Morty figured why waste a good hunting trip? He hurried around the bar, eyes still wary and watchful, and straight for the stash of cigars he knew was directly under the cash register. There was a humidor on the wall by the liquor, but he’d emptied that long ago. The cigars he wanted were out of sight.

Except he didn’t make it to the cigars. He made it around the bar and that was it. A double-barreled shotgun opened up on him, sending him flying backward into a booth. He crushed the table and tore apart the formerly expensive leather bench seats. He lay there for a second, stunned that he’d been shot and that the impacts actually had an effect, before pushing up onto his elbows to look across at the woman who was crouched behind the bar, busily reloading her shotgun.

“Hey!” Morty shouted and the woman fumbled one of the shells. She ignored it as it rolled under the bar and fished another from a pocket in the denim jacket she wore. “Hey!”

She gave Morty a terrified glance then stopped, frozen. Her eyes narrowed and she seemed to come out of a daze.

“You’re a grotesque,” she said as she settled the second shell into the barrel and snapped the breach shut with a well-practiced flick of her wrist. “You’re not a demon at all.”

“No shit,” Morty said as he stood up. He stayed where he was, not wanting to spook the woman, but he also made sure he showed his full height and width, flexing his wings slightly to add to the effect. “And neither are you if you’re in here. None of the possessed come inside the casino.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, although he wasn’t sure it actually pointed toward the entrance, but he figured the woman would get the idea. “They’re all out there hollering at me and wanting to put large objects up my butthole.”

“You don’t have a butthole,” the woman stated like she was informing him of something he didn’t know.

“I didn’t say they could put anything up my butthole, just that that’s what they’re yelling they want to do,” Morty replied. He waited, but the woman didn’t say anything. “Yeah, so I’m Morty, a grotesque as you already guessed. And you are . . . ?”

The woman looked like she wasn’t going to answer then shrugged, set the barrels of the shotgun to rest against her shoulder, and gave Morty a look like she was doing him the greatest favor ever in the history of favors. “Shandra,” the woman replied. “Shandra Holt.”

Tall, thin, with deep-brown skin, narrow eyes and fine cheekbones, Shandra was a very attractive woman. Even with the long, pink scar that cut from her left eyebrow, down across the bridge of her nose, to the right corner of her upper lip. Wearing a denim jacket, jeans, flannel shirt, and heavy-duty, mud-caked work boots, she could have walked right off a construction site.

“Good to meet ya, Sandra,” Morty replied.

“Shandra,” Shandra corrected. “S-H. Shandra.”

“Oh, sorry about that,” Morty said, waving a hand. “All you human names sound the same.”

Shandra’s eyes narrowed even more. “You’re one of them.”

“Excuse me? One of who?” Morty asked.

“One of the grotesques who doesn’t really care about humans, only doing his job,” Shandra said. “I’m not a ward of yours, so whoopty shit, right? Who cares what happens to me?”

“I obviously care,” Morty said, his tone coming off as less than sincere. He coughed and tried to grin. “I’m here, aren’t I? I saw you crash and followed you in.”

“You saw . . .” She trailed off and shook her head. “You came in here for a different reason than to help some human.”

“Yeah, I needed cigars,” Morty said and pointed at the cash register behind Shandra. “You’re kind of in my way.”

Shandra looked over her shoulder and Morty made his move. He crossed the distance in the blink of an eye and was about to grab the shotgun from her, not wanting to risk taking another blast again since the first one had impossibly stung, but he never made it.

One second he had his hand out, fist about to snag the shotgun, the next second he was flying all the way across the bar, out the bar, across the casino, and slamming into a row of slot machines, sending them falling like dominos as he lay on the floor, totally trying to figure out what the hell had happened to him.

“Ow?” he said, not quite sure if he was even hurt or not. His whole perception of reality had taken as hard a hit as his body. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“You may leave,” a quiet, confident voice said. “I grant you this opportunity to save yourself. Be grateful.”

The voice filled Morty’s stone ears despite its low volume. It was rocks in a river, stones being tumbled into polished gems, the smooth rattle of pebbles in a soft surf. Morty struggled to get to his feet, pain stabbing in areas that he was fairly certain had never felt pain before, but he stood and turned toward the voice.

The space between him and the voice was a mass of shattered machines. Broken video screens and severed handles, piles of loose change, and stray gears. At the far end of the mess, standing in the shadows of the bar entrance, was a figure almost a foot taller than Morty and easily a foot wider. It stood there, arms loose at its sides, items gripped in both hands. Its head moved almost imperceptibly.

“Leave now, grotesque,” the voice said. “No more warnings.”

“Listen, pal,” Morty said, patting himself down for a cigar stub he knew he had hidden in one of his cracks or crevices. Finding it, he jammed the two-inch nub between his teeth and pointed a stone finger at the shadowed figure, the owner of the voice. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re in my casino, you hear me? This place is mine. Been coming here for years before you showed up. All I wanted was to grab some cigars before heading back to the supplies I need to get to the sanctuary.”

“Smoking is a bad habit,” the figure said.

“For you, maybe,” Morty replied. He chuckled. “Or maybe not? I saw you drive the truck into the building. I know what you are, pal. Ain’t no reason for us to fight. I just want to ask a couple of questions, fetch my cigars, and be on my way.”

“You will be on your way, yes,” the figure insisted. “This place is ours now. You will leave with your life intact. Be grateful.”

“Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that,” Morty responded. He rolled his neck then spread his wings wide, knocking over the last few standing slot machines around him. “But damn if I’m going to be kicked out of a place I staked claim to. That just ain’t gonna happen, pal. You hear me?”

“I hear you,” the figure said and stepped from the shadows. “You heard me. You wasted your last chance. Now you die.”

The laugh that was going to come from Morty’s lips died before it reached the cigar nub.

“Well, holy shit,” he whispered as the figure’s own wings spread four feet wider than Morty’s. His eyes went from the wings to the obsidian blades that the figure held in each obsidian-gloved hand. “You ain’t from around here.”

“No,” the figure said as it grinned, showing teeth and fangs of black glass. “I am not from around here. And neither shall you be.”

The figure, the creature, the huge grotesque, leapt at Morty with one powerful push of his wings. Morty sighed and braced for the impact.

9

IT WAS THE obsidian that had hurt so much. Morty figured that out as he dodged the first swipe of one of the blades, but caught a fist to the gut for the effort. All the breath was knocked out of him, which was quite the accomplishment since he was made of stone and didn’t technically breathe.

Morty doubled over and knew the second blade swipe was coming, so he kept his momentum going and rolled his shoulder into the huge, muscular legs of the new grotesque. The creature bellowed as they fell into a heap of stone and ferocity.

Grabbing onto one of the creature’s wrists, Morty yanked the arm back and cleared a path for his fist to land a hard jab to the thing’s jaw. Its head rocked back, but the blow barely fazed the grotesque before Morty was greeted with a dazzling smile of glittering glass.

No, not glass. More obsidian. The damn thing had obsidian teeth. Morty could smell the power coming off the fangs and teeth. Hell, he could smell the power coming off the creature’s entire body. It was unlike anything he’d ever come across. Not even Artus had that much power stored up back in the day.

Too much thinking.

Morty’s own head rocked back once, twice, a third time before he was able to get his fists up to block the fourth blow. The world around him rang with brutal gongs and piercing bells. If he could have seen himself in a mirror he was fairly certain he would have seen cartoon birds and stars circling his head.

Then he was flying once more.

He covered most of the casino, his body skidding to a stop only a foot or two from the crumpled bumper of the truck. In the back of his mind, Morty knew he was in trouble, but the front of his mind couldn’t quite grasp why. He was a G, he should have been able to hand the creature its ass. Except the creature was a G, too. And armed with some serious obsidian. Way more than that possessed idiot with the jacked-up rebar.

A G with obsidian gloves, swords, and teeth. Impossible. But the pain that wracked him made a compelling argument against the impossibility.

Morty’s own perception of himself as impervious to harm warred with the actual evidence that he was getting his butt kicked. None of the possessed had even put a scratch on him in all the years he’d been scavenging. And not once had he ever had to defend himself when inside the casino. Everything happening went against what he knew as truth. It grated his gravel. All he’d wanted was some cigars.

“First time getting beat?” the creature asked as it loomed over Morty.

When had it crossed the casino? Morty shook his head and tried to focus. He had to focus.

“It’s hard when your ego realizes you aren’t invulnerable,” the creature continued. “Takes the ego some getting used to. Personally, I wouldn’t know. My ego is fine.”

There was movement above Morty. Arms being lifted. Morty, barely able to get onto his hands and knees, turned his head and looked up to see the creature holding a single blade two-handed, the other having been placed back in its scabbard. Morty knew that stance. It was an executioner’s stance.

“Stop!” Shandra cried. “Tom! Stop it!”

The obsidian blade hesitated.

“Why?” the creature, Tom, asked.

“He said they have a sanctuary,” Shandra said as she came running up to the huge grotesque that stood ready to end Morty. “A sanctuary, Tom. Safety. For her. Real safety.”

“You can’t possibly think that—” Tom began, but stopped as the look on Shandra’s face was one of harsh warning. “Shandra, this is our last stop. Not some sanctuary. Especially not a sanctuary we don’t know actually exists.”

“It exists,” Morty grunted as he tried to stand up. A well-placed kick to his side knocked him back down and it was all he could do to get onto his hands and knees again. “Knock it off, dick. I’m not going to fight you.”

“I know,” Tom said. “You are going to die. Here. On this floor. Now.”

“No,” Shandra said. Her voice was calm and barely raised at all, but it kept Tom still. “We take her to the sanctuary. That’s an order.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Tom said and sheathed his blade. He turned and stalked off, slamming a fist through a plaster-covered steel column. There was a groan from above, but Tom didn’t seem to notice as he took his frustration out on a faux wood kiosk to his left, turning it into nothing but a cloud of dust and particle-board splinters. “Come on! No fair, Shanny. You can’t give me an order like that when everything is on the line! What in the hell are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that maybe this isn’t our last stop,” Shandra said. “I’m thinking that this isn’t the place where we die or she dies.”

“But she is dying, dammit,” Tom bellowed.

Morty shook from the force of Tom’s voice. The G had some serious power inside him. Instead of trying to stand again, since he guessed that Tom could close the distance between them and knock his ass back down, Morty shifted and sat with his back against the truck’s bumper.

“Y’all want to tell me what you’re talking about?” Morty asked. “Maybe I can help.”

“I’m hoping you can,” Shandra replied. “That’s why Tom isn’t killing you.”

Morty gave her a thumbs-up and a wink then patted himself down. “Now I really am out,” he said, waving a hand back toward the bar. “You wouldn’t want to fetch me a fresh stogie, would ya?”

“Not yet,” Shandra said.

“I didn’t think so,” Morty responded.

Shandra moved in close, the barrel of the shotgun pressing against Morty’s chest, letting him know that making a move against her was not the best idea, even if Tom hadn’t been pacing and fuming only a few yards away. From the way the last blast had sent him soaring across the bar, Morty guessed it was obsidian buckshot inside the shells. Great.

“Do you have a doctor at the sanctuary?” Shandra asked. “We need a doctor.”

“I wouldn’t call him a doctor, so much as a medical savant,” Morty said. “The kid hasn’t had any formal training, but he’s probably the best medic you’ll ever find.”

“What the hell does that gibberish mean?” Tom asked, stomping a few feet toward them. Shandra held a hand up and back and he stopped. “Whatever.” He went and punched a slot machine, pulverizing it without much effort.

“This medical savant, can you get him here?” Shandra asked.

“What? Bring Highlander here?” Morty chuckled. “Not gonna happen, lady. He doesn’t leave the sanctuary. Not just because if he did, he’d probably end up possessed within the hour, but because that kid doesn’t barely ever step outside the cathedral, let alone leave the sanctuary grounds. Sorry, but you are shit out of luck on that.”

“See,” Tom said. “This grotesque is useless to us. Even if he isn’t a rogue, and there is a sanctuary, we can’t get her to there before she dies. You know that. This is it, Shanny. We’re done.”

“Who are you talking about?” Morty asked. “Who’s dying? What do you need Highlander for?”

“My daughter. Desiree,” Shandra said. “She’s hurt. Bad. We barely escaped our last refuge. The possessed had guns. Lots of guns. She caught a bullet in the chest, and it’s been all I can do to keep her alive. She can breathe, but she’s bleeding too much for that to matter. I can’t stop the bleeding, I don’t know where the bullet is. I need help.”

Shandra crouch-walked out of Morty’s reach before she broke down into tears. He gave her credit for her instinct of self-preservation before falling apart. The lady was a survivor, that was for sure.

Morty diverted his gaze from the crying, sobbing woman and looked at Tom.

The grotesque was huge. Easily seven feet tall and half as wide. He was carved from granite like Morty, but there were thick veins of quartz running throughout his body. He was formed into the likeness of a huge samurai, down to the intricately patterned armor and the obsidian gloves. The two blades strapped to his obsidian belt completed the picture. Morty knew what they were called, but couldn’t quite recall the exact name of the blades due to his head feeling like quicksand.

“Who the hell carved you?” Morty asked. “Mr. Miyagi?”

“Are you honestly going to spew that Euro elitist bigoted crap at me right now?” Tom responded. “Are you?”

Tom placed a gloved hand on the hilt of one of his blades.

“Say it again,” Tom taunted. “Do it. Say that racist bullshit one more time.”

“Tom, stop,” Shandra pleaded, sniffling loudly as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “This doesn’t help anything.”

“Sorry, pal, I was only trying to make a joke,” Morty said. “We’re all carved by Stonecutters, all equals here.”

“You are far from my equal,” Tom said. “You are weak. You desire human pleasures instead of paying attention to your duty. Cigars? No self-respecting grotesque would debase themselves by assuming a human affectation such as that. You are disgusting.”

“Now, come on, tell me how you really feel, pal,” Morty replied. He shifted his focus back to Shandra and held up his hands, palms out. “Not to sound cruel, not my intention at all, but I get the feeling you want Desiree saved not only because she’s your daughter. There’s another reason.” He tapped a finger against his stone ear. “I’m not usually wrong about this.”

“Could be your first time,” Tom said.

“Tom. Be quiet. That’s an order,” Shandra said.

Tom’s entire form shook with rage, but he didn’t make a sound. Except for the crunching of the casino floor as he left divots in the concrete when he turned and stomped away, his fist smashing everything within reach.

“You control him,” Morty stated as the terrifying realization hit him hard. “Shit. You control that hunk of angry. How? How can you do that?”

“There’s a way,” Shandra said.

“Did you carve him?” Morty asked urgently. “Did you? No, you couldn’t have. There hasn’t been a Stonecutter alive since the middle of last century. How are you ordering him around?”

“You’re wrong about there not being a Stonecutter since last century,” Shandra said. “My father was one. He made Tom.”

“Tom? The guy looks like a Kurosawa reject,” Morty said. “And your dad named him Tom?”

Shandra smiled. It was a kind smile. Pained and exhausted, but kind.

“He was named after the famous Japanese artist Tomioka Tessai,” Shandra said. “That guy was a painter or something in like the eighteenth century. Maybe nineteenth. I don’t know, I never paid attention. He was my father’s favorite artist even if he wasn’t a sculptor.”

“Huh,” Morty said. He flexed his fingers and Shandra casually brought the shotgun up to bare on Morty. “Chill. I’m not going to try to hurt you. Tommy Boy there would be on me faster than I could blink.”

There was an answering smash and Morty waved at the raging grotesque who had turned back to watch them while also crushing slot machines between his hands.

“What do they call you?” Shandra asked.

“They? What they?” Morty replied.

“The people at your sanctuary,” Shandra said. “What’s your name?”

“Morty,” Morty said. “Mordecai, but humans like the nicknames.”

His thoughts raced and he shook his head.

“Your dad was a Stonecutter?” Morty asked, trying not to sound too excited. “So that makes you one too?”

“No,” Shandra said, shaking her head. “I didn’t inherit the gift. Sometimes it can go generations before reappearing. Sometimes it only skips one generation.”

Shandra paused. Morty waited for her to go on, but she only stared at him.

“Okay,” Morty said after a couple of seconds of silence. Well, not so much silence since Tom was busy destroying anything he could get his obsidian gloved hands on. But there was no talking. “You sure you can’t get your daughter to the sanctuary?”

“We barely got here,” Shandra said, looking disappointed. “The possessed have all the roads blocked. They’ve been hunting us for months now. As soon as we left our house in Kentucky, they were on us. We didn’t think they even knew we were there. I hadn’t seen signs of the possessed for a couple of years. But the well had run dry, and Tom had scavenged the last of the food for a hundred miles in all directions. We couldn’t stay.”

“They had been waiting the whole time,” Morty said and nodded. “They do that. Surprised they didn’t hang outside your land and mock you. They do that too.”

“They ambushed us less than a mile down the road,” Shandra said. “Tom stopped them. We’ve been running since. They attacked us with guns in Bristol, and Tom was able to carry us until we found that truck up in Johnson City, Tennessee. Made it this far before, well, you saw.”

“He drives?” Morty asked. “How did he learn to drive?”

“We’ve had a lot of time on our hands so I taught him,” Shandra said. “Our land was over two hundred acres. Plenty of space. Used to be a horse farm, but my dad bought it and turned it into an artist’s colony back in the seventies right before I was born. He carved Tom from a piece of granite he pulled right from the land. My whole life I thought he was merely a statue in our garden.”

“Then the Gates of Hell opened and he woke up,” Morty said. “I know how it works. Except that you say your land was a sanctuary? How? Was there an old church there or something?”

“The magic doesn’t come from religion, but from the soul of the Stonecutter,” Shandra said. “It is conveyed from the soul through the blood and into the stone. My father said he knew of old family legends of what he was and ancestors like him, but he never in a million years would have believed them to be true. Not until Tom shook himself awake and began talking.”

Four slot machines went flying across the casino and through a wall.

“I know I’m going to regret this, but could you let him talk again?” Morty asked. “His trashing the place is kinda distracting.” Morty patted the top of his head. “I’m not stupid, but I do literally have rocks for brains, so I’m trying to concentrate on what you’re telling me.”

“Why?” Shandra asked.

“Why what?” Morty replied.

“Why are you trying to concentrate? What does it matter? You can’t get your medic here and Desiree can’t make a flight to your sanctuary. My daughter is going to die,” Shandra said and shivered. “Nothing to concentrate on.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to let your daughter die,” Morty said. “I’m going to figure out a way to get Highlander’s butt out of the sanctuary and back here so he can save your daughter.”

“You what?” Shandra exclaimed. “Why’d you change your mind?”

Morty stood up and Tom was standing between him and Shandra before Morty could even work out a single kink in his battered stone body.

“Chill,” Morty said. “I’m going to help, okay? Knock off the protector crap with me, will ya?”

Shandra moved around Tom and placed a hand on Morty’s chest.

“You figured it out,” Shandra said.

“Took me a minute, but yeah,” Morty said, “I figured it out. Sometimes it skips a generation.”

He looked over his shoulder at the last rays of sunlight and the horde of possessed hissing and growling outside in the parking lot.

“If we are ever going to win this damn war, then we’ll need your daughter alive,” Morty said and looked back at Shandra then directly into the eyes of Tom. “After all, she is the last Stonecutter, isn’t she?”

10

HER SKIN MIGHT have been a deep brown like her mother’s, but as Morty stood over her, it was nothing but ashy pale, a sign that Desiree only had a few more hours to live. If that.

“She’s beautiful,” Morty said without thought or hesitation. The girl’s face was lit and shadowed by the candlelight that flickered from several tapers that were stuck haphazardly about the bar’s backroom. “I didn’t think. . . . I didn’t think a human could be so beautiful. Not even Elisa . . .”

“She isn’t human,” Shandra said then shook her head. “Or she is, but she’s also something else. I knew it the moment she was born. Desiree has always been different, always glowed with a power and light that transcended her humanity. Strangers would coo and smile at her when she was an infant. Teachers adored her and kids flocked to her.”

“A little messiah,” Morty said. “But here to raise stone, not heal lepers.”

“Something like that,” Shandra said. She pushed back a curl of hair from Desiree’s face and leaned in to put her cheek to the girl’s forehead. “She’s cold.”

“I have blankets,” Tom said as he stood outside the bar’s backroom.

His shoulders and wings were too wide for him to get through the doorway. He glared at Morty, obviously jealous that the grotesque could navigate the human world more easily. But the world was only slightly more accommodating to a G of Morty’s size.

Morty continued to stare at Desiree as Shandra fetched the blankets from Tom. She came back and draped them across her daughter’s body, tucking them under to keep what little body heat the girl had trapped inside.

“How old is she?” Morty asked. “Five? Eight?”

“She’s twelve,” Shandra said and frowned at Morty. “Five?”

“What do I know about human ages?” Morty responded. “You all look the same to me.”

He said it in a way that was obviously a joke, but the statement still elicited a low growl of anger from Tom.

Morty tore his eyes from the sleeping girl and glanced over at the fuming grotesque blocking the doorway.

“When was the last time you went solid?” Morty asked. “It’s got to have been a while.”

“What?” Tom asked. “I haven’t been solid since the Gates opened and woke me.”

Morty didn’t bother hiding the shock from his face. It only pissed Tom off more.

“What? What are you looking at?” Tom snapped. He waved a hand at Shandra and Desiree, cracking part of the doorjamb with his fist. “Why would I go solid when I have these two to protect? Is that what you do back at your sanctuary? Take naps while everyone else does the hard work?”

“We all take naps,” Morty said. “Gs have to go solid every twenty-four to forty-eight hours or so, or we shut down and then we’re solid for days.”

“Never happened to me,” Tom said. “Not once.”

“That true?” Morty asked Shandra.

“Of course it’s true,” Tom bellowed.

“Tom. Stop it,” Shandra said as Desiree frowned in her sleep and made a quiet moan of irritation. “You’ll wake her.”

“Sorry,” Tom said. He pointed at Morty. “You figured out how to get your medic here yet?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Morty said. “I’m leaving.”

“I’m sure you are,” Tom said.

“I’ll be back, tough guy,” Morty said. “I have as much vested in this as you. With New York falling, we need a Stonecutter more than anything.”

“New York?” Shandra responded. “It fell? How?”

“Does it matter?” Morty said and continued as Shandra glared at him. “Demon trickery and human weakness, as always.”

“We’d tried going north at first, but it was too dense with possessed,” Shandra said. “We stayed in a casino in Pennsylvania for a couple of months before turning back and heading south.”

“Another casino?” Morty asked. “Why casinos?”

“They’re protected,” Tom said.

“Like this one?” Morty asked. “The possessed can’t get in any of the others either?”

“Only the ones on reservations,” Shandra said. “Desiree figured it out. Or pointed us in the right direction. She can feel the holy spots. Something my dad used to do too, but he never knew why. Casinos like this are protected by the collective magic of the tribe. That’s my guess. I saw a newspaper clipping on the wall of one of the offices in the Pennsylvania casino showing how the whole tribe had come out for a blessing ceremony when the casino was first being built and then again on opening day.”

“That explains it,” Morty said, shaking his head. “I always wondered why they wouldn’t come in here. Even when you ram a truck through the front doors.”

“They will try,” Tom said. “Now that we are in here, they will try. The power and blood of the Stonecutter calls to them.”

“So? They’ve tried to get into our sanctuary and they’ve failed every single time.” Morty chuckled. “The possessed are idiots.”

“This is not a sanctuary,” Tom said. “It has no gargoyle to maintain the power. If they press, and they will, they will overcome the blessing and the magic will fail. They just do not know that yet.”

“You need to move, Morty,” Shandra said. “Fast. Fetch your medical savant, or whatever he is, and get back here so he can save my daughter.”

“It’s not quite that easy,” Morty said. “Highlander is not a normal kid. Trust me. His brain ain’t wired like other humans. Getting him to step outside the cathedral is going to take all my strength. Getting him to fly with me back here? He’s gonna have to be sedated.”

“Then he can’t work on Desiree,” Shandra said. “He has to be sharp, focused.”

“I told you it wouldn’t be easy,” Morty said. “That’s the logistics with Highlander. I’m not even taking into account the night snipers that will be shooting at us.”

“Night scopes don’t work for the possessed,” Shandra said. “All the electronics.”

“Doesn’t matter. They can see just fine in the dark. And if the night is clear? I’ll be a sweet target up there,” Morty replied. “I’ll need to stick to the shadows of the ridges which will take a while. You sure we can’t move her? If I can get her to the sanctuary, then we’ll save hours.”

“Hours?” Tom snapped. “You fly as slow as you fight!”

“Tom, please,” Shandra said. “He’s being honest.”

“He’s being a coward,” Tom said, more to himself than to Shandra or Morty.

“Call me all the names you want, pal,” Morty said, “but the reality is, I’m marked. Any move I make, the possessed are going to know it has something to do with the Stonecutter. The secret is out by now. You know how fast they communicate.”

Shandra looked at Tom. “You could carry her. Take her up high, out of range of any rifle fire. You’re powerful enough that you can make the journey smooth.”

“There is nothing smooth about flying,” Tom said as he shook his head. “No. The blood flows too freely. She will die in my arms.”

“She’s going to die on that table,” Morty said, pointing at Desiree. “Listen, pal, you don’t know Highlander. You don’t know this area. I do. Even if I survive long enough to get the kid here without drugging his ass, he’ll still be a mental mess. Back in his element, he’s a genius. Out here? He’ll be a nightmare, no good to any of us. You have to trust me on this. Flying that girl makes sense. Good sense.”

Tom started to argue, but closed his stone lips tight. He shook his head again then locked his eyes with Shandra’s.

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Shandra said, staring until Tom looked away. “She’s nearly dead already.”

“She won’t make the flight,” Tom said.

“She won’t make it staying here,” Shandra said.

“Shandra . . .” Tom growled. “You know I’m right.”

“I’ll leave you two to work this out alone,” Morty said, sensing there was a lot more to their argument than what they were revealing. “This is obviously a family matter.”

“Where the hell are you going?” Tom barked.

“I’m going out there to watch the possessed. Get a feel for what they’re up to,” Morty said. “It’s gone kind of quiet. I hate it when they go quiet.”

Tom and Shandra cocked their heads and realization dawned on both their features.

“Didn’t notice that, did ya?” Morty said, smug in his confidence that he knew the casino, and the ever-present horde of possessed that surrounded it, better than they did. “Take five minutes, figure out what the next move is. When you know, come tell me and we’ll go from there.”

Morty didn’t wait for a response. He walked to the doorway, glared up at Tom until the G stepped aside, then sauntered out of the bar and back to the main lobby where the wrecked truck still sat, taking up most of the entrance.

Night had come, and the world outside was nothing but darkness. The possessed didn’t usually bother with torches or fires, but Morty could still easily make out their shapes as they milled about. He walked toward the truck then stopped. Something moved by the tailgate of the pickup.

Morty squinted into the gloom, but found nothing which accounted for the movement. He squatted down and looked under the truck. Nothing there.

A clank and rattle from behind him.

“Oh, come on,” Morty said as he spun about.

A few feet from a pile of broken slot machines was an empty beer bottle. It spun in a lazy circle, like a teenagers’ game, but minus any of the teenagers. Morty knew it was a trap. It was so obvious he almost laughed out loud. The problem was, who set the trap? The possessed couldn’t get inside.

Could they?

They never had before and what Shandra said about blessing ceremonies had made sense. The tribes drew from heavy earth magic. Whether they knew what they were doing or not, their mojo laid one hell of a whammy on the casino. In all his years, Morty had never seen one single possessed get closer than a few yards from the building.

Collaborators? Was that it? Did they bring collaborators down from New York or wherever they kept the traitorous meatbags? Were the demons ready to play their hand like that now that the last Stonecutter had been revealed?

Possibly. Probably.

Morty walked to the bottle and stomped it into glass dust, his eyes searching the huge room for the source of the trap. He was ready, waiting for the attack to come. Again, nothing.

“Come on,” Morty pleaded. “Make your move, pal.”

There was a crunching from behind him and Morty glanced over his shoulder. Maybe the jerk had doubled back.

He hadn’t.

The crunching was from feet walking slowly across the shattered bulletproof glass of the front entrance. A hundred feet walking slowly. Fifty faces, all smiling, eyes dead and gleaming with possession, the demons inside looking happy and smug.

“Crap,” Morty said as he realized the casino’s magic had failed finally. “Crap. Hey, guys!”

The possessed were in no hurry. Step, crunch, step, crunch, step, crunch. On they came, weapons in hand, but hands held casually down at their sides. They had the numbers and Morty could tell by their attitude that they knew it.

“Guys,” Morty shouted as he backed away from the entrance. He spread his wings, flexing them, getting them ready for flight or fight, whichever came first. Probably fight. “Guys! We have to go. Now!”

The second the words came out of his mouth, he knew they were a mistake. He’d been playing the game a long time, so he knew better, but everything since the truck smashed into the casino had thrown him off. He wasn’t thinking like a protector because, technically, the humans in back of the bar weren’t his to protect. He’d help, yes, because sweet mother of all that was holy, it was the last Stonecutter.

But they weren’t his wards, so his instincts were off. That was all there was to it.

“No, wait,” Morty shouted as he heard feet coming his way. Human feet. “Shandra, go back!”

Tom had stayed with Desiree, as he should have. That left Shandra to come out and see what Morty was making all the noise about. The second she showed herself, the torches were lit and the casino became a dance of fire and shadow.

“Close your eyes,” Morty yelled as he leapt at Shandra, knocking her to the floor.

He was too late. He saw it in her eyes. Eyes that were perfectly human one moment, but then not so much the next. That’s all it took. For a possessed that was occupied by one of the higher demons to make eye contact with an unprotected human. The transfer was instantaneous.

“Where am I?” a weak voice cried. The voice came from the human who had suddenly lost the parasite that had been living in her for years. “Oh, God, where am I?”

The possessed around her laughed and the dispossessed woman began to weep and plead for someone to tell her where she was, what was happening, who they all were. They didn’t offer her any answers. Instead, they tore her apart.

The blood and gore was for Morty’s benefit. Normally, the possessed wouldn’t have wasted a vessel like that, but they wanted him to see their cruelty. Not that he needed to see it. He felt it writhing underneath him as Shandra bucked against his stone form.

“Hello, Mordecai,” a multi-toned voice said. “I have missed you.”

Morty looked down to see that Shandra had three faces, not one. Her beautiful face was no longer hers, but of a handsome man, smiling with razor-sharp teeth. The other two faces, taking up each side of her head, were not handsome and were not human. One was a serpent’s face, tongue flicking out at Morty’s cheek. The other was of a cat, feline eyes narrowed and confident.

The mouths spoke as one.

“Valac was right,” the faces said. “Humankind’s last treasure is here, in this backwoods, inbred, podunk shithole of a casino. He had a feeling, a gut instinct, but none of us believed him. We were wrong, as always. Valac does know his job.”

The shoulders next to the three-faced head shrugged.

“Oh, well, I’m here now to take care of things,” the faces said. A firebrand appeared in what had been Shandra’s hand. “Like I always do.”

“Kiss my stone ass, Haborym,” Morty said and slammed his forehead down against the handsome face.

The eyes rolled up into their head, but the other faces were still very much alert. The firebrand, a pitch-black length of black wood that dripped flame and smelled of human excrement, came at Morty’s head, but he brought a wing down to block it before he shoved up from the possessed woman.

The pain was intense, but manageable. He knew the firebrand would leave a mark, but there was not time to think of future scars. If management was sending a Great Duke of Hell like Haborym to take care of things, then Artus had been right. It was all coming to a head and the true end was near.

The eyes of the handsome face came back into focus as Morty scrambled to his feet and retreated toward the bar. Haborym shook his head and pointed the firebrand at Morty, shaking the end back and forth, creating streaks of light in the air.

“Give us the girl, Mordecai,” Haborym said. “Give us the girl and we’ll let your little sanctuary exist for as long as those humans can live. That won’t be long since all of your supplies are destroyed. We’ve been busy today while you’ve been in here looking for your precious cigars. To think a human vice would take down a gargoyle. I find that so funny.”

“Grotesque, you three-faced asshole,” Morty said. “And you didn’t destroy all the supplies. There are always more.”

“Are there? Where?” Haborym asked. “Not in any of the towns, Mordecai. Maybe there are some cabins or retreats the humans used to love so much. Maybe in those, what were they called? Summer camps? Possibly. But not in the towns.”

“You guys are fast, but not that fast,” Morty said. “No way you found and destroyed all the food in all the towns around here.”

“Find?” Haborym laughed. “No, you are right. Not enough time for that. No need to find it.”

Morty didn’t quite grasp what the demon was getting at. The look on Haborym’s faces showed he saw the grotesque’s confusion.

“Oh, poor, poor Mordecai,” Haborym said as he held his firebrand out, drawing Morty’s attention. “Is the shiny too much for your stone brain to deal with? Maybe I should bury it? Like, say, up your—”

“Shandra?” Tom, called from the back of the bar. “What’s happening?”

The demon cleared his throat and, keeping all six eyes on Morty, changed his voice back to the body’s original owner’s.

“Help me,” Shandra’s voice cried. “Mordecai has turned on us. Help! He’s going to kill me!”

“Oh, Haborym,” Morty said. “Really? Do you think he’s that dumb?”

Tom came rushing from the back room, and Haborym gave Morty three smiles as six feet of flame shot up from the firebrand.

“It appears so,” Haborym said and sent the flame flying at Tom.

11

TOM WRAPPED HIS wings about himself as the flame reached him, absorbing the fire into the stone.

“Oh, my, that’s a neat trick,” Haborym said as Tom unfolded his smoking wings and drew both swords.

“Where is Shandra?” Tom growled.

“Where else?” Haborym said. “In Hell. Do you think all my majesty can fit in this pile of flesh with her soul taking up precious space? Please, Mordecai. But, do not worry, she is being given the true VIP treatment. I am sure management is taking very, very good care of the mother of the last Stonecutter.”

“She’s dead, Tom,” Morty said.

“I know that,” Tom said. “They will never let her soul free.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Haborym said and shrugged. There was a faint cry of pain from the back room. “Oh, hello. Is that the little rock carver? Is she back there? Only a few feet away? How convenient.”

Haborym leaned to the side and swiped the firebrand across the floor. It caught instantly, despite being made of concrete. Haborym laughed.

“I defy science,” Haborym said. He looked about at the casino. “But this building will not. Time for that girl to die a fiery, awful, death.”

The fire shot across the casino in five directions, setting everything in its path aflame. As the fire worked its destruction, the horde of possessed charged, heading straight for the bar.

“Or maybe she’ll get lucky and only be ripped to shreds instead of burned alive,” Haborym said. “We’ll see.”

“You will not,” Tom said as he crossed the space before Haborym’s words had finished leaving his lips.

There was no hesitation. Tom’s swords moved almost faster than Morty’s eyes could track. When they stilled, Shandra’s body lay upon the floor in a hundred pieces, her blood spilling outward, sizzling when it reached the flames.

“Bloody hell,” Morty said.

That was the extent of his commentary. He didn’t have time to say more. The possessed had reached the entrance to the bar and would be on Desiree in seconds. He pumped his wings twice and flew into the horde, crushing many, sending most flying like bowling pins, as he tore through their ranks, his fists driving like pistons once again, killing and maiming every body they touched.

Morty’s right wing clipped the bar and he tumbled to the ground, but immediately rolled back up to his feet, fists at the ready as the horde came at him.

“Block the door,” Tom shouted from the middle of the horde that filled the casino. “Keep her safe!”

“That’s the idea,” Morty yelled back as he watched blood geyser up from the horde like someone had turned on a horrific hose.

Body parts were flying everywhere, flung far and wide as Tom sliced and diced his way through the horde to try to get to Morty. More importantly, to get back to Desiree.

The shotgun came up at Morty’s face and he barely blinked before birdshot filled his vision. Normal birdshot. Which didn’t do jack.

Morty snatched the shotgun from the hand of the possessed and snapped it in half then jabbed both halves into the bellies of two possessed standing on either side of the shooter. He yanked his arms up, tearing the two straight up the middle, splitting their torsos in half. The possessed shooter laughed.

“Awesome.” The possessed man cackled right before Morty ripped his head off and jammed it into the face of a possessed woman behind him.

The geyser of blood was getting closer to Morty as he ripped, punched, tore, smashed, and pulverized every bit of possessed flesh he could get his hands on. The demon-driven vessels never slowed despite the certain death they faced. That gave Morty plenty of opportunity to add to the pile of corpses that were stacking up before him.

“So methodical,” Haborym said, suddenly taking over the body of an almost naked man wearing nothing but cutoff jean shorts. The three faces reappeared, grinning and leering, trying to see past Morty and into the back room where the prize was laid out. “You are such the professional when it comes to murder, Mordecai.”

“It’s not murder,” Morty said, grabbing Haborym’s head and crushing the skull with one squeeze of his stone hand.

“Oh, but it is,” Haborym said, taking over an old woman who hadn’t seen teeth in several decades. “These bodies belong to people. They are not dead. They are not zombies. They are merely being borrowed. You are murdering them and doing nothing to us. We simply go home down below.”

“Then go on already,” Morty shouted as he slammed his fist through the old woman’s chest until his hand grasped her spine. He ripped it free, the head still attached. “Go home!”

“Not yet,” Haborym said as Morty swung his arm and crushed the head against the wall.

Morty tossed the headless, bodiless spine to the floor and moved into the horde.

“Do not leave your post,” Tom bellowed as the geyser of blood was only a few yards from Morty.

Morty moved back and blocked the doorway as four possessed tried to make a break for it. He sent an elbow into the back of one, snapping his spine and paralyzing him there on the spot. He threw his arm forward and decapitated a second with a brutal clothesline move. The third got a foot right up the ass while Morty’s left wing tip impaled the fourth.

Kicking free of the corpse and refolding his wings, Morty decided he’d had enough. Killing possessed was fun and all, but there were too many. They simply had the numbers. If Haborym hadn’t been lying—and that demon wasn’t one to stretch the truth, he liked being right too much—then that meant all the towns had been emptied of their possessed. Morty had a pretty strong feeling that several thousand vessels were marching their way to the casino at that very moment.

“Where are you going?” Tom shouted, a wingspan’s width away from Morty. “Coward!”

“Shut up,” Morty yelled as he retreated into the bar’s backroom. “Stop calling me a coward!”

Morty knew the casino like the back of his hand. He’d been in there so many times that he could walk the halls and navigate the rooms blindfolded. Which was why he knew he could scoop Desiree up and kick his way through the plasterboard wall of the bar’s backroom right into a service corridor beyond. He didn’t wait for Tom to follow; it wasn’t exactly a stealthy retreat. The big G would be able to find them without a problem. Morty held the nearly dead girl to him and ran.

The service corridor was designed for electric golf carts to run back and forth so supplies could be dropped off to the various ground-floor bars and restaurants, or so security could get from one end of the casino to the other without dealing with the crowds inside. That last part was Morty’s goal. Get from one end of the casino to the other and avoid the crowds inside. It just happened that the crowds were possessed humans hell-bent on killing the adolescent girl he held to his stone-cold chest.

Morty made it to the end of the corridor and hesitated before two doors. One led straight outside, one led to the stairwell. Go out or go up. Those were his choices.

The choice was made for him as the door to the outside exploded into a million slivers of metal. Morty whipped his wings out, tearing into the concrete block wall on one side and the plasterboard on the other, and wrapped himself around Desiree. As shards of the door peppered his back, Morty looked down at the limp girl in his arms.

She was looking back at him.

“Hello,” Morty said. “I’m Morty.”

The girl’s eyes closed once more, but not before Morty caught a glimpse of something he wasn’t sure how to explain. Pain? Yes, of course. But something else. Conflict? He wasn’t sure. Too dark to make out exactly what the look was.

Not that the darkness lasted.

The possessed threw torches into the service corridor from the outside door so they could see their quarry. A dozen men and women rushed inside and went straight for Morty. None of them made it more than half a step before being cleaved in half.

“Get up,” Tom said as he gripped Morty by the shoulder and lifted him out of his protective crouch. “We go to the roof.”

Morty glanced at the doorway to the outside and nodded.

“Good idea,” he said, seeing several dozen more possessed running toward the back entrance.

“I’ll take her now,” Tom said and gently lifted Desiree from Morty’s arms. “Lead the way.”

Morty’s response was to kick in the stairwell door. He hurried inside and began taking the steps five at a time. Tom, with Desiree in his arms, was right behind, barely slowing as he turned at each landing. They were moving so fast, they were six floors up before the possessed had even entered the stairwell. If there had been room to spread their wings, they would have flown straight up the middle, but the stairwell was tightly packed with only a couple of feet between sets of stairs.

“When we get to the roof, we don’t stop,” Morty called over his shoulder. “Head to the northeast corner and launch yourself. Do not pause. If you give them time to see where we’re going, they’ll tell those on the ground and things will get dicey way faster than we’ll like.”

“I know how to flee a horde,” Tom grumbled. “You lead the way to your sanctuary.”

“Hey, only trying to help here, pal,” Morty said.

They were three quarters of the way up the stairwell when Morty realized that the air was considerably thicker than before. Smoke. The fire had spread from the ground floors and the smoke was filling the stairwell.

“She’s going to do that thing humans do when they can’t breathe,” Morty yelled.

“Asphyxiate,” Tom said.

“No, die!” Morty stopped where he was.

“What are you doing?” Tom roared. “You’re blocking the way. Keep going!”

“She won’t make it,” Morty yelled as he threw himself against the stairwell wall with all his strength.

A Morty-sized hole appeared in the concrete block, and he was suddenly tumbling in the air. His wings whipped out, and he glided for a few feet then pumped them hard and returned to the hole he’d made.

“Hand her to me,” Morty yelled. “Do it now!”

Tom hesitated.

“Now,” Morty yelled. “Before they know we’re out and start shooting from below!”

Tom extended his arms and Morty took Desiree into his, flapping backward to give the larger G room to widen the hole. Tom exploded out of the stairwell like Morty had, but his wings spread faster and he barely lost an inch of altitude before he was under control and flapping his way up into the sky.

“Get above me,” Tom shouted as the rifle fire started. “I’ll block the bullets!”

Morty shifted Desiree’s weight, which wasn’t much since she was so frail, and soared up over Tom, making sure the bulkier grotesque became a stone shield between him and the dozens of potshots coming up from the ground below.

Then the potshots became something much more and Morty realized he was flying with an unprotected child in his arms as the possessed horde became a possessed army. Bullets whizzed by at an alarming rate, several tinging and pinging off his stone wings. They didn’t do any damage, but all it took was one bad ricochet and Desiree’s frail weight would become dead weight.

“Where am I going?” Tom shouted from below, his words almost lost amidst the rifle reports ringing out from the ground. “Give me a direction!”

“Northeast,” Morty yelled, adjusting Desiree so as much of her as possible was protected by his thick, stone arms. “You’ll know it when you see it!”

Tom adjusted course and seemed to hover for a moment as Morty adjusted as well. The larger grotesque’s wings were impressive, to say the least. They only needed to beat the air twice for every five of Morty’s wing beats. Despite his immense size, Tom looked like he was gliding more than flying. Morty had to admire the craftsmanship that went into his design. Some grotesques, even the ones with wings, couldn’t fly worth a crap despite all the magic in the world.

Morty didn’t have that problem. He was made and born to fly. The second he woke up he knew that. His first instinct when his eyes had finally opened had been to launch himself into the air. He carved a huge gouge in the ceiling of the cathedral before some semblance of reason reached his newly awakened mind and he brought himself under control. The gouge could still be seen up in the shadows of the cathedral’s nave.

They continued for several miles before Morty called out new instructions, telling Tom to adjust course again. The road leading up to Margaret’s Patch was filled from side to side with possessed. Hundreds of them marched their way along the cracked and weed choked asphalt, all manner of weaponry clutched in their hands. The mob had enough torches lit that Morty could easily see that the possessed weren’t carrying BB guns.

“Skirt the woods until you see the cemetery,” Morty yelled. “We’ll land at the back of the sanctuary. I’m not liking the look of those folk below.”

“Me neither,” Tom yelled back.

Desiree stirred in Morty’s arms and he risked a quick glance down at her. The girl’s eyes were open and staring into his. He felt a power there like he hadn’t ever felt before and had no way to define. He also caught a glimpse of that otherness he’d seen back at the casino. If Morty had had hair, it would have stood on end from that glimpse. It didn’t feel right.

But there was nothing he could do. He had to keep going, he had to hang onto the girl, and he had to warn the others that the possessed were making their move like Artus had said they would. Morty wished for once Artus would be wrong.

Margaret’s Patch was about three hundred feet below and off to their right. The marching mob of possessed was a good ten minutes away, but it was easy to see the party had already begun at the sanctuary’s main gates. Close to three dozen possessed were gathered around the rotten bar, all brandishing weapons, most of which would go bang if put to use.

Why? Artus’s magic would keep the bullets out. Hell, it would keep a tank out, not that the possessed could drive a tank. The possessed knew that. Morty couldn’t figure the armaments out. And he didn’t have time to.

“That way! Down there,” Morty yelled as he spotted the marker dotted cemetery far below. “Set down by the—”

His words were lost in the explosion off his left wing. Morty twisted and dove clear of the fiery attack, bits of shrapnel pinging his back.

“Mortars,” Morty yelled. “What the hell?”

“They are trying to stop us,” Tom shouted. “Fly faster!”

“Fly faster? Are you joking?” Morty yelled. “I’m flying as fast as I can!”

Another explosion, but well above him, shut both grotesques up as they angled their descent toward the sanctuary grounds.

Morty could see torches lighting the entire cathedral, inside and out, which was strange. The torches were never lit like that. No need, when none of the wards ever left the safety of the cathedral. Especially since that much light could afford eye-to-eye contact with one of the stronger possessed. The magic protecting the sanctuary stopped any risk of possession within the grounds, but Morty had seen a man go insane after locking eyes with a vessel that was filled with one of the higher-ranking demons. It wasn’t pretty.

Still puzzled by the amount of torch light, Morty was next distracted by the sounds of angry shouts and panicked voices. At first, he thought it was the possessed from below, but he quickly realized that some of the wards were running away from the cathedral and they were the ones shouting. Morty saw arms being waved up at him and he wanted to dive down fast and see what was going on, but he couldn’t risk harming Desiree. Slow and steady was all that kept the last Stonecutter from being emptied of her blood supply. A blood supply that was busily dripping down and across Morty’s arms.

“Your wards are fighting,” Tom yelled.

Morty was about to argue, since that was pretty stupid, but then he saw a man run at a woman and club her with a length of metal. Confusion led to shock that led to rage when he realized that the woman on the ground was Hannah and the man with the metal was a complete stranger.

“He’s not ours,” Morty shouted.

“Well, he’s protected,” Tom shouted back. “You can see the magic about him!”

Tom was right—the mark of the sanctuary was definitely on the man. He must have arrived while Morty was gone and requested sanctuary. How he got through the mob of possessed, and why he was attacking Hannah, were only two of the hundreds of questions that flooded Morty’s mind.

“I will stop him,” Tom yelled as he folded his wings and dove.

Before Morty could say anything, a bright flash exploded underneath the huge grotesque, sending Tom spinning and falling straight to the ground, well short of the sanctuary grounds and any protection from the possessed mob it could afford.

“Tom,” Morty yelled. “Tom!”

But the grotesque did not respond. He was a limp hunk of stone that plummeted with all the grace of a falling meteor. He was lost from sight in the trees surrounding Margaret’s Patch in a blink of Morty’s stone eyes.

“Crap,” Morty said as he risked another glance down at Desiree. Her eyes were closed and face ashen-gray, more than it had ever been. “More crap.”

Morty was almost to the invisible border of the sanctuary grounds when he saw the mortar coming up at him. The explosive was going to reach him before he reached the grounds. Only one thing to do.

“You better be worth this,” Morty said as he spun his body around, aiming his back at the ground and at the incoming mortar round. “If you aren’t then I swear I’ll—”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence as the round exploded across his back, turning him into a way better likeness of a falling meteor than Tom. Morty stared up at the sky, wings and arms wrapped about Desiree as they fell. He saw familiar stars and knew instantly where he was going to crash. He could navigate the entire sanctuary by those stars.

Then the sky lit up as he passed the barrier. It was brief. It was bright. Then it was over. A flash of purple and then a faint sizzling sound.

“Oh come on,” Morty cried right before his back hit the ground.

PART TWO

The Wards & Sanctuary

1

HIGHLANDER HIKED for six days, sleeping for ten-minute stretches at a time, ready to get up and bolt at the slightest snap of a twig. Six days of a steady march before he felt he was far enough away from humanity that he could set up camp and feel somewhat safe.

It took all of four hours before he was discovered.

Turned out the possessed might not have been fans of overnight camping, but they were certainly all about sport hunting for empty vessels. Highlander had watched a million episodes of medical dramas; he hadn’t watched a single survival drama or thriller. His campfire was as good as a neon sign blinking bright above the oaks and pines.

Campsite abandoned, gear left behind, only the clothes on his back and soggy boots on his feet, Highlander ran. He ran, and ran, and kept running, certain that the possessed were only a few yards behind him. He was right.

The second he broke from the tree line and saw the iron fence that surrounded the cathedral on Margaret’s Patch, Highlander had thought he was safe. His mind buzzed with the magic that resonated off the sanctuary grounds. He didn’t doubt or question the magic’s existence or validity. There were hordes of demon-possessed humans, so it stood to reason there would be a magical cathedral with a talking face set in the middle of the gates.

Jack greeted Highlander warmly, but before he could reply in kind, his chest exploded outward as the 30-30 round tore into his back and out through his front, splattering Jack’s face with bright red blood.

The rest was a blur as Highlander fell to the ground. He would later remember being picked up as more shots rang out. Voices that didn’t sound right roared in the air around him, matching the volume of the rifle fire. None of that mattered. All that mattered to Highlander was the gaping hole in his chest and the fact that he had calculated approximately thirty-seven minutes of life left in him if he didn’t operate immediately.

Crazy voices and rifle fire be damned; Highlander needed medical supplies and four mirrors or he would die.

He expressed that to the thing that carried him up to the cathedral and received a grunt in reply. An old woman appeared in his vision once he was inside and he told her what he needed. She blinked at him a few times then nodded and barked orders.

The supplies that were brought to him were sorely lacking, but there were the basics and that’s what he’d needed. Highlander ignored the shocked faces watching him perform self-surgery. Jaws hung slack as he tied off blood vessels and sutured the wound. In front. He couldn’t reach the back on his own.

Using the four mirrors, he talked the old woman through the procedure until he was fairly certain he wouldn’t bleed to death in the night. Then Highlander promptly passed out.

He slept for four days straight. The old woman kept his wounds clean, kept his body clean, and was there when he woke up.

“I’m Hannah,” she said.

“Highlander,” he whispered.

She didn’t question the name, simply nodded.

Highlander studied his surroundings and announced, “This is the infirmary.”

“Yes, we’ve used it for that,” Hannah replied.

“No,” Highlander stated. “This is the infirmary.”

TWO DISTURBANCES interrupted his thoughts and remembrances simultaneously. Highlander didn’t do well with concurrent stimuli, so he chose the more familiar to deal with first.

A grotesque-shaped shadow passed by one of the stained-glass windows, and he hurried over and waved. He knew Morty didn’t see him. But, he always waved when Morty flew off on a supply run. Morty had saved him, carried him into the cathedral. Highlander liked Morty.

Highlander also liked the source of the other disturbance, but he didn’t know how to express those feelings. It wasn’t that the feelings were romantic, it was that Highlander wasn’t good with people. People confused him and gave him levels of anxiety that at times bordered on debilitating and at other times stepped right over that border.

“Hi, Highlander,” a teen girl said as she stopped knocking on the wall and walked through the infirmary’s open door. “Was that Morty leaving?”

“Yes,” Highlander replied, his voice formal and guarded.

The girl had fiery red hair and freckles across her nose and cheeks. She was pretty, but in a way that would eventually fade as life took its toll, like it had with her Scotch-Irish ancestors who had helped populate the Blue Ridge mountains and most of Appalachia. She stood by the doorway, watching Highlander as he went about busying himself with tasks that kept him from looking over at her.

“You’re not going to say hello?” the girl asked.

Highlander stopped what he was doing and took a few deep breaths, then turned and looked at her.

“Hello, Kimmy,” Highlander said. “Are you sick?”

“Yeah,” Kimmy said. She shifted, looking almost as uncomfortable as Highlander. “I keep throwing up each morning.”

“That would be consistent with your situation,” Highlander said. “Nausea is part of being pregnant.”

He shuffled, extremely uncomfortable with the subject. Then he took a couple of more deep breaths and steeled himself for the conversation. It was part of the job, and Highlander took his job very seriously.

“But we don’t know yet, right? Not until we do tests?” Kimmy asked. She crossed from the doorway and Highlander took a couple of steps back, bumping into a small table that held stainless steel medical instruments. They clattered loudly, and Kimmy laughed. “Gil thinks you’re retarded, but you aren’t, are you? Just awkward.”

“No, not retarded,” Highlander said. “And don’t use that word. It’s not very nice.”

“Sorry,” Kimmy said. “So . . . can we do tests?”

“I have autism,” Highlander continued as if Kimmy hadn’t asked about the tests. “I was diagnosed in elementary school. My parents did not appreciate the diagnosis; it upset them.”

“Oh,” Kimmy said. She shuffled her feet, a look of confusion dominating her features. “Okay . . .”

“My father was a very important man,” Highlander said. “Very important. A lawyer. High-powered. Mother called him that. High-powered.”

“So you were rich?” Kimmy asked. “I wasn’t.”

“Rich, yes,” Highlander replied. “Sad, too. Mother drank. A lot. She preferred wine at night and whiskey during the day. She hated me.”

“I, um, was hoping maybe you could do a blood test?” Kimmy asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

Highlander paused in his spontaneous confession. He tilted his head as if he’d noticed Kimmy for the first time.

“A blood test? I don’t have the materials,” Highlander said and pointed at the stained-glass window. “Morty is going to get the materials. A urine test. Simpler and as reliable. Elisa asked him to get the test. I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t get it?”

“I couldn’t ask,” Highlander paused, eyes cast down. “Embarrassing.”

“You’re embarrassed to ask for a pregnancy test?” Kimmy asked, looking even more confused than usual. “But you aren’t embarrassed to talk to me about it. Why?”

“This is medical,” Highlander pointed back and forth from himself and Kimmy. “A private medical discussion. Between us. Medical. That’s my job.”

“Oh, right.” Kimmy nodded. “That doctor/patient confident thing.”

“Doctor/patient confidentiality,” Highlander agreed. “But I’m not a doctor.”

“Yeah, you are. Everyone says you are.”

“I don’t have a degree I didn’t go to school. Homeschooled.”

“You can homeschool to be a doctor? Cool.”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean,” Highlander said. “No, I’m confusing you. Not saying what I mean.”

Kimmy moved closer and reached out to touch his arm, but Highlander shrunk back.

“I had a tutor,” Highlander blurted, bumping into the table again. Kimmy smiled and Highlander’s cheeks went bright red. “He was a doctor. Mother hired him because I liked watching medical dramas on Netflix.”

“Oh, like Grey’s Anatomy?” Kimmy asked. “I loved that show.”

“Yes, like Grey’s Anatomy. And all of the others. There are a lot of medical dramas.”

“You learned to be a doctor from watching TV?”

“No, no, I learned from my tutor,” Highlander snapped. “You aren’t listening. Please listen.”

“Oh, sorry,” Kimmy said, her face falling.

“I apologize.” Highlander snuck a glance at Kimmy and saw her distress. “That was rude. I can be rude.”

“But you aren’t mean,” Kimmy said.

Highlander smiled at the compliment. Or tried to. He knew his smiles were always a little lopsided and unnatural-looking on his usually serious face.

“My tutor was Mother’s lover,” Highlander continued. “He was a doctor, but lost his job because of an addiction to painkillers. My father represented him in court. He lost. The doctor would come over and teach me medicine since Mother knew that would keep me happy and she made a deal with me that if he taught me about medicine then I had to never tell Father that she was being unfaithful. I didn’t like the deal, but I did like learning. I stayed quiet.”

“But you can stitch and fix broken bones,” Kimmy said. “He taught you that?”

“Animals.”

“Like a vet?”

“Sort of.” Highlander didn’t elaborate.

The two stood there in silence for a full minute before Highlander motioned at one of the tables. “Sit down.”

“But you can’t do anything,” Kimmy said. “You don’t have the materials, right?”

“I’ll take your vital statistics. Make sure your blood pressure is within healthy parameters.”

“Okay.” Her face lit up as she hopped onto the table. “Are you going to use a stethoscope? If you do, will you warm it? Those things are cold. You want me to unbutton my shirt?”

Highlander had picked up the stethoscope from another small table. He instantly fumbled it and it fell onto the floor as Kimmy started to unbutton her shirt.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what the hell is going on here?” a voice said from the doorway. “I know Kimmy puts out, ask Brian, but I didn’t think she’d put out for a retard like you, Gaylander.”

“He’s not retarded, Gil,” Kimmy snapped. “He’s artistic.”

“God, you’re dumb,” the teenager, Gil, said as he came walking into the infirmary, a smug look on his face, a short length of pipe in his hand.

“That’s rude,” Highlander said.

Kimmy’s eyes were on the pipe. “It’s okay, Highlander. Let it go.”

“Highlander.” Gil laughed. “What kind of name is that? Talk about dumb.”

“It is my favorite movie,” Highlander said. “I like the name.”

“Oh, shit, well that explains it,” Gil exclaimed. He smacked the pipe against his palm, making Highlander and Kimmy jump. “From now on, I want to be called Pulp Fiction.”

“Is that your favorite movie?” Kimmy asked.

“Jesus, you’re hopeless,” Gil said. “Why are you even in here?”

“You know why,” Kimmy said, her head down and voice quiet.

“No, Kimmy, I don’t,” Gil replied. “Even if you are pregnant, there’s no way you’re going to have a baby with the amount of drugs you take. If you do, it’ll end up like one of those circus freaks with the pointy heads and webbed feet.”

He snorted, pleased with his joke, and took a couple of steps toward Highlander.

“Hey, Gaylander, speaking of drugs,” Gil said, “I’m gonna need some party supplies.”

“No,” Highlander said and turned his back on the teen. He bent over and picked up the stethoscope. “Go away, Gil. I have work to do.”

Highlander was tall and gangly, having never put any muscle on his lean frame even as he’d left adolescence and entered his twenties. Lack of sufficient food supply did that to a growing body.

Gil, on the other hand, was Highlander’s complete opposite. Only five feet eight, Gil was a typical stout and muscular farm boy. His face was covered in a patchy auburn beard, his eyebrow one long caterpillar running along the protruding ridge that supported his wide, pronounced forehead. If Highlander had had the courage, he would have mentioned words like “Neanderthal” and “caveman” to describe Gil.

But that wouldn’t be a good idea, evidenced by how Gil moved toward Highlander, the short pipe raised.

“Kimmy?” Gil said.

“Yeah?”

“Get the fuck out,” Gil stated, eyes on Highlander.

“What? Highlander was going to take my vital statistics,” Kimmy protested.

“You won’t have any if I put this pipe through your head,” Gil said.

Highlander took a step toward Gil, but the teenager lifted the pipe higher and shook it.

“You want to come at me?” Gil asked. “That what you want to do?”

“It’s okay, I’ll leave,” Kimmy said, hopping off the table. “Chill out.”

“I’ll chill out when you get out,” Gil said.

Kimmy sighed and smiled at Highlander. “Can I come back later?”

“Yes, of course,” Highlander said. “That would be good.”

“She won’t be coming back later,” Gil said. “She’ll be busy.”

“I will?” Kimmy asked.

“Shut up and get out,” Gil snarled.

Kimmy flinched and hurried around the teenager, staying well clear of the menacing pipe.

Gil watched her go then turned back to Highlander and gave him a wink.

“Too bad that ass is going to get fat,” Gil said. “I see why Brian taps it.” He pointed the pipe at his temple. “Nothing going on up top, but she’s got everything going on below.”

“Get out, Gil,” Highlander said. “You are wasting your time.”

“Come on, Gaylander,” Gil responded. “Hand the pills over and I’ll disappear from your life for at least a few hours. I know you have a stash of oxy in here somewhere.”

“Yeah, I do,” Highlander replied. “But it is for medical use only, not recreational.”

“This is medical, Gaylander,” Gil insisted. “If I don’t get a hit of something, I’m going to die from boredom. Same with the rest of the gang. It’ll be an epidemic and all your fault.”

“Go away, Gil,” Highlander said again, his anxiety building to a dangerous level. Too much more and he’d either freeze up completely or snap. He’d snapped before, and his parents almost had him committed. His father had to pay off the kid he’d hurt. Highlander took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Medicine is for medical purposes only. Medical purposes only, Gil. That is all it can be used for.”

“That is all it can be used for,” Gil repeated in a mocking, sing-song approximation of Highlander’s voice. He smacked the pipe against his open palm. He took his own deep breath, letting it out slowly in perfect imitation of Highlander. “Know what this can be used for?”

Gil had been after him ever since the teenager had walked through the sanctuary’s doors. Highlander let Gil have his intimidation fun. It was easier that way. But he always knew it would come to an end one way or another.

That end was about to come. The cathedral was empty of all painkillers stronger than acetaminophen or ibuprofen. No more oxy, no codeine, nothing. Highlander hadn’t told anyone, not even Morty or Hannah. He was too embarrassed to admit he’d let Gil bleed the infirmary dry, let it get that far.

But, he’d had to. It kept Gil from getting violent. Highlander couldn’t have Gil get violent or bad things would happen. Highlander knew that part about himself. The dichotomy of his personality.

He saved lives and . . .

Highlander’s heart hammered in his chest and his hands shook as he reached behind him to fumble at the small table. The other part of him, the part he kept secret, was going to take over. Highlander wished it wouldn’t, even as he brought a scalpel out from behind his back and held it out in front of him.

Gil’s eyes went wide and he paused in mid-thwack of the pipe. Then he followed through with the motion, a meaty sound joining the chuckle he made as he nodded his chin at the blade.

“What are you gonna do with that, Gaylander?” Gil asked. He sneered and let the hand with the pipe fall loose at his side. “Gonna cut me, faggot?”

“Go away, Gil,” Highlander insisted. “Leave the infirmary now. Please.”

“Or what?” Gil asked and moved in closer, barely an arm’s reach away.

“This isn’t my fault,” Highlander said. “I said please. If I say please, it’s not my fault.”

“What the hell are you babbling about, retard?” Gil asked as he took two more steps toward Highlander. “God, you are messed up.”

Unfortunately, for Gil, he’d stepped within Highlander’s long reach.

“I said please,” Highlander whispered.

The scalpel flashed in the filtered daylight coming in through the stained-glass windows. Blood splashed across the floor and stained the front of Gil’s shirt.

The teen looked down at his chest, his mouth agape and eyes painfully wide.

“You fucking cut me,” Gil said, more to himself than to Highlander. “You. . . . You cut me . . .”

Highlander knew he had no other choice. The cut was superficial, and the second Gil realized that, he would strike. Highlander’s hand shook as he went in for a second slash, one that would have a much deadlier result. The bully was about to find out how wrong he’d been about the power dynamic between him and Highlander.

“What is going on?” Hannah shouted from the infirmary’s doorway. “Highlander? What is that in your . . .”

Her voice trailed off as Gil turned to face her, his shirt soaked with blood.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “What happened here?”

“He tried to kill me,” Gil shouted and retreated quickly to Hannah’s side, his pipe once again pointing in Highlander’s direction.

Hannah didn’t fail to notice the blunt weapon. The look of shock and horror on her face turned instantly to one of suspicion then understanding.

“Highlander? What happened?” she asked, as she gently took the pipe from Gil’s shaking hand.

The teen tried to keep his grip, but despite his outward stance of outrage, he was shaking like a leaf and the pipe slid from his sweaty palm with ease.

“Why are you asking him?” Gil shouted. “The fucking faggot retard tried to kill me!”

“Gil! Do not call anyone those names,” Hannah snapped. “And I doubt he tried to kill you.”

“I did,” Highlander admitted, his face nothing but deep, deep shame. “I said please, then I tried to kill him.”

That stopped Hannah cold.

“Oh, dear Lord,” she said. She took a step back from the both of them and gripped the pipe tight. “I want answers now. Real answers.”

Before Gil could spin a yarn, the truth poured out of Highlander’s mouth. What had just happened, what had been happening for years, and how the infirmary was out of painkillers because Highlander had been too afraid to stand up and tell Gil no. Too afraid of what he might do to Gil. Too afraid of exactly what he did do. It was one long run-on sentence that had been trapped inside him for so long. So, so long.

Gil protested when the sentence finally finished and Highlander’s words were no longer echoing off the infirmary walls.

“I don’t even want to hear it,” Hannah said. “Take off your shirt.”

“What?” Gil shouted.

“Take off your danged shirt,” Hannah shouted back.

Gil scrambled to get his sticky wet shirt off. He held it limply as Hannah stared at the gash across his chest. She frowned and looked over at Highlander.

“How bad is it?” she asked.

“Why would you ask that faggot?” Gil snarled. “Didn’t you hear how he’s out to get me?”

“Shut up, Gil. One more word out of you and I leave here and pretend I didn’t see a thing,” Hannah snarled. “Is that what you want?”

Gil glanced at the bloody scalpel that Highlander still held.

“No,” he said, barely controlled rage and violence dripping from the one word.

“How bad is it?” Hannah asked Highlander again.

“Superficial,” Highlander said. “Doesn’t need stitches. It’ll be fine with some glue and bandages.”

“I can do it myself,” Hannah said and held out a hand. “Give me the supplies.”

Highlander nodded and fetched the supplies, setting them in Hannah’s open palm. He offered the scalpel as well, but she shook her head.

“Sanitize that and put it where it belongs,” Hannah said, her voice heavy with disappointment. “And stay here. Do not leave this room.”

Highlander frowned as he looked around the infirmary. “I never leave this room.”

“Good,” Hannah said and took Gil by the elbow. “Come on, you. I’ll have Elisa fix you up while I talk to Artus about this.”

Highlander watched as Hannah pulled an infuriated and protesting Gil from the infirmary. He licked his lips several times and didn’t move from where he stood for a good fifteen minutes after they had left. Then he looked down at the scalpel and went to start a pot of water to boil so he could sterilize the blade.

He thought about running, about leaving the sanctuary to avoid the punishment he knew was coming. But where would he go? He shrugged to himself, discarded the thought, and cleaned up the blood on the floor with some bright green disinfectant he fetched from the cardboard boxes stacked in the corner. No oxy or codeine left, but plenty of Simple Green.

He had a job to do.

2

ELISA LAUGHED AS Gil whined and cried like a toddler while she squeezed a thin line of super glue into his laceration then pressed it closed inch by inch with her fingers. Once the flesh held, she wiped it clean once more and bandaged it. Then she gave him a sharp pat on the cheek.

“Get out of my face, dick,” Elisa said quietly enough that only she and Gil could hear, despite most of the eyes in the nave being on them. “Go after that boy again and I take your balls off. Super glue won’t fix that.”

“Boy? He’s six years older than me,” Gil protested. “And he tried to kill me! Why isn’t anyone doing anything about that?”

“Do you think I’m blind, Gil? Let me answer for you. I’m not. I’ve known assheads like you my whole life. You push and push until it’s not your fault,” Elisa said, making air quotes around not your fault. “I know better, though. Go after Highlander again and it’s snip snip, asshole.”

Gil hesitated for a second, then jumped up from the pew he sat in and hurried off to the gang of teens waiting in the corner of the nave. They became a huddled bunch of lowered heads and angry whispers when he reached them. Elisa stared at the teens until Kimmy looked over and waved. The other girl in the group, Joanie, caught her waving and told the others. Angry eyes turned on Kimmy, forcing her to look down. Then the angry eyes returned Elisa’s stare. The teens stomped out of the nave, off to find a quiet place where they could complain about the injustices of life to each other.

“Want I should whack him?” Coins asked as he walked up to Elisa. “I could whack all the little delinquents. Put ’em six feet under. Save us a ton of headaches.”

“No, Coins, I think we’ll let them live,” Elisa said. “They’re teenagers. I was a hundred times worse when I was their age.”

“Don’t doubt that, doll,” Coins said. “You got moxie.”

“Knock it off,” Elisa said as she gathered up the medical supplies Hannah had given her. “I hate it when you pretend to be a gangster.”

“Pretend?” Coins replied, mock confusion on his stony face. “Do I look like I’m pretending?”

“You all woke up at the same time,” Elisa said. “None of you are what you’re carved to be. Look at Nissa and Tessa. They’re, what, faeries? They talk like sailors and act like drunken frat boys half the time.”

“So? Maybe that’s what faeries act like,” Coins said. He flipped his namesake into the air, but Elisa snatched the stone coin away before it could fall back into his palm. “Hey!”

“What do you want, Coins?” Elisa asked as she gave him his coin back then peeled the latex gloves from her hands and wadded them up into a ball with the rest of the trash left from her quick duty as substitute medic. “You obviously want something.”

“A walk with a friend?” Coins suggested, no hint of bootlegging gangster in his voice. “Got a feeling in my guts and I think you should know about it.”

“Me? Why me?” Elisa asked. “Why not tell Hannah? Or Birch? Or talk to one of the other Gs?”

“If I wanted to talk to them, I woulda gone and talked to them,” Coins said. “Except, a G can’t keep a secret, and Hannah and Birch would probably blab to Artus.” He hooked a stone thumb over his shoulder. “Hannah’s out there with Artus now trying to work out what to do about the Highlander and Gil situation. Those two will be waxing philosophical for another hour before they decide there’s nothing they can do except keep an eye on Gil. Not like Highlander is going anywhere anytime soon. He’ll be in that infirmary until the end of time.”

Elisa smiled and looked toward the courtyard. It was easy to see Hannah and her white hair out in the bright sunlight. Her head was tilted up and she was nodding as Artus said something to her that Elisa couldn’t hear.

“Okay, let’s go for a walk,” Elisa said. “Let me throw this trash away and stash the supplies somewhere. Meet you in the north avenue?”

“I was thinking outside,” Coins said.

Elisa gave him a hard look then nodded. “Okay, outside then. I’ll grab my sunglasses.”

“Meet you at the front doors,” Coins said.

Elisa turned and hurried off to her room. She tossed the trash in a large steel barrel down the hall before turning the corner and finding Geffe, the short, donkey-headed grotesque, waiting for her at the door to her room.

“You too?” she asked as she stepped past him and into the small, windowless cubicle that barely had space enough for a cot, a table, and a single chair. “You got a secret you have to get off your chest?”

“Huh? Now, what are you talking about?” Geffe asked. “I was coming by to see what the scuttlebutt was. Heard Highlander finally snapped and gave Gil a taste of his own medicine.”

“Yeah, he cut the kid good. Nothing that I couldn’t fix up,” Elisa said as she set the unused medical supplies on her table and picked up a pair of wrap-around sunglasses. She hooked one of the stems of the glasses into the collar of her T-shirt and left the room, shutting the door securely behind her before pausing. She slowly turned to face Geffe. “Wait, what do you mean by finally snapped? You expected Highlander to do this?”

“Ha, that’s a hoot,” Geffe said and chuckled. Then he furrowed his brow and gave a short, donkey bray. “You don’t know? Sweet merciful Stonecutter! How could you miss it? You ever see the look in Highlander’s eyes when Gil comes around?”

“Of course. Gil’s a bully and Highlander has had to watch his ass around the dickhead,” Elisa said. “Am I missing something else?”

“Apparently so,” Geffe replied. “Listen, I like Highlander. He keeps you wards healthy, which makes our jobs easier. But, that kid has got something rotten in him and he’s been trying to keep it bottled up in his guts for years.”

“That’s a weird image,” Elisa said, her hands firmly on her hips. She glared down at the grotesque. “So, let me get this straight. Gil has been harassing Highlander for years, and you’ve been expecting Highlander to do what he did today the whole time? And you never thought to say anything to me?”

Geffe shrugged his man shoulders while his donkey ears swiveled back and forth, both sticking straight up from his stone head. “Weren’t nothing to say. Humans do what humans do. What should a G like me care? You’re all wards, sure, but I ain’t your mama. You meatsacks can work out your own problems. We Gs have bigger fish to fry.”

“Don’t call me a meatsack,” Elisa said and started walking. “And stop talking like an extra from Unforgiven. I hate that about Gs.”

“Hey, come on now, I was just joshing ya,” Geffe said, ignoring Elisa’s complaint about his cowboy affectation as he hurried to keep up with Elisa’s long stride. He was practically running his stone butt off in order not to be left behind. “You know I like to joke. Where are you going?”

“To talk to Highlander about this,” Elisa snapped. “This shit stops today. Finally.”

“Oh, it’s stopped, that’s for sure,” Geffe said. “Highlander’s out of pills. No reason for Gil to even think of bothering him again.”

Elisa stopped walking and Geffe ran straight into the backs of her legs.

“What do you mean, he’s out of pills?” Elisa asked. She sighed and rubbed at her forehead. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Damn, you really are clueless, ain’t ya?” Geffe said. “Gil hasn’t been bullying Highlander—he’s been extorting the would-be doctor into giving him drugs. Dope. The goods. Now the infirmary is all out. No more pills to make all your human hurts go away.”

“Shit,” Elisa said as she continued to rub her forehead. “How long?”

“Since a few months after Gil and his crew got here,” Geffe said. “Those dumb kids getting high has been as much a part of life in this cathedral as Morty’s cigars or Birch and Parsons getting sweaty when they think no one is around.”

Elisa’s mouth hung down to her chest. She started to ask a question, shook her head, started again, then waved it away.

“I don’t have time to think about Birch and Parsons,” Elisa said. “I need to find Gil. Find the other kids. Last thing we need is a bunch of strung-out junkie teens on our hands.”

“Oh, well, good luck with that,” Geffe said. “They’re long gone by now.”

Elisa wasn’t sure she could handle any more of her conversation with Geffe. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths before opening them again so she could look down at the G with a cool, calm gaze.

“Geffe?” she asked sweetly.

“Yeah, E?” Geffe replied, all innocent donkey.

“What do you mean they are long gone by now?” she asked.

“They’re long gone,” Geffe replied, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know where, so don’t ask me, but they sure ain’t on the sanctuary grounds no more.” He tapped his chest. “Felt them leave about five minutes ago.”

“Felt them leave five minutes ago,” Elisa parroted. “You felt them leave five minutes ago?”

“Yep,” Geffe said, smiling. “Felt them leave five minutes ago. All us Gs know when a ward leaves the sanctuary grounds. It’s like a weight is lifted. Kinda nice. They do it all the time. They come back eventually, usually before nightfall so they ain’t missed at suppertime. Sometimes only one or two come back to cover for the others. They trade off who has to do that job.”

“All you Gs know when a ward leaves the sanctuary grounds,” Elisa said.

Geffe looked over both shoulders then turned his head to stare at her with one eye. “You feeling all right? You want I walk with you to the infirmary so Highlander can check out that flesh gourd on your shoulders? Maybe you fell down and took a hit to your noggin.”

Elisa began to shake and had to deep-breathe at least twenty times before she could get her voice back. It was a struggle not to let out all the intense anger she felt at that moment.

“I’ve been here for years and never knew Gs could feel us leave the grounds,” Elisa said. Geffe started to respond, but she held a hand up and he closed his mouth with a snap. “I also didn’t know that Gil was extorting drugs from Highlander, let alone that the teens know some way off the grounds without anyone seeing them leave.”

“Oh, some of the stationary Gs see them leave,” Geffe said. “Surprised none of them ever said anything to you. You know how the capitals and corbels like to gossip. They can’t move their bodies so they move their mouths. Man, I got caught by Huggleston for forty-five minutes while he explained in great detail how that one girl, you know, the redhead, and that one guy, the boy with the red patch on his cheek, spent like an hour with their clothes off down in the tunnels you use and—”

“Tunnels I use?” Elisa interrupted. “What tunnels? I didn’t know this building has tunnels.”

“Are you joking?” Geffe asked. Elisa didn’t reply. “You heard me when I said that we Gs feel it when wards leave, yeah? You heard that?”

“I heard that,” Elisa said.

“You’re a ward, Elisa,” Geffe said. “We know when you take off, too.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Elisa replied. “The kids are going in and out of this building and not one of you Gs thought we should know? The security issues alone meant you should have said something!”

“Why?” Geffe asked. “The tunnels fall under the sanctuary’s protection. None of the possessed can get in through them.”

“But what if the kids left the door open?” Elisa yelled.

“How do you know there’s a door if you don’t know about the tunnels?” Geffe laughed. The laughter died away and his ears flattened. “Okay. Sorry. I changed the subject again. Hey, calm down, the door can be wide open, but the protection still holds.”

“Calm down?” Elisa growled. Fists clenched, she started to sputter with anger.

Geffe held up his hands and backed away. “Hey, listen, you’re upset. I’ll speak with you later when you’ve calmed—Never mind. I just wanted a little detail as to what went down with Highlander and Gil. I like Highlander. That rotten weirdness in him don’t mean he’s a bad kid. The guy is a hoot. Just making sure he was all right, is all. But, I can see you ain’t in the mood for a chat no more.”

He turned on his heels and was halfway down the corridor before Elisa could gather enough composure to form words again. He was lost from sight around the corner before those words could become coherent sentences in her head.

Elisa started to walk to the infirmary, but stopped. That wasn’t the way to go. The whole situation with Gil and Highlander was way worse than a single fight and teenagers stealing drugs. The kids were off the grounds. They were out in the countryside where any one of the possessed could get hold of them. If that happened, then it was all over. Those kids knew as much about the sanctuary as any of the wards did. That info would be in the hands of the demons instantly.

She began to jog, then all-out sprint as she decided what had to be done.

“Hey,” Coins called from the gallery as he waited by the front doors “Where ya going?”

Elisa didn’t bother responding as she hurried past the gallery and into the nave, her eyes locked onto the courtyard beyond where Hannah still stood in deep conversation with Artus.

3

HANNAH WASN’T SURE what to say as Elisa finished telling her and Artus about Geffe’s revelation regarding the kids. She wrung her hands together for a couple of seconds then looked up at the gargoyle. “Can we go after them?” she asked.

“We cannot protect you when you leave the sanctuary grounds,” Artus said. “You will be exposed and could easily die or be possessed. Just like them.”

“Then send some Gs with us,” Elisa said. “We can’t let the kids stay out there on their own. Not now.”

“It sounds to me as if they have been doing this for some time,” Artus replied. “They are in no more danger now than they were on previous excursions.”

“That’s bullshit,” Elisa said. “You Gs had a meeting last night about how things are getting worse out there. Don’t deny it; you creatures aren’t exactly quiet when you talk in a group. New York fell and the end is here. We could be the last humans left, right?”

“It is possible,” Artus said. “All the more reason for no more of you to leave.”

“But if they’re caught, then they’ll lead the demons to the tunnels,” Elisa said.

“The tunnels are protected,” Artus replied.

“Forget the tunnels. They’re children,” Hannah said. “It is our responsibility to protect them. Even if it is from themselves.”

“That is a human concern,” Artus said. “It does not involve Gs.”

“So, you won’t help us?” Elisa snapped.

“We will help you all we can,” Artus said, “if you remain within the sanctuary grounds. My power does not extend beyond that. If you leave, I cannot help you.”

“Then I ask that you send some of the Gs with us,” Hannah said, repeating Elisa’s request. “Please, Artus. We can find the children and bring them back safely.”

“They are hardly children,” Artus said.

“Yes, they are,” Hannah said. “Stupid, stupid children. Like all teenagers.” She sighed and rubbed her face. “I knew something was going on. I just knew it.”

“I thought it was only about sex,” Elisa said. “I even offered to get a pregnancy test for Kimmy. Her period is late, and the way she and that Brian boy have been doing it every chance they get, I knew it was only a matter of time.”

“Oh, they’ve been fucking hard,” Nissa said as she and Tessa walked into the courtyard. “Downright disgusting.”

“I think it’s hot,” Tessa said. “All that sweat and grunting and moaning, then bam, it’s all over. Good thing Kimmy gets off fast, because Brian has no stamina.”

“What do you know about human sexual stamina?” Nissa asked.

“Not much,” Tessa said. “Neither does Brian.”

That sent the conjoined Gs into peals of laughter.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Artus asked the faerie grotesques. “Perhaps you could share what you need, instead of sharing your profane humor.”

“What I need is certainly under the category of profane humor,” Nissa said. “If you catch my meaning.”

“Wink wink and all that,” Tessa added.

Artus sighed. Even his patience was tried by the faeries and their mouths.

“Okay, okay. Deek sent us to tell you that six possessed joined Todd, or Todd’s body, at the bar outside the gates,” Tessa said.

“They brought guns,” Nissa added. “Lots of guns.”

“Guns? Why bring guns?” Hannah asked. “They can’t shoot us. Everything is protected on the grounds.”

“Don’t ask us,” Nissa said.

“We’re the messengers,” Tessa said.

“We passed on our message,” Nissa added.

“Using our profane mouths,” Tessa said.

“Now we get to go take a nap,” Nissa continued.

“Because being profane is tiring work,” Tessa said and smiled. Her teeth were sharp and looked very dangerous. Hannah shivered.

“Thank you,” Artus said. “I will have Xue or Olivia go see what is transpiring.”

“Olivia is solid,” Nissa said.

“She was stressed out from her watch,” Tessa said. “Whatever demon was on duty in Todd last night certainly knew how to push her buttons.”

“That Valac guy?” Elisa asked.

“Valac? Nah, he left when Morty got off work,” Nissa replied. “It was Gorb. Real foul-mouthed brute.”

“We’re sorry we didn’t get to talk to him,” Tessa said. “We could have learned some new curse words.”

“Upped our profane game,” Nissa explained.

“Would you mind informing Xue of the development?” Artus asked, cutting in before the Gs could get going once again. “His presence at the gates may be useful.”

“Sure,” Nissa and Tessa said.

“Hey,” Elisa called as the two started to walk away. “Where are the tunnels that lead out of here?”

“Like you don’t know,” Nissa said.

Elisa glared at the faeries as Hannah gave her a pointed look.

“More wink wink?” Tessa asked.

Hannah looked away from Elisa, who was busy trying to ignore her, and frowned at the faeries. “Where are the tunnels?”

“Down,” Nissa and Tessa replied, then started laughing hysterically. They left without giving any more explanation.

“Should we be worried about possessed having guns at the gates?” Hannah asked Artus once the faeries were gone. She began wringing her hands again. “Morty mentioned the possibility of a siege. Is this the siege?”

“Siege?” Elisa cried. “What the hell, people! How’d I not know about a siege either?”

“Morty told me last night before he went solid,” Hannah said. “I promised to stay quiet about it if he promised to find some new books for the kids to read.”

“Books? What are books gonna do?” Elisa asked.

“I thought they would help occupy the teenagers’ time and keep them from getting into trouble,” Hannah said. She sighed. “Yes, I hear how stupid that sounds now. If they are already having sex, stealing drugs, and sneaking off the sanctuary grounds, then a moldy copy of Twilight probably won’t mean much.”

“Ya think?” Elisa said, but not unkindly. She looked glad the subject was back on the kids and not on the tunnels. “Hey, you were trying. That counts for more than ninety percent of the wards living here. Most of them sit on their cots and stare at the walls, waiting for it all to be over.”

“Which could be sooner than later,” Hannah said soberly.

“You are welcome to ask any of the Gs if they will go with you to search for the children,” Artus stated. “But I recommend against it. The possessed presence is increasing around us. The more of you out there, the more attention you draw. If the children are experienced in sneaking away and coming safely back, then it is my opinion that you let them do just that. After all, they have nowhere else to go.”

“Uh, hey, Elisa and Hannah? You two got a second?” Birchstein asked from the courtyard’s archway, Parsons a few steps behind him. “The Gs are acting weird and there are a lot more possessed down by the gates than usual.”

“Cat’s out of the bag,” Hannah said.

“Cat? What cat?” Parsons asked. “Don’t like cats.”

“I’m going to take a look,” Elisa said, plucking the sunglasses from her shirt front. She pointed at Birch and Parsons. “You two lovebirds should help Hannah find the tunnels and wait for the kids to get back.”

“What?” Birchstein exclaimed.

“Tunnels? What tunnels?” Parsons asked.

Hannah gave Elisa a surprised look. “Lovebirds?”

“I’ll let them explain,” Elisa said as she took off from the courtyard, her fingers twirling the sunglasses by a stem, around and around.

“Uh . . .” was all Hannah could say for a moment as Birchstein stared at her with wide, fearful eyes while Parsons shuffled his feet behind him.

“What’s this about tunnels?” Birchstein asked, clearing his throat in a way obviously meant to deflect the lovebirds comment Elisa had made.

“Yes, tunnels,” Hannah said. “Below the cathedral.” She watched Elisa run through the nave then looked back up to Artus. “Where are they?”

“There are several entrances to them,” Artus said. “But the main one is in the library. If you look to the left of the eighteenth century literature case, you will find a brass sconce that hangs slightly askew. Pull it, and the bookcase will click open. Follow the stairway to the tunnels below.”

“How do you know there’s a sconce that does that?” Parsons asked. “You never leave that spot. How the heck you gonna know what’s behind a bookcase?”

“I know everything about this building,” Artus said. “I am the building, in a way.”

“That don’t make no sense,” Parsons said.

“Doesn’t have to,” Birchstein responded. He smiled at Hannah. “I suppose we are accompanying you to the library.”

“I suppose so,” Hannah said. “Better now than never.”

They said their goodbyes to Artus and walked in uncomfortable silence out of the courtyard, through the nave, and into the south avenue which led to the library. Hannah tried not to shoot furtive glances at the two men who walked with her, but she couldn’t help it.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Birchstein said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Hannah said.

“What don’t? Us being queer?” Parsons asked. Birchstein gasped then closed his mouth and shook his head. “What? I ain’t been in no closet for a long time. Everyone in my holler knew I like the other menfolk. I told you keeping it a secret was just plain dumb.”

“Yes, well, some of us haven’t quite led the open lifestyle you have,” Birchstein said.

“Wait, you’re ashamed of it while Parsons is all right with being gay?” Hannah asked. “That is not what I expected.”

“What’s wrong with being queer?” Parsons asked.

“Keep your voice down,” Birchstein said.

“Oh, get off your high horse, Birchy,” Parsons said. “That thinky tank you worked for don’t exist no more. Ain’t no need to hide what you are. Damn, man, if we’re all going to die, then we might as well die out in the open.”

Hannah looked at Parsons with new awareness. She’d always considered the man to be some dumb yokel who didn’t stop complaining or bitching about others’ business. At no point had she ever suspected he was gay, let alone had the mental capacity to express any of the deep concepts he’d offered up a few seconds ago.

“Besides, it could be worse,” Parson continued. “We could be colored folks. That’d be ten times worse.”

Hannah was shocked by his word.

“Please be quiet,” Birchstein muttered to Parsons.

They reached the library and Hannah hurried inside.

“That’s the bookcase,” Hannah said, steering their attention to the task of finding the tunnel, and far away from their disturbing conversation in the south avenue. “Look for the sconce.”

“What the hell’s a sconce anyways?” Parsons asked.

“A light fixture on the wall,” Birchstein answered. “Like those there.”

He pointed to the various wall sconces that hung throughout the moderate-sized library. There were hundreds of books on the shelves, but not one of them was newer than the turn of the twentieth century. The society that had restored the cathedral had decided it was more cultured to have only old books on the shelves, not any of the newer literature. And certainly no paperbacks.

“Smells like mold,” Parsons said. “Stinks.”

“Books rot,” Birchstein said. “Especially in the South when there’s no air conditioning.”

“Pull that one,” Hannah said as Birchstein approached the sconce Artus had said would reveal the tunnel’s entrance.

Birchstein nodded and reached for the sconce. He was about to pull it when he stopped and looked at the bookcase.

“No need,” Birchstein said. “They left it ajar.”

His fingers disappeared behind the bookcase and he gave a hard tug, nearly falling over as the case swung wide open without a sound.

“They’ve been oiling the hinges,” Parsons said, studying the way the bookcase was connected to the wall. He rubbed his fingers down one of the hinges and sniffed. “Beeswax. Good idea. Ain’t gonna go rancid and stink like grease.”

The three of them stood at the opening and looked at the set of narrow, stone steps that descended into the darkness below.

“I’ll fetch some torches,” Birchstein said.

“How far you think they go?” Parsons asked as he and Hannah waited for Birchstein to return.

“Far,” Hannah said, doing some quick calculations in her head of the position of the library in relation to the edge of the sanctuary grounds. “Too far.”

4

GIL HELD UP A hand and the group of teens came to an immediate stop. They crouched down low, keeping their bodies hidden behind a row of hedges that hadn’t seen a trim in a very long time. Two full minutes went by before Gil gave the signal to stand and get moving.

“More than usual today,” Brian, a chubby teen boy of about sixteen said. “What are they up to?”

Gil shrugged. “Who cares. As long we stay out of sight and they don’t stop us from our mission, doesn’t matter to me what the possessed do.”

“Brian? Can I have a sip of your water?” Kimmy asked, the second oldest of the bunch behind Gil. “I’m so thirsty.”

“It’s because we need a hit,” Brian said. He took off his pack and fished out a water bottle, handing it to the girl. “Don’t worry, Kimmy, Gil knows how to find the stuff. He’s like a bloodhound when it comes to pills.”

The two others behind them, Joanie and Rider, a boy of fifteen, chuckled and giggled at that. Gil gave them a wink and motioned to keep going.

“What’s on the menu today, Gil?” Rider asked. “We ain’t had Valium in a while.”

“Valium is boring, Rider,” Kimmy said. “You zone out from it. Let’s find something cool like Adderal and get buzzed.”

“Shut up, Kimmy,” Joanie said. “Adderal would fry your little brain in a snap.”

“Knock it off, Joanie,” Brian said.

“Shhh,” Gil ordered and they fell quiet. He nodded at a rundown-looking house off to their right. “There.”

They looked at the house, looked at Gil, and frowned.

“There?” Brian said. “That looks like a dump.”

“It is,” Gil said. “Tweakers never cared a shit about house repairs.”

“Tweakers?” Kimmy asked.

“Meth heads,” Joanie said, excited. “You think there’s crystal in there?”

“Could be,” Gil said. He glanced around the street they stood on, which was not much more than a strip of pavement that had been consumed by weeds. “I lived in the town over, and everyone said this was the place to go if you wanted meth.”

“You were like ten back then,” Brian said. “What did you know about meth?”

“I had ears,” Gil said and socked Brian in the upper arm.

“Ow,” Brian said. “Knock it off.”

“Come on,” Gil said and walked toward the house. “Only one way to find out if I’m right.”

“I don’t know about meth, Gil,” Kimmy said. Her hand went to her belly and she absentmindedly rubbed it. “That stuff ain’t good for . . .”

“Ain’t good for what?” Gil asked, a challenging look in his eye. “Good for what, Kimmy? Having fun? Nothing’s good for that if you’re going to whine like a little bitch.”

“Hey, not cool, man,” Brian said.

“Come on,” Gil huffed, then hurried away from the group as he took the porch steps two at a time.

“Why you gotta be a dick?” Brian asked when he caught up with Gil.

Gil was busy peeking through the dirt-covered front windows. He didn’t respond.

“Come on, man, don’t talk to Kimmy that way,” Brian said.

“Fuck off,” Gil said. “You’re distracting me.”

Gil shoved by Brian, grabbed the doorknob, and gave a hard twist. The knob turned with some resistance, but gave an audible click after some wiggling. The door was another matter. Years of neglect meant the weather had swollen the door into the jamb. Gil had to put his shoulder to mildewed wood to get the door to pop open.

“After you, tough guy,” Gil said to Brian. When the boy didn’t move, Gil gave him a superior smirk. “Didn’t think so.”

He waved the others forward as he stepped into the dank, dark house.

The stink inside the house told everyone that a swollen door jamb was not the worst of their problems.

“What is that?” Rider asked. “Smells like something died.”

“Probably a raccoon or squirrel,” Joanie said as the group moved from the small, barely furnished living room and into the even smaller, even less furnished kitchen.

The fridge had been torn from the wall and lay in a broken heap in the center of the kitchen. The small breakfast table lay under it, crushed completely, the crusty remnants of the last meal served sitting on cracked and shattered plates. The stove was gone, the dishwasher disassembled, and the kitchen sink was split in two halves, each ceramic side looking like someone took an axe to them before getting bored and moving on.

“Basement,” Gil said and pointed at a narrow door set into the wall. “I bet that’s where they set up the lab.”

“Man, do you have any idea what kind of chemicals they use to make meth?” Brian said. “Noxious ones. Toxic ones. Chemicals that will kill you with one deep breath.”

“Used,” Gil said.

“What?” Brian asked.

“You said use,” Gil explained. “No one uses them anymore. No one uses anything anymore. The chemicals down there are over and done with, man. So suck it up and stop acting like a bitch.”

“Don’t talk to him that way,” Kimmy whined.

“I’ll talk to him how I want,” Gil said. “I’ll talk to all of you how I want. Why? Because I provide the fun.”

He yanked on the door and stumbled back as it opened easily.

“And the fun is down there,” Gil said as the stench of death mixed with chemicals came wafting up into the kitchen at ten times the strength it had been.

“Fun stinks,” Rider said.

Brian started yanking open drawers.

“What are you doing?” Gil asked.

“Gonna make a torch,” Brian replied as he held up a wooden soup spoon and half a dish towel. “Unless you have a flashlight.”

“You want to take an open flame down into a closed basement where meth was made?” Gil asked. “Is that what you want to do?”

Brian frowned and tossed the spoon and rag onto the pile of crap filling most of the kitchen floor. “I guess not.”

“Yeah,” Gil said and tapped his temple. “You guess right.”

He stepped through the door and tested the wooden stairs. Some creaking, but the step held.

“Come on,” he said and was lost from sight as he descended into the darkness.

The rest stood there for a second.

“Come on,” Gil barked and they all hurried to follow.

The basement wasn’t as dark as they had expected when they finally reached the bottom of the stairs. Windows set high into the walls let in some of the daylight, the duct tape that held the black plastic that had covered the windows having lost its adhesive properties years before.

“Damn,” Joanie said and pulled up her shirt collar around her mouth and nose. “That’s rank.”

“That’s a corpse,” Gil said and nodded at the body that lay draped across a mold-coated card table.

The corpse was dressed in a fluid-stained wife beater and cutoff jean shorts. A respirator was only inches from the corpse’s rotten head, a couple of fingers gripped around the object’s rubber straps.

“He looks so sad,” Kimmy said. “You think something spilled and he couldn’t get his mask on in time?”

“I think he ran out of food and water and didn’t want to go looking for more,” Gil said, kicking empty soup cans and diet soda bottles out of his way with the toe of his boot. “Probably opened a container of something nasty and took a couple deep breaths.”

“He’s probably a demon now,” Joanie said. That gave everyone a start and they took several steps back, including Gil. “No, I mean because suicide is a sin. His soul went to Hell and now he’s a demon possessing a vessel somewhere in the world.”

“That’s not how it works,” Rider said. “Demons aren’t condemned human souls. They’re like fallen angels and shit.”

“There aren’t eight billion fallen angels,” Brian argued. “That’s just stupid.”

“Listening to you morons blab is stupid,” Gil said.

“Lame one,” Joanie said under her breath.

“What was that?” Gil snapped.

“Nothing,” Joanie replied, holding up her hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Spread out,” Gil ordered. “Look for finished crystals. He probably has them stashed in the walls or in the floor or somewhere out of sight. Tear this place apart. We’re gonna find something.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Kimmy said, her hand over her mouth. “The smell down here. . . . It’s too much.”

“Don’t you fucking puke,” Gil growled. “Smells bad enough without you adding to it.”

“Go on upstairs,” Brian said, taking Kimmy by the shoulders. “You can keep an eye out for trouble.”

“But stay out of sight,” Gil said. “Don’t hang out in front of the window for the neighborhood to see.”

“Who’s gonna see me?” Kimmy asked. “There’s nobody living in this neighborhood anymore.”

“Possessed,” Gil said like he was talking to a very slow child. “The possessed will see you.”

“Oh, right,” Kimmy replied. “Sorry.”

“There was a chair in the living room,” Brian said. “Go up there and sit down. If you hear anything, then come warn us.”

“Okay,” Kimmy said and gave him a quick peck before heading back up into the kitchen.

“She’s a winner,” Gil said.

“Shut up,” Brian snapped.

“What does meth look like?” Rider asked. “I mean, what do the crystals look like? I’ve never seen meth crystals before.”

“What’s it matter what they look like?” Joanie asked. “If you find a bag with crystals in it, then that’s probably the meth.”

“Or sugar,” Brian said.

“Meth crystals are big, like rock candy, not like sugar,” Gil said. “You never watched Breaking Bad?”

“I was too young,” Brian said. “My parents wouldn’t let me watch that stuff.”

“My parents couldn’t have cared less,” Gil said. “I saw all the seasons. There was gonna be a spin-off show, but then the Gates opened, so I doubt my DVR was able to record it.”

“How long do you think TV shows were broadcast?” Joanie asked. “I mean, so much of that stuff was automated, right? You think there’s still some satellite up in the sky that’s beaming down reruns of How I Met Your Mother?”

“Maybe,” Gil said. “Doesn’t matter since we don’t have electricity.”

“We should find a generator and put some biodiesel in it,” Joanie said. “Maybe we could watch some TV. Or Blu-Rays, at least. The cathedral is so damn boring.”

“There’s the library,” Rider said.

They all paused then broke out in laughter.

“Have you seen the titles of some of those books?” Joanie snickered. “I think having them in the building is what’s making the cathedral ten times more boring than it would be without them.”

“I don’t know,” Brian said. “Kimmy started reading Wuthering Heights and it looked good. The words were weird, all old-fashioned, but it had a cool story.”

“That’s a classic,” a man said from halfway down the stairs. “So is Jane Eyre, if that’s in the library too. If the Bronte sisters are there, then I’d guess there’s some Jane Austen, as well. Maybe Pride and Prejudice? Or Emma? Good stuff.”

Gil picked up a half-broken beaker from a work table against the wall he’d been searching. Brian, Joanie, and Rider grabbed anything close at hand. They brandished their makeshift weapons at the stairs as the man reached the last step and came into view.

“Where’s Kimmy?” Brian yelled.

The man held a finger to his lips and shushed at Brian. He was five eight, maybe one hundred and thirty pounds. A little guy in size, but not in attitude. He wore a black tank top and every inch of skin peeking out was illustrated in thick, elaborate tattoos. His eyes were behind a pair of sunglasses. As he regarded each of the teenagers, he slowly lifted the glasses and let them rest on top of his almost-shaved head. He was in his late thirties, maybe early forties, and his face showed lines and crags that told a story of life in the elements. A hard life in the elements.

He stuck out his right hand at Gil and said, “Jon. Jon Falk. You must be the man in charge. Gil, right?”

“How the hell do you know my name?” Gil exclaimed, his voice sounding considerably more shrill than he had intended. “Who are you?”

“Where’s Kimmy?” Brian yelled again.

“Listen, brother, if you keep yelling, then we’re gonna have a demon problem right quick, understand?” Jon said. “I ain’t exactly too keen on tangling with some possessed dipshits today, you feel me? I’d rather grab a bag and be on my way. Life’s too short nowadays to be running every which way. You gotta play it safe and have as good a time as possible.”

Gil took the still outstretched hand.

“Yeah, I’m Gil,” Gil said as he tried not to wince from the extra-firm grip he received. “I’m the guy in charge.”

“Good,” Jon said. “Because I like talking to the person that makes the decisions. Saves time.” He licked his lips and grinned at them all. Not one ounce of that grin met his eyes. “So, let’s save some time. You kids think you can rip me off and walk away?”

“What?” Gil asked. “Rip you off? Man, we didn’t know this house belonged to anyone. It’s been empty forever.”

Jon nodded at the corpse and gave Gil a wink. “That look empty?”

“He’s dead,” Gil said.

“He’s my brother,” Jon replied. “Was. Was my brother. But even if he is dead, he has more right to be here than you punks do.”

“We’re sorry,” Rider said. “We didn’t know.”

“Sorry,” Jon mused. “Huh. You’re sorry?” He looked them up and down then hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Pretty girl up there said the same thing. Yet, you kids don’t look too sorry. You look fed and healthy. Sorry is cold sores and open wounds. Sorry is notching the tenth new hole in your belt to keep your jeans up. Sorry is crying silently at night as you hear a horde of demon fuckers marching by your hiding spot. That’s sorry. You idiots? No. You don’t look sorry at all.”

None of the teens responded, not even Gil.

“Right,” Jon said and clapped his hands together, making them all jump. “Which one of you wants to tell me where y’all are staying? Because, damn, if you don’t, then you’ll understand what sorry really means.”

5

THIRTY-EIGHT POSSESSED clustered around the rotten bar outside the iron fence. They were busy singing songs and lifting liquor bottles high into the air with each resounding chorus. Not one of them even glanced at Elisa as she walked through the grass toward the fence.

“That’s close enough,” Xue said, his bass voice vibrating up Elisa’s legs as much as within her ears.

“I have my sunglasses on,” Elisa said, tapping the plastic frames. “Extra dark lenses. They can look directly at me and nothing will happen.”

“I would prefer if we do not test the limits of their abilities,” Xue said. “Stay where you are.”

“He’s right,” Coins said from Elisa’s side. “Things are changing, doll.”

Elisa frowned down at him and he gave an apologetic shrug.

The grotesque in the form of a stylized mastiff backed up a few feet until he was standing even with Elisa and Coins. Even in the bright daylight, it was easy to see a glow swirling from inside Xue every time he opened his stone mouth. He shook his huge head and curlicues of smoke drifted from his nostrils, lost on the day’s breeze.

“This will not end well,” Xue said.

“Is this what your gut was feeling?” Elisa asked Coins. “All these possessed?”

“No, it has to do with something else,” Coins said and tipped his hat to the landscape beyond the iron fence and the possessed that huddled around the bar. “Something out there. Something coming our way.”

“Gut feeling?” Xue asked and Coins nodded. “Not good.”

“Nope,” Coins agreed.

“Listen,” Elisa said to Xue. “Some of the kids have left the sanctuary grounds through the tunnels under the cathedral.”

“I know,” Xue said. “It is nice when they leave. They have bad chi. The energy within the grounds calms considerably when they are absent.”

“No, it’s not nice,” Elisa snapped. “It’s not nice at all. We have to get them back and close up those tunnels. They’re only teenagers; they can’t be outside the grounds, running around unprotected.”

Xue looked at Coins.

“Yeah, she said the same thing to me,” Coins said.

“And you said?” Xue asked.

“Wards are only under our protection if they are within the sanctuary grounds,” Coins answered. “Once outside, they’re stupid idiots with death wishes.”

“Crude, but succinct,” Xue said. His massive head swiveled on his massive shoulders and more smoke curled up from his nostrils as he looked directly at Elisa. “They made their choices of their own free will. Whatever the consequences, they will deal with them with that same free will. It is not our place to intercede.”

“Even if I ask you to?” Elisa cried. “Even if I personally ask you to help me go find them?”

“I am unsure what bearing your personal pleas have on this subject,” Xue replied. “Your desires and wishes do not change the dynamic in place. Outside the sanctuary, they stop being our responsibility. We cannot spare the numbers to go find them.”

“This is just typical,” Elisa grumbled. “I swear, you Gs are no different than the foster parents I had or the counselors in the homes I grew up in. Not your problem. Always the same. Out of sight, out of mind.”

“They are far from out of mind,” Xue said. “I always wonder how many will return, and of those that do return, how many will be barred from entry because they have become vessels for demons. They cannot enter the grounds if they are possessed, but I know they will try.”

“Come with me and help find them so they don’t become possessed and lead the demons to the tunnels,” Elisa said.

“No,” Xue replied. He aimed his huge snout at the possessed outside the fence. “My attentions are needed here. My power is needed here. All of our power is needed here.”

“He’s right, E,” Coins said. “Look at those ugly good-for-nothings, will ya? They ain’t at that bar for the ambience. They’re there because something’s about to go down. We can’t split our power now.”

“Now? You were ready to bail on this place yesterday,” Elisa said. She pointed at her ears. “You all talk way too loud.”

“I wasn’t really going to bail,” Coins said. “I wouldn’t do that to you. It’s just my gut. . . . Something’s coming and—”

Before Elisa could respond and coax more out of him, one of the possessed peeled off from the group and approached the fence.

“Xue?” he asked. “It is Xue, yes?”

Xue hesitated then nodded his giant head.

“Good, good,” the man said. “I’m Prince Gaap.” He chuckled and patted his scrawny chest. “The inside me is Prince Gaap. This outside visage is named Harold or Donald or some such. Not that it matters. Do you have a moment, Xue?”

“This isn’t going to be good,” Coins said. “Gaap’s a bigwig.”

“He’s a prince, apparently,” Elisa said.

“Yes, I am,” Gaap said. “But, I believe your acknowledgement of my status is one of sarcasm, yes?”

“Yes,” Elisa said.

“Go inside,” Xue ordered. “This is not where you should be. Coins? Take the ward inside the cathedral.”

“Hey!” Elisa exclaimed, her hands firmly on her hips. “You do not order me around, Xue.”

“How you grotesques put up with the wills of humans, I do not know,” Gaap said. “It is so much easier to simply possess them and crush their souls than to deal with their insistence at being free to make their own choices.”

“Wards are to be protected, not dominated,” Xue said. “Which is why Elisa will be going inside. Coins?”

“Come on,” Coins said out of the corner of his mouth. “Xue is right. This isn’t the place for you to be.”

“You’re the one who originally said we should take a walk outside,” Elisa protested as Coins took her gently by the elbow and attempted to turn her back to the cathedral.

“Yeah, I was wrong,” Coins said. “I wanted to show you all the possessed. But this is different. Way different.”

“More so than you can fathom, little statue,” Gaap said and smiled wide. The body he possessed only had three teeth left and those didn’t look like they would be hanging out much longer. “It was nice to meet you . . . Elisa, was it?”

“Don’t answer that,” Coins said. “He’s fishing for weakness.”

“I’m safe on the grounds,” Elisa said.

“Yes, so very safe,” Gaap said, and the smile grew even wider. The skin at the corners of his mouth began to tear slightly, and a small bit of blood slowly trickled into his scrubby beard. “Goodbye, Elisa.”

The sight of the smile stopped any fight Elisa had against Coins’s hand on her elbow. She let herself be led back up the hill to the cathedral. But, instead of going inside once they reached the front doors, Coins took a seat on the top step and patted a spot next to him.

“We’ll be fine here,” Coins said.

“You’re scared of him,” Elisa stated as she sat down.

“What? Scared of who? That guy down there?” Coins responded, the words tumbling from his mouth way too fast. “Nope. Not me, doll. No toothless skeleton is gonna scare me.”

“You said we’ll,” Elisa said. “You said we’ll be safe here. You’re a G, so why would you be worried about being safe? Even without the sanctuary’s protection, a demon wouldn’t be able to harm you, right?”

“Most of them, no,” Coins replied then was quiet for a moment.

The rumble of Xue’s voice could be felt in their feet as he conversed at the fence with Gaap, but the exact words were lost on the wind.

“Gaap isn’t like most of them,” Coins said after a second of silence. “That guy down there leads like almost a hundred legions of Hell’s army. He controls water elementals and can transport possessed from one part of the world to another in the blink of an eye. He’s serious trouble.”

“Water elementals?” Elisa asked.

“Water demons,” Coins replied. “Those things that used to live in bogs and swamps and drown lost travelers. Lots of old ghost stories about them. Nasty bastards. Like Gaap.”

The possessed man looked away from Xue and waved up at them the same instant his name was mentioned. Coins flipped him off, which sent the demon into a chuckling fit before he looked apologetically back at Xue.

“Charming fella, though,” Coins said.

“He can transport possessed? How?” Elisa asked.

“By snapping his fingers, I guess,” Coins said and snapped his own stone fingers. “Just. Like. That.”

“Then he brought all those possessed here,” Elisa said. “And he’s going to bring more.”

“Lots more,” Coins said.

“Why?” Elisa asked. “Everyone keeps throwing around the word siege, but what does that mean? Aren’t we already under siege? We’re surrounded by a world of possessed and can’t leave. That sounds like a siege to me.”

“Nah, that’s a stalemate, doll,” Coins said. Elisa gave him a hard shove and almost managed to knock him over. “Sorry. It’s not an insult, ya know. Doll, dame, blouse. It’s what I call the ladies.”

“So, if this isn’t a siege then what is?” Elisa asked.

Coins looked up into the sky and took his time before answering. “I’ve personally never been under siege, but from what I hear, there’s a lot of fighting followed by a lot of waiting followed by a lot more fighting,” Coins said. “All we’ve been doing is waiting. Once the fighting starts, then we’ll be under siege. Make sense?”

“No,” Elisa said. “We’re on sanctuary grounds. They fire a missile at us and it’ll be destroyed by Artus’s magic, won’t it? It’ll never get past the fence line, right?”

“Unless they breach the protection somehow,” Coins said and patted his gut. “That’s what my belly says is coming. Somewhere out there is the key to them breaching the magic. Once that happens, then we’re resigned to relying on simple fisticuffs.”

He held up both hands, made two fists, and jabbed playfully at Elisa.

She swatted his fists away then stared down at the continuing conversation between Gaap and Xue.

“What does he want?” Elisa asked. “Why talk with Xue?”

“He’s a tempter,” Coins said and shrugged, fishing out his coin from a stone pocket in his stone suit. He flicked it into the air and caught it easily. “Tempters like to tempt, doll.”

6

“IT’S THAT SIMPLE,” Gaap said and folded his arms across his emaciated chest. “Walk away and management won’t hold any grudges. You and your stoner friends can live life out in the world as you like. Travel the globe, see the sights. No need to stay here cooped up behind this old, rusting, iron joke of a fence.”

“I’ve seen the sights,” Xue said. “They are not impressive.”

“Seen the sights, have you?” Gaap asked, surprised. “When would a grotesque like you see the sights? Made in China, stolen from a palace, crated up and shipped across the ocean to sit in some warehouse for years before being purchased by a small-time crook who fancied himself a man of taste and style? Is that what you call seeing the sights? Even if you were self-aware during your years as an oversized doorstop, I would never in a million years call that seeing the sights.”

Gaap clapped his hands and a young woman barely dressed in rags hurried over.

“Xue, meet my good friend Tezrian,” Gaap said, pointing from the grotesque to the woman and back again. “Tezzy, love, meet Xue. Now, Tezzy here is the goddess of war.”

“A goddess of war,” Tezzy corrected. “I’m Armenian.”

“That does not matter,” Gaap said. “What does matter is that being a goddess of war, you have seen quite a bit of this world. You, my love, have seen the sights, if I may be so bold.”

“Bold away, baby,” Tezzy said. “Humanity was all about the war, so I was pretty busy before the Gates opened. I’ve seen my share of this stupid rock.”

“What would you say is your favorite place on this earth?” Gaap asked. “I only ask because Xue here believes he’s seen the sights, but I have told him he’s kidding himself. He’s seen nothing.”

“Favorite place? Gosh and golly, Gaap baby, I don’t know,” Tezzy said as she put an innocent finger to her dirt-encrusted cheek. “The Cambodian Killing Fields were quite impressive, but they’re gone now. Quite a shame. Bodies for miles. Simply marvelous.”

“Yes, yes they were,” Gaap said. “But I was thinking something much more permanent. Something that would interest this fine . . . uh, what are you exactly? A dog?”

“I’m a grotesque,” Xue replied.

“Listen to this one.” Gaap laughed. “Nothing but duty with him!”

Tezzy clapped her hands. “Marvelous. Simply marvelous.” She lunged at the fence and gripped the bars tight. The skin on her hands began to smolder and sizzle. “Simply marvelous!”

“Tezzy, love, do control yourself,” Gaap said, eyes locked on Xue. “She gets excited.”

Tezzy let go of the fence and licked her smoking hands. She then licked her lips as she stepped back and gave Gaap a pat on the ass.

“Thirsty work,” she said and turned on her heel to return to the group drinking around the bar.

The pants she wore lacked a backside and her blistered and pocked ass cheeks hung out for all to see. She gave a little hip shake then wriggled her way through the possessed so she could lean directly on the bar.

“I love that goddess,” Gaap said. “She’s like a little sister to me.”

“Was there a point to any of that?” Xue asked.

“I suppose not,” Gaap said. “If I’m being honest. I merely wanted to rattle your cage, but as your reputation states, you cannot be rattled.”

Gaap stepped as close to the fence as he could without touching it.

“However, I may have some news that will rattle you a bit,” Gaap said. “What if I were to tell you that a Stonecutter still lives? Hmmm? Would that shake the rocks in that huge doggy head of yours? Imagine, if you will, what it would mean to have a living, breathing Stonecutter at your disposal. Why she, or he, could make an entire race of grotesques and gargoyles. You could live here on Earth with us demons. Gs and Ds, hand in hand, ruling the world.”

“The last Stonecutter died many, many decades ago,” Xue said. “And if one did exist, then he would create more of us simply to defeat you.”

“That’s what you think,” Gaap said. He tapped his head then pointed at Xue. His finger touched a bar and he winced as it burst into flame. “Ow! That smarts!”

He shook out the flame and put the finger in his mouth.

“A little food for thought, Xue,” Gaap said around the finger. “A couple of morsels for your mind teeth to chew on.” He bobbed his eyebrows up and down. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, the entertainment is about to begin.”

Xue watched as the possessed man backed away from the fence then turned and joined the crowd. After a few seconds, one of the possessed had climbed onto the bar and was standing there for all to see. It was Todd’s body and he shook all over for a second before his eyes went clear and wide and he looked down at the crowd of possessed that surrounded him. Then his eyes found Xue.

“Xue, help me,” Todd pleaded. “Please!”

Even if Xue wanted to respond, which he didn’t since it was futile with Todd on the outside and he on the inside of the fence, there was no time. The first shot cracked and Todd gripped his right thigh before falling over onto the bar.

“Oh, God! I’m shot,” Todd yelled.

There was thunderous laughter at Todd’s exclamation. Then the thunder morphed into a barrage of gunfire as the possessed took up their guns and fired indiscriminately into Todd’s body. He screamed for a few seconds before falling silent. They fired and fired, forcing the corpse to dance and shudder on the mildewed laminate top of the rotten bar. It was a long time before the possessed allowed his body to go still.

Xue turned and walked away, putting a considerable amount of distance between himself and the desecration of Todd’s body. He stopped halfway across the grounds where he was joined by Antoine the goblin and Scythia the gryphon.

“We heard the gunfire and came to look,” Antoine said.

“I will miss Todd,” Scythia said. “He was a kind soul.”

“That he was,” Antoine agreed. “Don’t you think, Xue?”

“I think Mordecai needs to return so we can formulate a plan,” Xue said. “The possessed will not wait much longer.”

“That so?” Antoine said.

“That is so,” Xue said.

“Who was that demon you were talking to?” Scythia asked.

“Gaap,” Xue said.

“What? Gaap?” Scythia exclaimed. “What is Gaap doing here?”

“Preparing for war,” Xue said. There was an uneasy grumble from deep inside Xue that bubbled up.

“They’ve been doing that for years. What else is troubling you?” Antoine asked. “What did he say?”

“He said there’s still a Stonecutter alive out there,” Xue said.

“He’s lying,” Antoine replied, waving a clawed hand and shaking his goblin head. “Demons lie. It’s what they do.”

“No way, not Gaap,” Scythia said. “That demon gives nothing but true answers to past, present, and future. If he lies, he conceals it within truth.”

“That is exactly what he does,” Xue said.

“Oh,” Antoine said. “So you believe him? That there’s a Stonecutter still alive?”

“I believe he believes it,” Xue said.

The gunfire started up again, but this time toward the sanctuary. None of the bullets made it onto the grounds. They were stopped with quick flashes of light, like bugs hitting one of those electric zappers that used to hang from porches across the country, killing summer pests and sending their smoking bodies falling to the deck boards, warped and badly in need of a new coat of paint.

Xue glanced up at the sky and saw the light shifting from midday to late afternoon.

“Morty needs to return soon,” Xue said. “When it is dark, they will strike.”

“Damn,” Antoine says. “I better go wake up Olivia.”

“Yes,” Xue said. “That would be for the best.”

7

GOING FROM SOLID stone to animate grotesque was never easy, especially when it was forced and premature. The energy it took to make frozen joints pliable, to push life into lifeless limbs, to get a body made of granite moving when that very granite fights every stretch, reach, twist, was almost more than the energy stored during solidity.

Olivia did not wake up in a good mood.

“What?” Olivia almost snarled.

Almost. It wasn’t quite a full snarl since Olivia’s very nature was one of grace and kindness. Her body was grotesque, but not her personality. Which was why she quickly snapped out of her premature wake-up call funk and realized that if she was being pulled from solidity, then there must be a reason.

And that reason could not be good.

“What’s happened?” she asked as she stepped off her pedestal to face Antoine. “Has the sanctuary been breached?”

“Huh? No,” Antoine exclaimed. “Damn, why you gotta go dark so fast?”

“So it hasn’t been breached?” she asked. Antoine shook his goblin head. “Is it close to being breached?”

Some Gs could lie easily, Antoine was not one of them. Despite his monstrous appearance, he was easily the softy of the bunch. And Olivia knew it.

“Antoine?” she said in a soothing voice as she worked out the last few solid kinks from her body. “How bad is it?”

“Gaap is at the gates,” Antoine said. “He says there’s a Stonecutter still alive.”

“He what?” Olivia exclaimed, fully awake. “A Stonecutter lives? How?”

“Don’t know,” Antoine replied. “But that isn’t the problem. The problem is, it’s getting dark and Xue believes the demons will strike when the sun has set.”

“Strike? How?” Olivia asked.

“Don’t know that either,” Antoine said and shrugged. “The protection should still hold. No possessed vessel can cross the boundary and get into the sanctuary grounds. Not while Artus’s magic flows through the cathedral and into the land around us.”

“Then they are coming for Artus,” Olivia said. “I want you standing guard by him at all times.”

“Me? I look ugly, Olivia, but I’m not as skilled a fighter like Morty or Xue,” Antoine replied. “I probably couldn’t handle Scythia.”

“Most can’t,” Olivia said and grinned. She patted Antoine on the shoulder. “You have a kind heart, Antoine, but you were built for violence. I know you don’t like to hear that, but it is the truth. The Stonecutter that made you gave you a ferocious soul. You will need that soul soon.”

“Ferocious soul?” Antoine mused. “I like how that sounds. Ferocious soul . . .”

“Where are the wards?” Olivia asked.

“In the nave, I believe,” Antoine answered.

“You believe?” Olivia responded, alarmed. “We must know for sure where they are at all times. They are the reason the demons are here. No other. Our sanctuary could be the last hope for all humanity, Antoine. That is not something we can take lightly.”

“Sorry,” Antoine said and lowered his head. “The magic in us says to protect the sanctuary. I forget that the wards are part of that sometimes.”

“We all forget,” Olivia replied. “It is the flaw in the miracle that gives us life.”

She patted him again then took off down the corridor, her stone gown flowing out behind her. Antoine hurried to keep up, his short goblin stride loping next to her elegant steps.

They reached the nave and found most of the wards seated on their cots, scared, fearful eyes watching them walk down the center and out into the courtyard.

“None of the teenagers were in there,” Olivia said as she walked up to a spot directly beneath Artus. “Nor Hannah or Birch or Parsons. Where are they?”

“They have left,” Artus stated. “The three adults have gone to search for the teenagers outside the sanctuary grounds.”

“What? Why?” Olivia exclaimed.

“Oh, I know,” Geffe said as he joined them. He was quickly followed by Deek, Nissa and Tessa, and Scythia.

“Anything new?” Antoine asked Scythia. The small grotesque shook her eagle head. “Okay. That’s good. Right?”

“Geffe? Why did so many wards leave the sanctuary?” Olivia asked, ignoring Antoine and Scythia’s brief interaction.

“Long story,” Geffe said. “Which I will now tell because the look on your face says I’d better or I’ll become gravel for a walking path.”

Geffe filled Olivia in on the midday drama that had transpired. Nissa and Tessa thought it was hilarious. The rest, not so much. Artus remained indifferent which troubled Olivia more than any of the tale’s revelations.

“So weak,” Olivia muttered. “Their flesh is so weak.”

“The world can’t all be made of stone,” Antoine said.

“Xue and Coins are still outside?” Olivia asked.

“On the front steps,” Scythia replied. “They are keeping watch.”

“How is Jack holding up?” Olivia asked. No one responded. “You all forgot about Jack. He is on the outside with the possessed. If they try to breach the gates, he will be the first of us to die.”

“Can we die?” Nissa asked. “Because I feel like I could live forever.”

“Yeah, I’m totally fucking invulnerable,” Tessa said. “I got magic up my wazoo. So, unless the possessed plan on spelunking in my wazoo, they ain’t getting that magic away from me.”

“Nice,” Nissa laughed. “I love the picture that painted.”

“I know, right?” Tessa replied.

“We are not invulnerable,” Olivia said. “There are ways to harm us. Especially if the sanctuary is breached. If the demons can do that, then we will be severely affected. Our power derives from the very concept of sanctuary. If that magic cracks, then our power cracks.”

“Gee, O, so glad you woke up to tell us that,” Nissa said. “Wrong side of the pedestal much?”

“You should seriously think of taking up coffee,” Tessa added. “It helps the wards kill the grumpy grumps when they wake up. Might do wonders for you.”

Olivia’s face was illuminated by a bright, white light and her features turned ugly so fast that the faeries actually flinched and shrunk back from her.

“Olivia,” Artus said quietly. “Calm yourself.”

Olivia did calm herself, but everyone could see the effort it took. Even after returning to her normal, composed beauty, the dangerous light still played around the edges of her stone features.

“This is no joking matter,” Olivia said. “We are duty-bound to give our lives for this sanctuary. A sanctuary created in order to protect its wards.” She held up a hand to fend off any comments or arguments from the faeries, which she knew they were only a breath away from voicing. “Regardless of whether you believe that to be true or not, that is the situation we are in. We fight for our wards or we perish when the demons possess not only the last of humanity, but this very planet and realm we exist in.”

“She is correct,” Artus said. “We are connected to this sanctuary for one reason only. To keep the demons from possessing the wards under our protection within these walls.”

“What about the ones outside the walls?” Olivia asked.

“Those who chose to leave these walls are beyond our protection now,” Artus replied. “But for those still here, we must do all we can to keep them from becoming vessels for more demons. If that happens, then the purpose for our existence is ended. All is lost and we will have failed.”

The last word echoed in the courtyard and hit the Gs hard. Failure was not something any of them took lightly. Failure was an abomination, a weakness that Gs refused to acknowledge. Failure was as much the enemy as the possessed who were massing outside the iron fence.

“So,” Olivia said. “It is time to prepare our wards for what is to come. We must build them up with confidence so they do not panic when the attack begins.”

“We don’t want that,” Deek said and scrunched up his fawn face. “Panicked wards are creepy. Don’t you think they’re creepy? I think they’re creepy.”

“I can second that, partner,” Geffe said. “Panicked wards are creepy. And a pain in my donkey ass.”

“You have a man ass,” Nissa said.

“Your head is all donkey,” Tessa added.

“But how do you tell them apart?” Scythia asked.

The Gs burst into laughter, including Geffe. Neither Olivia nor Artus joined in the mirth.

“One of us will need to fetch the missing wards,” Olivia said, bringing the laughter to a quickly spoiled end.

“Olivia, I have already spoken on this matter,” Artus said.

“Yes, you have,” Olivia said. “But I disagree. Now, more than ever, we must bring all the wards together inside the sanctuary. Foolish humans or not, they are in need of our protection, no matter where they go.” She waited for Artus to argue, but he didn’t. “I need a volunteer.”

“I’ll do it,” Scythia said. “I’m the smallest. I can move around without the possessed seeing me.”

“Good,” Olivia said. “Artus? Where did they go?”

Artus hesitated then said, “Through the library and out the tunnels.”

“I’m on it,” Scythia said and was out of the courtyard in the blink of an eye.

“Antoine, you and I will brief the wards,” Olivia said. “Geffe, you let Xue and Coins know what is happening.”

“Should I tell Elisa to come inside?” Geffe asked. “She’s on the steps with Coins.”

“What?” Olivia cried then regained her composure. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I take a nap and everyone gets. . . . Tell that woman to get within the cathedral’s walls now. This is no time for her to act like she is as strong as us.”

“In a way, she is,” Artus said.

Olivia glanced up at him, but didn’t have time to ask for an explanation of the cryptic remark.

“Nissa and Tessa? I want you to inventory the armory,” Olivia said. “We all have our own unique abilities, but when the fight comes, none of us will have a chance to go solid and recharge. Having the armory ready will allow us to continue fighting.”

“Yes,” Nissa said and pumped her arm to her side. “We get weapons duty.”

“Fucking A, we do,” Tessa said.

“Are we clear on what our duties are?” Olivia asked.

Deek raised his hand. “Uh, what about me?”

“You stay in the courtyard with Artus,” Olivia said. “Once the fight begins, I want you ready to sound an alarm with your flute if any of the possessed try to harm him. I’m counting on you, Deek. That flute of yours could be all that stands between our death or our survival.”

“Oh, man,” Deek said, his voice quavering.

“Buck up, Bambi,” Nissa said. “You get to get your Jethro Tull on. Totes jealous.”

“Totes,” Tessa said.

“You can handle this, Deek,” Olivia said. “I have faith in you.”

Deek gave them a shy smile and nodded. His hand went to his pan flute on his hip and he stroked the pipes over and over with nervous energy.

“Good. Duties are assigned,” Olivia said. “Let’s get to them.”

No one moved.

“What?” she asked.

“That’s it?” Geffe asked. “Let’s get to them? I gotta say that the cowboys back on the ranch I used to live on had better rallying cries than that. And they were ankle-deep in cattle crap half the time.”

“A rallying cry would be cool,” Nissa said.

“It would?” Tessa asked. “I think it would be lame.”

“I’ll let you all think one up,” Olivia said. “Until then, move some stone ass.”

“Move some stone ass,” Geffe said. “I like it.”

“Needs work,” Nissa said.

“A lot,” Tessa added.

“Go!” Olivia shouted.

They went.

She sighed and looked back to Artus.

“Can you sense how far away the wards outside are?” she asked him.

“I cannot extend my perception that far,” Artus said.

“You used to be able to,” Olivia said.

“I used to be able to do a great many things, Olivia,” Artus replied, “but the years have drained me. It is all I can do to maintain our current level of protection.”

That statement terrified Olivia, but she didn’t voice her fear. She smiled at Artus and placed a hand on the corner stonework beneath him. She could feel the warmth of his magic.

“Do not,” Artus commanded and Olivia yanked her hand back.

“What?” she asked, her faux innocence fooling no one.

“You were about to transfer some of your energy into me,” Artus stated. “I cannot allow that, Olivia. You will need all of your strength. I will be fine.”

Olivia didn’t deny it nor argue. Her smile faltered and she nodded up at Artus then turned to Antoine.

“Come along,” she said. “The wards must be informed.”

8

HANNAH, BIRCHSTEIN, and Parsons had only been out of the tunnels and away from the sanctuary grounds for twenty minutes before they came across the group of teens. Hannah was so happy to see them all together and alive, she almost didn’t notice that the group had grown until they were on the teenagers.

“Who are you?” Hannah asked Jon and the men who stood behind him. When he was slow to respond, she snapped, “I asked you a question.”

Jon grinned and lifted his sunglasses, a sign that he was willing to show he wasn’t one of the possessed. Hannah didn’t return the favor. She made sure her sunglasses were on tight and pressed her lips together in a thin line of disapproval.

“This is Jon,” Gil said, stepping forward. “These are his friends.”

“Look like a gang to me,” Parsons said under his breath. Birchstein shushed him.

“We stumbled on your wayward teens back in town,” Jon said. “They looked lost so we thought we’d show them the way home.”

“They know the way home,” Hannah said and turned to face Gil head-on. “That information is not something they should be sharing with strangers.”

“Strangers?” Jon chuckled. “We ain’t strangers, lady. We’re all friends here. Or we should be. I like to help my friends. Gil thought you could use some help.”

“We are fine, thank you,” Hannah replied. “Gil? I want you, all of you, to get back to the. . . . To get back home. Now. I will work things out with Jon.”

“It’s already been worked out,” Jon said. “A little quid pro quo. I help you and yours, you help me and mine.”

“We are fine, thank you,” Hannah repeated, but with considerably more ice in her voice.

“Nah, I don’t think you are,” Jon said. “The kids here seem to know a lot about your medical supplies. Or lack of. It took me some doing, but I finally got an inventory out of them. It looks like you all may be in need of what I happen to have.”

Jon held out a hand and one of the men behind him unslung a backpack and placed the strap in Jon’s hand. He tossed the pack to Hannah without hesitation.

“Open it,” he said. “You are going to like what you see.”

Hannah opened it. Inside were an assortment of boxes of blister packs and pill bottles. Hannah carefully went through the pack, noting the names and dates on the boxes and bottles.

“These are all expired,” she said and tossed the pack back to Jon. “No good to us.”

“Lady, everything is expired in this world,” Jon said, chuckling softly. He shook his head. “You ain’t gonna find fresh antibiotics anywhere. No matter how hard you look.”

“They could be toxic,” Hannah said. “Spoiled.”

“Nope,” Jon said. “Not these. They’ve been kept in a cool, dry place the entire time. Vic over there had himself a nasty cold last month and a couple of those pills fixed him right up.”

The man who Jon indicated gave a quick nod, but didn’t add any commentary to the story.

“There’s ointment in there too,” Jon said. “Did you see the ointment?”

“I saw the ointment,” Hannah replied. “It’s expired as well.”

“I know, I know, but it works,” Jon said. He showed her the underside of his right forearm. “See that? Caught my arm on some barbed wire. Could have festered all up and taken my whole arm with it, but that ointment did its job and everything is right as rain.”

Hannah waited, but when Jon didn’t offer anything else to say, she shrugged.

“I’m glad it helped your arm,” Hannah said. “What a blessing.” She focused back on the teens. “Come on. It’s going to be dark soon.”

They all looked up at the evening light and nodded.

“Nice meeting you, Jon,” Hannah said, her hand outstretched and beckoning to the teenagers. “I wish you the best in this cruel world.”

“Oh, lady, you’re breaking my heart,” Jon said. “Gil here had us all excited about your sanctuary. He told us it’s the place to be in the end of days. It’s where all the cool kids hang out.” He shook the pack in his hands. “I was hoping this little bounty of needed medical supplies would buy us a ticket inside. We’ve lasted this long out here only because we’re tough as nails. But our luck is running out. One day, maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, but one day the demons are gonna find us and get us. Then we won’t care a damn bit about these fine antibiotics. They’ll turn to moldy waste out here on the road.”

“I had to tell them,” Gil said to Hannah. “They’re people like us. That’s a good thing, isn’t it? After New York falling and all, we need more people, don’t we?”

Hannah was torn between anger at Gil for revealing that they were from a sanctuary, not that she was sure Jon knew exactly what that meant, and the fact that there were unpossessed human beings standing before her asking for protection.

“Hold on,” Hannah said to Jon then turned to Birchstein and Parsons. “Thoughts?”

“We came out here to find the kids,” Birchstein said. “We didn’t come looking for survivors.”

“But we found some,” Hannah replied. “Or they found us.”

“They found Gil,” Birchstein said. “That should be considered.”

“It is, believe me,” Hannah said, her eyes shifting to Gil.

“Not like they can really be a threat,” Parsons said. “The Gs will protect us if they turn out to be bad apples. Can’t hurt to let them prove their worth.” He glanced around Hannah’s shoulder at Jon. The tattooed man gave him a wide smile. “They brought us antibiotics. That shit lasts for years after the dates on there. Expiration dates are part of Big Pharma’s conspiracy to keep us slaves to their products.”

Birchstein rolled his eyes. “His reasoning is flawed, but his assessment is correct. A good deal of those pills could still be potent enough to be the difference between life and death for someone when the time comes.”

“So you’re saying we should take them back with us?” Hannah asked.

“I’m not saying that at all,” Birchstein said. “I am presenting the facts as we know them.”

“Birch, I need help figuring this out,” Hannah said. “Not facts as you know them.”

The far-off sound of gunfire echoed across the landscape, making all of them jump. Hannah spun around, her eyes scanning the area.

“Sounds like trouble,” Jon said. “It’s a long ways off, but I wouldn’t wager that will be true forever.”

“What are they shooting at?” Birchstein wondered aloud.

“Probably Morty,” Parsons said. “That G attracts bullets like crap attracts flies.”

“Lady, not to be pushy,” Jon said, “but it’s time to shit or get off the pot. We got ourselves a hike if we have to go back to where we been hiding. If you aren’t letting us come with, then we need to leave like now.”

Hannah sighed. “Are you armed?”

Jon spread his arms out and the men with him did the same. “You are free to check.”

“They aren’t,” Gil said. “I asked them the same thing and already checked.”

Hannah shook her head.

“I don’t trust Gil, which means I don’t trust you. But I do trust that you have your own best interest at heart,” she said to Jon. “Where we’re going, if you try anything, you will be stopped. All of you will be stopped. And it won’t be pretty.”

“Understood,” Jon said. “Can I put my arms down?”

“Yes,” Hannah said. Jon did and the others followed his move.

“So we’re in?” he asked.

“For now,” Hannah said. “But we reserve the right to kick you out if you do not adjust to our ways.” She focused on Gil. “All of you, if need be.”

Gil glared, but didn’t say anything back to her.

“Oh, don’t you worry none, lady,” Jon said, smiling at the face-off. “We adjust real well. Don’t we, boys?”

There were various words of agreement and Jon’s smile widened even more. “Lead the way,” he said and nodded at the road.

“Gil?” Hannah said. “I will let you and the rest take us back to the tunnels.” Gil’s eyes widened. “Yes, we know about the tunnels. Lead your new friends there and we’ll be right behind you.”

“Good idea,” Jon said. “Keep an eye on us just in case.”

“Yes,” Hannah said as they got moving. “Just in case.”

9

“I GET TO BE demolitions,” Tessa said as she bounced a fragmentation grenade in her hands. “I like it when things go boom.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about things that go boom,” Nissa said, snatching the grenade out of the air before Tessa could catch it again. “Obviously.”

“So?” Tessa responded, reaching for another grenade, but pulling her hand back after a quick slap from Nissa. “Bitch. I’m demolitions if I want to be demolitions.”

“Fine. Whatever,” Nissa said. “I’m not going to argue with you. What was the count?”

“Huh?” Tessa asked.

“The grenades? What was the count? How many are there?” Nissa asked.

“Oh, shit, I don’t know,” Tessa replied. “I wasn’t counting.”

“Dammit, twat, the whole reason we’re here is to take an inventory of the armory,” Nissa snapped. “What have you been doing this whole time?”

“Thinking about blowing stuff up,” Tessa admitted. “What have you been doing?”

“I’ve been counting the guns on the walls and in the racks and all the ammo,” Nissa said, her voice haughty and quite superior.

“Oh, is that right?” Tessa asked. “Huh, because, and correct me if I’m wrong here, but since we’re connected at the hip, and I’ve been standing next to the boxes of grenades and that putty stuff there, how the fucking hell have you been counting ammo?”

“I’ve been guestimating,” Nissa said.

“Bullshit,” Tessa replied.

“Tessa, my lovely little bitch, you doubt me?” Nissa asked, the haughtiness replaced by feigned shock and offense.

“You’ve been thinking of shooting possessed into little tiny fleshy bits, haven’t you?” Tessa asked. “Come on. Admit it. You want to shoot the shit out of some demons as much as I want to blow the shit out of them.”

“Maybe,” Nissa said, a sheepish grin on her delicate, stone face. “That could be fun. I mean, we have all these guns and weapons down here and we never get to use them. I so want to use them!”

“Me too,” Tessa said and grinned along with her stonemate. “I so want to!”

The Gs giggled and laughed as they went about actually completing their assignment and taking a full inventory of the weapons that filled the large, cold room occupying a good portion of the cathedral’s basement.

10

ELISA HAD NOT been happy to be ordered inside and made it very clear as she gave Geffe a swift kick in the ass before storming through the cathedral’s doors.

“Feisty,” Geffe said as he stood on the steps next to Coins. They both flinched as the doors slammed shut hard enough to send a crack echoing across the sanctuary grounds. “Yikes.”

“There’s more,” Coins said. He was seated on the steps and flipping his coin up in the air, over and over again. He nodded to the front gates. “Another twenty or so just showed up. Came walking up to the bar like it was happy hour.”

“Are they anywhere else?” Geffe asked.

“Don’t know,” Coins replied. “Xue is on patrol. He insisted that he be the one to survey the fence line. All those years guarding a palace back in China have come back to him. He’s Mr. Serious G now.”

“Xue’s always been Mr. Serious G,” Geffe said. “That little doggie has to learn to relax.”

“Not the time for relaxation, bub,” Coins said. “Time to brace ourselves for the brawl that’s coming our way.”

“You’re looking forward to the fight, eh partner?” Geffe asked. “Finally get a chance to flex those gangster muscles and show the possessed what a tough you are.”

“Maybe,” Coins said. “But, maybe not.”

“How so?” Geffe asked.

“We got a good thing here,” Coins said and shrugged, catching his coin one last time before slipping it into its pocket. “Might be boring, and the wards are annoying, but when you think about the world out there, this sanctuary gig ain’t so bad really. I know I was all for leaving before, but where the hell would we go, right? Might as well stay here.”

“I see what yer saying,” Geffe replied and twitched his donkey ears. “But don’t get comfy. We’re Gs. We ain’t been made to sit on our butts and wait things out. We’re made to fight.”

“We’re made to protect,” Coins countered.

“Protect, fight, same thing in my book,” Geffe said. “Neither one of which is the same as waiting. I’m kind of looking forward to a little action, if I’m being honest.”

“How about the others?” Coins asked. “What do they think about it all?”

“The faeries are rip-roaring ready to smash something,” Geffe said. “I bet they’re down in the armory right now daydreaming about what they get to do to the possessed if the protection falls.”

“You think it will?” Coins asked.

“I think they think it will,” Geffe said and gestured with his donkey chin toward the possessed, who were busy hooting and hollering around the rotten bar like it was Super Bowl Sunday. “We’d be dumb as tumbleweeds if we don’t expect it.”

“I can see your point,” Coins said. He looked back over his shoulder at the cathedral’s doors. “How many you think will die?”

“None,” Geffe said.

“None?” Coins asked, more than surprised.

“Coins, my friend, the point of this siege is to take the humans alive as vessels,” Geffe answered. “The wards are no use to the demons if they’re dead.”

“Maybe,” Coins said.

“What? You got some inside knowledge?” Geffe asked.

“Maybe,” Coins said again as he patted his gut.

“You and your gut,” Geffe said.

“The thing I’m worried about is that we’re the ones that may not make it,” Coins said.

“Damn,” Geffe said. “Not liking how that sounds.”

“Not liking how it sounds either, to tell ya the truth,” Coins said and shrugged. “But that’s how I see it, so that’s how I’m saying it will go down.”

“You need to work on your fortune-telling act, partner,” Geffe said. “You’re supposed to leave the mark feeling good, not feeling like they should jump off a bridge.”

“I’d never call you a mark, Geffe,” Coins said. “You got too much of the scoundrel in ya.”

Geffe smiled a toothy smile, stretched, and flicked his ears back and forth a few times. “Gonna go check on Jack,” Geffe said as he descended the stone steps. “Poor soul can’t be having a good time all alone down there with the scum of the earth.”

“Tell him hi for me,” Coins said.

“Will do,” Geffe said and started off across the grounds.

11

“SO I SAID TO her, if you call those boobs then what do I call these?” Jack said and laughed hard enough to shake the gates. He went on for a good minute before petering out and realizing that none of the possessed were laughing with him. He sighed. “It’s funnier if you have hands. It’s a sight joke.”

“Why would you tell a joke where you need hands when you got no hands?” an extremely drunk possessed woman asked. “Where I come from, if you give a setup like that and don’t deliver, you end up in one of the pits lined with polyester. Not the new kind, but the original kind that chafes like a bitch.”

“I invented that,” a possessed man said.

“You did not,” another man responded. “You’re not old enough.”

“No, not my meat suit, asshead,” the first man snapped. “Me. The me inside here. I invented polyester. It was to be the greatest torture device ever, but then the stupid humans went and tweaked it so it wouldn’t be so hot and sticky and scratchy. They took the torture right out of it.”

He punched himself in the nuts and fell to his scabbed over knees.

“Oh, was that needed?” Jack asked. “That could not have been pleasant.”

“It wasn’t,” the nut-puncher replied, his voice an octave higher. “But I hate humans so much, I have to hit this one every once in a while or I’ll give in and slit his throat.”

There were several murmurs of agreement from the crowd.

“You know any jokes that don’t require hands?” the woman asked Jack. “Come on, green man. Share some jokes!”

“Share some jokes! Share some jokes,” half the crowd of possessed began to chant.

Jack grinned uneasily, but actually put some thought behind it.

“Okay, okay, it’s a little bawdy, but I expect your kind doesn’t mind that,” Jack said.

“You just told a boob joke,” the woman said. “What’s bawdier than that?”

“This one,” Jack said and cleared his throat. Or made a sound like clearing his throat, since he didn’t actually have a throat. “A zebra, a python, and a giraffe walked into a bar—”

“I heard this one,” someone shouted from the crowd. “It’s stupid!”

“You’re stupid,” someone replied.

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you!”

A fight quickly broke out and Jack sighed.

“Hey, Jack,” Geffe said as he stepped up to the gates. “What’d you say to get them so worked up?”

“I was trying to tell a joke,” Jack said. “They were receptive at first, but now it’s all devolved into stupid violence. It’s to be expected from their kind.”

The brawl stopped quickly and all possessed eyes turned on Jack.

“Their kind?” one of the possessed asked. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Yeah, like you can talk, you iron-faced asshole,” a possessed woman growled. “You think you’re special or something?”

“To be matter of fact, yes, I do think I am special,” Jack said. “Or something. Do you know any other green men who adorn iron gates and can talk and tell jokes?”

“I have yet to hear a joke from you!” someone yelled.

“Yeah, you suck. Get off the stage!”

“Boooo! Boooo!”

Empty liquor and beer bottles pelted the gates and Jack closed his eyes.

“Oh, my, how rude,” he yelled, and caught a shard of an Old English bottle in his mouth. He spat it out and kept spitting as more and more glass shattered on his face. “Stop that!”

“Hey! Y’all better back off,” Geffe yelled. “You don’t want to be around Jack when he’s angry!”

“What? He gonna turn into the Hulk?” someone yelled and laughed.

“Maybe,” Jack replied. He was about to yell some more, but he stopped as an almost painful vibration shot up from the ground, into the gates, and through his whole face. “Geffe!”

“I felt it,” Geffe said and spun about. He took off running as fast as his short legs could carry him.

Not that Jack could see the G’s progress up the grounds and to the cathedral.

Jack shivered in the gates. He ignored the continued barrage and focused on the jolt he’d received. As the last rays of the day’s sun set behind the mountains, Jack realized that the sanctuary was about to receive its first new wards in a very long time. Which was strange and troubling timing considering the company who had decided to show up at his gates.

12

JON AND HIS men were frozen in their tracks the second they stepped over the threshold and entered the cathedral’s tunnels.

“What the hell is this shit?” Jon barked.

“Magic,” Hannah laughed. “You didn’t think you could just walk in here, did you?”

“Gil? Kid, come on, help a brother out,” Jon said.

“Nothing I can do about it. You have to be invited by a G and offered sanctuary,” Gil said. “It keeps everyone safe that way.”

“Then get me one of those, what did you call them? Gs?” Jon said. “Get me one of those.”

Scythia appeared, almost as soon as Jon had asked, stepping out from behind a dried-out juniper bush that sat close to the tunnel’s entrance.

“Yes?” she said, a feathered stone eyebrow arching above her eagle eye. “And you would be?”

Jon stared. His men stared. The rest merely smirked. It was always fun watching the reactions of new people when they first encountered a G.

“I, uh, I’m . . .” Jon began then shook his head and let out a long breath. “Okay, I’ll bite. What the hell are you?”

“What the hell am I?” Scythia asked. “It would be wise to introduce yourself to me, sir. I have no need to introduce myself to you. Nor must I define my form.”

“She’s a gryphon,” Gil said.

“Ah, come on,” Scythia snapped. “You ruined the fun, Gil. Why you gotta be a dick?”

“Scythia, will you extend protection to these men?” Hannah asked.

“Can you vouch for them?” Scythia asked.

“I cannot,” Hannah admitted. “But they do seem to know where caches of supplies are hidden. You know how low we are on supplies.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be saving people?” Gil asked.

“Yeah, like, aren’t any humans not possessed supposed to get sanctuary?” Brian said.

“Do you think it is that simple?” Scythia asked.

There was a cracking from the bushes a few yards off and a man stumbled out, stopping almost in mid-stride as he saw the group around the tunnel’s entrance.

“Beautiful,” the man said and grinned. His eyes turned pure black and his teeth elongated into warped and twisted fangs. “So very beautiful!”

He rushed the group.

“Sanctuary granted,” Scythia shouted as the man came at them. “Get inside! I’ll hold him off!”

The man, obviously possessed by something more than an average demon, was on the little grotesque before Hannah could get the door closed. She saw the possessed’s fingers stretch into finely sharpened talons.

Scythia leapt into the air and the last thing Hannah saw were talons on talons.

Hannah slammed and bolted the tunnel door then turned to frown at the rest. She didn’t get the chance to say a word as a pipe came swinging at her head.

“Jon! What are you doing?” Gil shouted as Hannah threw herself to the ground, catching the pipe across her shoulder.

“I’m doing my job,” Jon said as he went in for a second swing.

The kids stood there, shocked. Parsons and Birchstein were immobile as well. Until Jon’s men came at them with box knives, short blades, and lengths of metal. Kimmy screamed as she watched Parsons take a blade across his throat, hot blood spurting everywhere, spraying the kids in a shower of deep, dark red.

The shock was broken and the kids ran.

Jon brought the pipe down at Hannah again, but she managed to get a foot up into his crotch before he could complete the swing. He squealed in pain, which distracted his lackeys as they turned to see what had happened to their leader.

Birchstein grabbed a man’s wrist and snapped it, snatching the box knife from the suddenly limp grip. He slashed and hacked, cutting the man’s lips and cheeks to shreds. Birchstein dropped his shoulder and slammed the bleeding man backward into the others. He reached down and snagged Hannah by her hair, pulling her up onto her feet without worry for the pain it caused.

Hannah didn’t complain. She was grateful to be up and away from the doubled-over Jon.

“We have to warn the others,” Hannah shouted.

“I know,” Birchstein said. “Go!”

“What?” Hannah cried, but Birchstein didn’t answer, only shoved her back toward the cathedral as he stepped between her and Jon’s gang.

Hannah paused for half a second. In that half second, she saw Birchstein holding a bloody box knife, Jon’s gang rushing at him, and Parsons’s dead body still leaking blood on the tunnel’s stone floor. She understood what Birchstein was doing and why.

Hannah didn’t waste his sacrifice and bolted for the stairs. She ran as hard as her less-than-in-shape body would allow. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard the screaming. Then it was cut short. Hannah didn’t know if it was one of Jon’s men or if it was Birchstein. She only knew that whoever had screamed would probably never scream again.

She bolted up the stairs to the library to warn the other wards.

13

XUE HEARD THE shouts of the wards inside. He tore his attention from the ever-increasing horde of possessed who were gathering outside the fence and looked over his muscular shoulder at the cathedral doors. Elisa was opening the doors to see what was happening and Xue caught sight of torches being lit throughout the gallery.

“What is it?” he cried.

“I don’t know,” Elisa cried back. “People are screaming!”

The stained-glass windows that lined the cathedral’s walls became bright with more torchlight. The illumination was happening too fast for it to be the wards lighting them. It had to be Artus. And if the ancient gargoyle was lighting the cathedral, then that meant something very bad was happening indeed.

Xue was halfway from where he had been sitting and observing the possessed when he saw Elisa rush back out of the doors and scramble down the stone steps toward where Coins was crouching, flipping his coin over and over as he stared back at the cathedral.

“I got this,” Coins said.

It was a quiet, casual voice, but it easily carried to Xue’s ears. There was a deep intensity to Coins’s tone that told Xue that caution had been cast aside and the G was in full protection mode.

“Elisa,” Xue shouted and the woman skidded to a stop in the grass, turning her attention on him. Her eyes were wide with panic and blood covered most of her shirt front. Xue looked inward and realized that he no longer felt the spiritual presence of several wards. “To me! Now!”

Elisa didn’t hesitate. She changed course, sprinting to Xue as Coins passed her, his eyes locked onto the cathedral doors, not seeing her at all.

Coins was almost to the doors when Hannah came running out. She slammed into the G, knocking him off balance and sending him tumbling down the stairs. She lost her own balance in the collision and fell painfully down the steps to land in a heap in the grass. Before Coins could regain his feet, a grubby man, a stranger, burst from the doors, brandishing a length of metal, and took the steps two at a time as he closed on Hannah.

“No,” Xue roared and the man paused long enough for Hannah to get up and start running across the sanctuary grounds.

Elisa reached Xue and turned to see what he was staring at. Before she could say a word, or Xue could move to intercept the attacker racing after Hannah, explosions rocked the air.

Xue spun about and looked up as mortar after mortar exploded in the sky. The possessed’s use of artillery wasn’t what surprised him when he looked to the sky. It was the two Gs flying straight for the sanctuary grounds. The one in front he did not recognize, the one in back he did.

“What is he carrying?” Elisa asked.

“I do not know,” Xue replied as more mortars exploded around the two flying Gs.

“Who is that?” Elisa asked. There was a scream and she spun about. “Hannah!”

Xue was about to tear his eyes from the incoming Gs when a mortar took out the strange one, sending the large grotesque plummeting short of the sanctuary grounds. Then another mortar rocketed up into the sky toward Morty. The G twisted his body so his back could take the brunt of the explosion.

He fell. Straight at the sanctuary grounds. Xue had no idea what Morty held wrapped in his arms and wings, but it must have been important to willingly take a direct hit from a mortar shell. Xue pumped his legs and raced toward where he thought Morty would land.

Then he slid to a halt, cutting deep furrows in the grass and dirt. As Morty crossed the sanctuary grounds’ protective barrier, a bright light flashed. Xue knew what that light meant. Morty had brought a possessed vessel into the sanctuary. Morty had destroyed the protection around the entire grounds. In one flash, the land between the fence and the cathedral was nothing more than an overgrown meadow.

“Back,” Xue roared as he came to his senses and raced to where Morty had crashed into the earth. “Elisa! Get back inside. Now!”

Then, from out of the tree line, came the possessed. Thousands of them charged straight for the iron fence that no longer held the magic of protection.

PART THREE

The Quarry & The End

1

THE AGONY OF the breach ripped through Artus like a seizure. His stone body shook and almost became unmoored from its perch as magical feedback tore through him. He wanted to scream, but he could not, would not. There were wards all around him, standing below him, racing into the courtyard to seek his protection and comfort.

“Stay calm,” Artus said despite the pain that flowed through him in waves. “You are safe inside the cathedral.”

“What happened?” someone asked.

“What’s going on out there?” another cried.

“Who are you?” a third said as three men ran into the courtyard from the far side opposite the nave’s archway. “What are you—”

The ward, a man in his late fifties, never finished his query. His throat was laid open with a stubby blade and his body shoved out of the way so the three men could get at the rest of the wards.

“Stop! Stop this,” Artus yelled.

His words held power and the three men slowed as if they were running through clear molasses. But as soon as Artus’s words stopped echoing in the courtyard, the men were able to move at full speed again and they proceeded to cut down anyone and everyone in their way.

“No,” Artus shouted, but it did not stop the men.

A woman screamed and clutched at her belly as her intestines spilled out through her fingers. A boy of ten was slammed into a stone column, his head cracking open like a piece of fruit. Another woman, in her early thirties, tried to flee from the courtyard into the nave, but a blade whooshed through the air behind her, embedding itself halfway up her back. She stumbled and fell onto her face, still and lifeless.

Artus could do nothing. The bloodshed ripped at him. He felt every slashing blade cut, every crunch of bone, every life that was cruelly, brutally snuffed out. Artus’s very soul screamed to go on the attack, but that was not what he was made for. And even if he was, he knew he didn’t have the energy to do much of anything.

The sanctuary grounds had been breached. Somehow, a possessed vessel had been carried through it. All of that magic, all of that energy that he had been pouring into the protective barrier for six years was lost in the blink of an eye. None of the power was returned to him. It was simply gone, returned into the infinite that made up the universe.

Which meant he had to focus all of his remaining power, and concentration, on the cathedral itself. As long as its walls stood, he could hold off the possessed hordes, which he knew were even then rushing the fence and preparing to storm the cathedral.

He had been carved to protect, not fight, and that was what he would do.

Except, as he watched the bloodshed play out below, Artus wondered who would be left to protect. So much killing, so much murder. And not by demon hands, but by the free will of unpossessed humans. Traitors and collaborators. Fools who had been made promises that Artus knew not one of the demons would ever honor.

Blood and bodies quickly covered the courtyard, and then it was over. The wards who had come to Artus for safety and protection had instead found death and dismemberment.

The three men wiped their blades on their dirty, soiled jeans then turned as one and looked up at the stationary gargoyle. They snickered and pointed, making crude comments about what they’d do to him.

“You may try,” Artus said. “But you will fail.”

“That so, ugly?” Jon said as he joined the three men. “I have a feeling you may be wrong on that.”

He held up his short pipe that was capped on both ends. He untwisted one end and let the metal cap fall to the ground. Normally, it would have made a loud clatter against the courtyard stones, but it only thudded dully as it landed in a thick pool of blood.

Jon tipped the pipe on an angle and a thick rod of black glass came out. He smiled up at Artus as he gripped the obsidian in his right hand, tossing the empty pipe away with his left.

“Get me a ladder,” Jon ordered. None of his men moved. “Get me a fucking ladder!”

Two of the men took off in different directions while the third stayed behind Jon, his eyes turning to the obsidian that Jon was waving around.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Jon said. “This kind, old man gave it to me.”

“That was not given to you by any man,” Artus said.

“Oh, it wasn’t?” Jon replied and shrugged. “Well, golly gee, he sure looked like an old man. I mean, what else could he have been?”

“What did they promise you?” Artus asked.

“More than you could ever offer,” Jon said. “Freedom.”

“There is no such thing amongst the demons,” Artus said. “You have been tricked and lied to. When you have served your purpose, you will be taken over like all the vessels have been before you.”

“That right, Jon?” the man behind him asked. “You said you had a contract.”

“Shut the fuck up, Louis,” Jon snapped. “This old drain spout is trying to mess with your head.”

“You signed a contract?” Artus asked and chuckled softly. “You must know that it isn’t worth the paper it was written on.”

“Wasn’t written on paper,” Jon replied. “It was written on the back of some dead chick. Peeled and stretched so that the ink would show up right nice.”

He laughed and brandished the obsidian up at Artus.

“The best part was that, instead of signing on the dotted line, I signed on her tramp stamp,” Jon said, laughing harder. “One of those curlicue looking tats that sluts get when they want to be taken from behind. I signed right there.”

“You signed a lie,” Artus said.

“No, pretty sure the guy said her name was Holly,” Jon said. “Or Molly. Something like that. He said knowing her name was important, but what the fuck do I care about some dead chick’s name? I was all about making a deal and not running anymore.”

“You could have come here,” Artus said.

“I did,” Jon replied as one of his men returned with a rickety-looking wooden ladder. “What the hell is that?”

“All I could find,” the man said, almost slipping in the blood as he hurried over to Jon with the ladder. “Here.”

“Don’t give it to me, moron,” Jon said. “Set it up over there so I can climb up and kill this stupid gargoyle.”

The man hurried, almost slipping once more, and leaned the ladder up against the stonework directly under Artus.

“The guy who hired me says this is gonna be quite a light show when I cut you,” Jon said, walking toward the ladder. “So, even though it’s kinda dark in here, I’m gonna wear these.”

He slipped his glasses down from on top of his head and settled them on his face.

“I will offer you one more opportunity to repent and reject the evil that has been forced upon you,” Artus said.

“You sound exactly like my old parole officer,” Jon said as he reached the ladder. “I killed his ass too.”

2

OLIVIA’S EYES WERE like fiery jewels as she lashed out with the edges of her stone gown. A man screamed, clutched at his left thigh, screamed again, clutched at his right thigh, then didn’t stop screaming as his legs from mid-thigh down separated from the rest of his body. Olivia whipped her gown out once more, flicking the blood clean, sending droplets flying against the wall.

“That’s quite the skill,” Antoine said, another man’s head in his hands. He wiggled his fingers against the head’s slack face. “I did it the old-fashioned way. Claws.”

Olivia held up a hand and cocked her head like she was listening to a far-off whisper. “There is another roaming the cathedral. Two more in the courtyard.”

“You tapped into the sanctuary even though Artus told you not to,” Antoine stated.

“Yes,” Olivia said. She glanced up at the vaulted ceiling of the corridor. “Roan is with me, as well.”

“Well, you’re in good company,” Antoine said.

“I need to get to the courtyard,” Olivia said. “They will try to harm Artus.”

“Good plan,” Antoine said.

“I need you to find the wards who are left alive and get them somewhere safe,” Olivia said.

“Tunnels?” Antoine asked. “They’re pretty secure.”

“Not anymore,” Olivia said and nodded at the head in Antoine’s hands. “How do you think they got in?”

“Oh, right,” Antoine said and let the severed head fall to the floor.

“Find the wards and send them to Nissa and Tessa,” Olivia said. “They were going down to the armory. That will be the safest area in the cathedral.”

“You said I got fight in me, and you’re right, O,” Antoine said “I can take the rest by myself.”

“It is not the men I am worried about,” Olivia replied. “The sanctuary grounds have been breached. Only the cathedral stands. The siege has truly begun.”

“Well, ain’t that a kick in the shorts,” Antoine said.

“Find the wards, take them down to the armory, barricade yourselves inside and do not open up for anyone except a fellow grotesque,” Olivia said. “Understood?”

“Understood,” Antoine said with a bow.

“Good,” Olivia said. “Now go.”

Antoine was already sprinting away before the last word had passed Olivia’s lips. She turned and hurried from the bloody corridor, hell-bent on reaching the courtyard before it was too late.

But she paused as she saw the infirmary door slam shut. Highlander. He wasn’t safe in there.

“Highlander,” Olivia called as she rushed the door and shoved it open.

A strange man was moving toward Highlander, a hunk of sharp metal in his hand. Highlander was backed up against a table, a scalpel held out and slashing the air in front of him, desperate to ward the man off. The man only laughed.

“I do not find homicide funny,” Olivia said. The man spun about and his eyes went wide. Then they narrowed and he doubled his grip on the sharpened metal and grinned at Olivia. “Put that down before I kill you.”

“You’re kinda pretty for a monster,” the man said. He had two teeth, one on top, one on the bottom. “Whatcha look like under that concrete dress of yers?”

“This,” Olivia said and her body became blue fire and pure rage.

The man screamed as the blue flames sprang from Olivia’s body and engulfed him. He was a mound of crisp skin and smoking flesh before she had taken three steps toward him.

“You can do that?” Highlander asked, coughing from the man smoke that wafted into his face.

“I can do more than that,” Olivia said.

“That was neat,” Highlander said. He spat on the smoldering pile of dead man. “Where’d he come from?”

“That does not matter,” Olivia said. “What does matter is I need to get you somewhere safer than in here.”

There was a scream from out in the corridor.

Olivia cocked her head. “That was Kimmy,” she said.

She grabbed Highlander by the arm and he started to freak out, but she pulled him along so fast he had to use all his concentration not to trip and fall flat on his face. She let go when they reached the corridor. Not because she wanted to, but because an iron pike was jammed into her belly.

“Oh, shit,” Gil cried as he let go of the pike and jumped back. “I thought it was gonna be. . . . I mean. . . . Oh, shit . . .”

The stone around the spike cracked and crunched as Olivia slowly pulled it free. She let the pike clatter to the floor then put out a hand and steadied herself against the wall.

“Why?” she asked.

Rider and Joanie stood directly behind Gil, mouths wide open in shock and surprise. Kimmy was on the floor, her hand to her cheek, the skin swelling fast. Brian was turning the corner and running to them when he stopped, his arms full of makeshift weapons. The junk fell from his grip as he saw Olivia standing before the others and Kimmy on the floor.

“What the hell, Gil?” Brian yelled. “What are you doing?”

“He thought I’d come out because Kimmy screamed,” Highlander said, his eyes widest of anyone’s. There was also something else in those eyes. Something that Gil had only glimpsed before. “They thought I’d help her because I do that. I help people. They thought they could kill me and no one would know.”

Highlander looked around the corridor and shook his head.

“Chaos,” he said, backing toward the infirmary door. “It’s all chaos. He wanted to use the chaos.”

“You’re creepy as hell when you do that talking-to-yourself thing,” Gil said. “One reason you need to die.”

“Gil,” Joanie gasped. “You said you were only gonna scare him so we could hide in there.”

“Yeah, well, I was improvising,” Gil said. He glanced down at the iron pike at Olivia’s feet.

“If you would like to try again, feel free,” Olivia said as the wound in her stone belly sealed up without even a trace it had been there. Her eyes were blue flame once more and everyone except for Gil took several steps back. “Go ahead, Gil. Pick it up and try again.”

Gil looked like he was going to, but before he could even bend his knees, the pike was snatched up and embedded in his throat. A strangled, bloody screech leaked out around the metal as he collapsed onto his knees.

Everyone screamed. Hands went to mouths, eyes followed the path of the pike up to the person holding it.

Highlander let go of the pike and wiped his hands on his jeans. As soon as he let go, Gil fell over onto his side, blood pouring from the wound, the pike clattering against the stone floor, still embedded in his throat. Blood pumped out around the pike in slowing spurts. There was a hissing gurgle then a last sigh and Gil’s eyes glazed over.

“Fuck,” Brian yelled.

“Oh, my God,” Kimmy cried.

“Whoa,” Rider gasped. “That just happened.”

“No.” At Olivia’s roar the teens stumbled and fell to the floor next to Kimmy. “No.”

“I had to,” Highlander said, still wiping his hands on his jeans. “He wouldn’t stop. The ones like that never stop.”

“Dude,” Brian said quietly. “You killed him. You totally killed him.”

“He was a dick,” Kimmy said.

“Dick or not, I have to protect the sanctuary and any threats against the wards inside this cathedral,” Olivia replied. Her voice hitched slightly and she slowly turned to look at Highlander. “You have become a threat.”

“What? Me?” Highlander asked, shocked at the fiery look Olivia gave him. “No, wait, no, hold on, no, come on, no. No, no, no, no.”

“I am sorry,” Olivia said. “I am bound by the magic.”

“But he was a monster,” Highlander shouted.

“He was unarmed,” Olivia replied. “That was murder, Highlander. I am sorry.”

“Whatcha sorry about?” Nissa asked as she and Tessa came walking down the corridor.

They were armed to the teeth, draped in all kinds of rifles, pistols, grenades, and ammo belts. The noise they made was like a junk wagon rattling down a cobblestone road. Tinkers of death and destruction.

“Holy shit, will ya look at that,” Tessa exclaimed. “Somebody made a Gil-kabob. Who did it? I want to shake their hand. I hated that punk-ass bitch.”

Highlander raised his hand.

“Nice,” Tessa said.

The faeries assessed the scene and laughed.

“Oh, man, Olivia, were you gonna kill Highlander?” Nissa asked. “You have that whole, I’m-gonna-kill-a-ward-because-a-ward-killed-a-ward vibe.”

“Whoa, you were, weren’t ya?” Tessa said, but didn’t wait for Olivia to answer. “Cold, man. So fucking cold.”

“You might want to hold off on killing him,” Nissa said as she unslung a double-barreled shotgun and held it out. “We’re gonna need every ward we can if we’re gonna hold the cathedral.”

“He has committed a mortal sin,” Olivia said.

“Have you looked outside?” Tess asked, pointing at one of the windows, which was an awkward gesture since she was holding a semi-automatic pistol in her hand as well as four grenades dangling precariously by their pins from her fingers like gaudy rings. “We got a whopper of a possessed problem. All hands on deck, chica.”

“They took down the fence and are coming straight at the door,” Nissa said as she racked a shell into a pump-action shotgun. “And they sure as shit ain’t selling Girl Scout cookies.”

3

ELISA TACKLED THE man about the waist right before he brought the hunk of metal down on Hannah a second time. The first blow had seriously messed up the older woman’s right arm; the second was sure to kill her.

The man shouted a string of epithets at Elisa, but she ignored him. She’d heard them all before, plenty of times. A life spent on the streets made her completely immune to any of the dozens of foul names the man was spitting at Elisa as she tried to wrestle the sharp metal from his grip.

“Bitch! Let go,” the man snarled, trying for a head-butt.

He missed and Elisa brought her right elbow down and across his face, splitting his left cheek wide open. He cried out and struggled to get free of Elisa’s weight, but she ground down with a knee right in his crotch and his cry turned into a squeal which turned into a silent moan, mouth wide open, eyes about to pop from his head.

Elisa hit him again with her elbow and his head slammed into the ground. His grip weakened and there was zero hesitation on Elisa’s part as she yanked the metal free from him, brought it up over her head, then down into the man’s chest. Blood spurted up and she turned her head as her face became sticky and warm.

“Ugh,” she said as she rolled off the man, leaving the metal standing in the middle of his chest like a disgusting flag pole. “He stinks.”

A hand touched Elisa’s thigh and she flinched then relaxed as she saw Hannah trying to smile at her. The older woman was severely beaten and cut up, one eye swollen completely shut, but she was still able to smile and that gave Elisa the energy she needed to get her ass up out of the grass.

“Come on,” Elisa said and helped Hannah to her feet. “We need to get you—”

She didn’t finish. The noise of the iron fence bending overpowered any words she could have uttered. It sounded like the world being ripped apart as the solid rails and bars were simply bent in half by the size and weight of the possessed horde. Those in front were crushed against the fence, sacrificed for leverage, and their bodies were slowly pulped, squeezed through the bars, sending blood and guts to spray and splatter on the grass of the sanctuary grounds.

Or former sanctuary grounds. That magic was gone, ripped free of its moorings. That was easy to see.

“Get out of here, dolls,” Coins shouted, appearing at hers and Hannah’s sides. “The cathedral is still protected! Get your butts in there! Now!”

Elisa nodded, barely registering the G’s words as the horde of possessed shoved, clawed, and fought their way over each other, all trying to be the first ones to set foot on ground that had been off-limits only minutes before. Her eyes shifted to Morty’s still form that lay only a few yards away, halfway buried in a mound of grass and dirt.

Xue was standing close to Morty and staring down at what was held in the G’s arms.

“Is that a girl?” Elisa asked. “Shit! That’s a girl!”

She ran toward Morty and Xue, ignoring both Coins’s and Hannah’s shouts of protest behind her. She had barely reached Xue when the large G raised a stone paw over the girl’s head, ready to bring it down in one, life-ending swipe.

“No,” Elisa shouted, causing Xue to pause in mid-blow.

“No,” Morty croaked and held up a hand to block Xue. It was a weak gesture.

“She is possessed,” Xue snarled. “Morty brought her through the barrier, destroying it and the magic that kept the grounds safe.”

“Didn’t . . . know,” Morty sighed. “Honestly . . .”

“I believe you,” Xue said. “But she must die. Now.”

“She’s just a girl,” Elisa complained, her hands pulling at Xue’s shoulders.

He swiveled his head and stared at her, eyes glowing orange with an ancient fire. “You are not that naive, Elisa.”

Elisa didn’t have a response to that. She was actually surprised at her protest. If the girl was possessed, then there was nothing she could do to help her. The damage was already done.

“Last Stonecutter,” Morty said.

“What?” Xue asked, his head whipping back around to regard the fallen G. “What did you say?”

“She is . . . the last . . . Stonecutter,” Morty said. “Damn. . . . Can you . . . help me . . . up?”

“What the hell in a handbasket is going on?” Coins asked as he ran up to them.

“Morty says she’s the—” Elisa started.

“Shandra?” Coins asked. “No, wait, not Shandra.”

Morty shifted and looked at Coins.

“Shandra was her mother,” Morty said, some of his strength back in his voice.

He shifted and Desiree’s body shifted with him. Xue and Elisa took an instinctive step back. But Coins stepped forward and knelt in close.

“What’s her name?” Coins asked.

“Desiree,” Morty said. “She’s the last Stonecutter.”

“Yeah, she is,” Coins said.

“She is possessed,” Xue stated.

The horde of possessed crossed the boundary that had once held them out and came at the small group standing in the grass and dirt.

“We must kill it and get inside to safety,” Xue said.

“Shit, look at her,” Coins said as if Xue had said nothing. “Is she dying?”

“Yes,” Morty said. “I was bringing her back here so Highlander could fix her up. Or try to.”

Coins stood suddenly and looked around. “Where is he?” he asked.

“Who?” Xue asked.

“The G. Big, huge guy, obsidian gloves and swords,” Coins said.

“Mortar shell got him,” Morty said.

“Damn,” Coins said. “He would have been good to have around.”

“Who?” Elisa asked.

“Dammit,” Xue roared. “She is possessed and must be killed!”

“Hold on, Clifford,” Coins said and fished his coin from his stone pocket. “No one’s killing this little girl today.”

“She cannot come inside the cathedral if she is possessed,” Xue snarled. “Stonecutter or not, her soul is lost.”

“Please,” Coins scoffed as he knelt again and gently pried open Desiree’s mouth.

The little girl’s eyes shot open. They were pitch-black and filled with bottomless evil.

“We are Legion,” she said with a hiss.

“Oh, shut up,” Coins said and jammed the coin inside Desiree’s mouth then clamped her lips shut. “No one cares.”

The girl writhed and squirmed, her entire body one huge convulsion.

“You’re killing her,” Morty cried and reached for Coins’s hands, but he was slapped away.

“Trust me,” Coins said as black sludge leaked from the girl’s eyes and ears. It seeped into the ground and was gone, leaving only a dead patch of grass and an odor like egg farts. “There. Clean as a whistle. Let’s get her inside and find Highlander.”

“She isn’t breathing,” Elisa said, her eyes watching the girl’s chest.

“Shit,” Morty said as he struggled to get to his feet.

Elisa rushed in and took the girl from him. She felt so light and frail. And cold.

“She needs CPR,” Elisa said, her ear to the girl’s still chest.

“No time out here,” Coins said. “We do it inside.”

“It may be too late by then,” Elisa said.

“It’s too late out here,” Morty said and nodded at the horde that was now racing at them.

“Oh, God,” Elisa whispered as Morty tried to take Desiree back from her. “No. You’re hurt, I can see—”

“I’m fine,” Morty growled. He shook his head as he pulled his arms back. “Just run. Now!”

The group, including Xue, ran for the cathedral, grabbing a wounded, swaying Hannah on the way, forcing the older woman to keep up despite her injuries.

There was no choice. It was run until collapse, or stay and be ripped apart by a couple of thousand possessed vessels. No choice at all.

4

THE KNIFE SLID in easily between the fourth and fifth ribs. The woman gasped, her eyes wide with pain and confusion, then she let out her last breath and collapsed against the man.

“That’s right, bitch,” he said. “You come at me and you get the blade. Anyone else want some of this?”

“You’re gonna die!” one of the capitals in the nave’s archway shouted. “Death is coming for you!”

“Gonna rip you a new one,” the other shouted.

“That right? You gonna do it?” the man yelled, pointing the blade at the talking stone faces. When they didn’t move, he shouted, “I didn’t think so! How about you shut the hell up then?”

He sneered back at the dozen wards huddled in the corner of the nave, most of them with their heads turned away, refusing to watch their own deaths coming. The man laughed and gave the knife a couple of swipes through the air. Half the wards that dared to meet his eye cried out. Some peed themselves.

“Bunch of crybaby sheep.” The man chuckled. “You people are why the demons won. You don’t even want to live anymore. I show you some steel, draw a little blood, and you’re all weeping and whining like little shits. You deserve to die.”

“I believe, young man, you have that backward,” Antoine said as he dropped from the rafters above and landed directly behind the man. He placed a hand on each side of the man’s head. “You are the one that deserves to die.”

Twist, snap, pop, dead.

“Told ya,” the stone faces said, cackling in unison.

The headless corpse fell to the floor as Antoine tossed the severed head over his right shoulder like a piece of wadded paper.

“You folks okay?” Antoine asked. He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “Uh, some of you definitely are not.”

Two things happened at exactly the same time, nearly making Antoine’s head spin right off his own shoulders.

Artus screamed from the courtyard, and the front doors of the cathedral slammed open while Xue, Morty, Coins, Hannah, and Elisa, holding some dead-looking girl in her arms, came rushing inside so fast that Antoine thought he saw comic book speed lines trailing from their backs.

Artus screamed again and Antoine tore his eyes from the front doors so he could race into the courtyard. What was happening at the front doors was a distraction. Artus needed help and that was all that mattered.

“What in the name of all that is made of stone is going on in here?” Antoine shouted.

Jon was up on the ladder, whacking at the spot where Artus was joined to the cathedral while some strung-out punk stood below, holding the ladder steady since it looked like it wanted to crumple into splinters with each and every whack.

“Take care of him,” Jon said to the man below.

“Uh . . . what?” the man asked, his eyes going from amusement to fear in a blink. “How?”

“Smash them with iron,” Jon said. “That’ll do the job.”

“Smash who with iron?” Antoine asked and looked around. “Me?” There was shouting from the gallery and a noise like a rumbling wave coming from outside, but he ignored all that as Artus screamed a third time. “Knock that off!”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, asshole,” Jon said and laughed. He stopped laughing and glared down at his henchman. “Kill him.”

“I think he meant to say that to me,” Antoine said.

He was on the man in one leap.

Goblin claws and goblin fangs went to work and the man was shredded flesh in seconds. Parts were everywhere like macabre and bloody glitter. Antoine wiped his claws on his chest and looked up at Jon.

“I told you to knock that off,” he said.

“If you say so,” Jon replied as Antoine grabbed the ladder.

Jon gave one last whack. Artus broke free of his moorings and fell to the ground with an unceremonious thud. A few pieces of stone chipped off from his body, but the rest remained intact. Artus didn’t make a sound, only blinked his stone eyes a few times and focused on Antoine.

Jon jumped down from the ladder and clutched the obsidian with his right hand, swiping it back and forth like some B movie villain. Antoine looked over one shoulder then the other and shrugged.

“Is that glass toothpick for me?” Antoine asked.

“I can do some real damage with it, you stone fuck,” Jon said.

“Uh, okay?” Antoine replied. “Good for you?”

He took a couple of steps toward Jon and the man swung the obsidian in a wide arc, trying to keep the G back. Antoine laughed.

“Why’d they send you in?” Antoine asked and nodded at Artus. “To hurt him? Well, he’s hurt. Now, how about you get the hell out of our cathedral and tell your demon overlords that they failed? You do that and I let you live.”

“They haven’t failed,” Jon said. “They’ve won, man. Your sanctuary is over. Nowhere left to hide.”

“Hide? I’m standing right here,” Antoine said. He glanced at Artus and the old gargoyle gave him a weak, but knowing nod in return. “So you aren’t going to deliver my message?”

“The only message being delivered, bitch, is the one from Hell to you sorry-ass gargoyles,” Jon snarled.

“Grotesques,” Antoine said.

“What?” Jon asked.

“Grotesques,” Antoine said. He pointed at Artus with one bloody claw. “He’s a gargoyle, yeah, but the rest of us are grotesques.”

“So fucking what?” Jon shouted. “What does it matter?”

“It matters,” Antoine said and shrugged. “Or maybe it doesn’t. I don’t know.”

Jon lifted the obsidian above his head and moved to stand over Artus, ready to bring it down in one last killing blow.

“Nope,” a voice said from behind him.

The gunshot rang out and the wards still cowering back in the nave screamed. Antoine jumped as Jon looked down at his chest and the gaping hole there.

“What the fuck?” he whispered before collapsing onto the ground.

He twitched a couple of times then lay still.

“Do you feel lucky, punk?” Nissa said from the far side of the courtyard, a pistol almost larger than her arm gripped in both hands. “Well, do ya?”

“You’re supposed to ask that before you shoot him,” Tessa said.

“Oh,” Nissa said. “Okay, stand him up and let’s do it again.”

The faeries looked at Antoine, expectant and waiting.

“What? No, I’m not standing the dead meatbag up so you can quote some old movie and shoot his corpse,” Antoine said. “What I’m going to do is help Artus back up onto his perch. Want to give me a hand?”

He looked at the massive amount of weapons the two Gs were weighted down by.

“Maybe not, you two are busy,” he said. He hurried to Artus and knelt. “Hold on, I’ll get you back in place.”

“No,” Artus said. “It does not matter. I no longer possess the power to protect us. My magic still flows through the stones of this cathedral for now, but in minutes, it will fade and the possessed will be able to breach these walls. You must escape.”

“Yeah, not happening, OG,” Nissa said.

“Nope,” Tessa agreed. “Not happening. This place is ours. Ain’t no jacked-up humans gonna take it from us.”

She racked the slide of her pump-action shotgun for emphasis.

“That is so badass when you do that,” Nissa said.

“I know,” Tessa replied. She racked it again and a cartridge flew from the breach.

“Too much,” Nissa said. “You ruined it.”

“Dammit,” Tessa responded as she bent to retrieve the shotgun shell. Her hand was an inch too short. “Move to the left, will ya? I can’t reach it.”

She paused in mid-reach as the cathedral shook from a massive impact at the front doors. There was a groan of wood and all of the Gs turned to stare through the nave to the torchlit gallery beyond.

“We should not have felt that,” Antoine said.

“Nope,” Nissa said. “That ain’t good.”

“Nope,” Tessa agreed, forgetting all about the fallen shotgun shell.

Antoine spun about and helped Artus upright. The gargoyle was shaky and could barely stand, especially since he wasn’t carved to stand, but he managed a smile and patted Antoine’s arm.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now, gather the wards, find the other Gs, and leave. Run. Find a new sanctuary. This cathedral is done for.”

“Done for?” Nissa laughed. The faeries cocked a hip and grinned. They both displayed the weapons they were loaded down with. “With us around? Nah, we ain’t even close to done for.”

They marched out of the courtyard toward the front doors, dropping ammunition in their wake like deadly breadcrumbs.

“Will you be all right here?” Antoine asked. “I should go help.”

“I will be fine,” Artus said.

“You sure?” Antoine pressed.

“I am sure,” Artus said and patted him again. “Go. Fight. Do what you feel you must.”

Antoine nodded then hurried off to follow the faeries. The wards were still huddled in fear and Antoine glared at them as he went by.

“Do something to help yourselves,” he snapped. “Go get more ammunition and weapons from the armory.”

None of them moved.

“Now,” Antoine yelled.

A few yelped in fear, but a couple actually got up and ran from the nave toward the basement stairs. Antoine hoped they were doing as he asked and not merely looking for a better place to cower.

He reached the archway to the gallery and looked up. The two capitals who had just been cheering him on were silent and still at the tops of the columns, the magic so low they couldn’t even give him a sarcastic sneer.

Antoine had never seen that happen before. That more than anything drove a spike of fear deep into his stone guts.

The cathedral shook again and the front doors quivered in their frames.

Xue and Morty were at the doors with Nissa and Tessa. They looked back as Antoine approached.

“This went to hell fast,” Antoine said.

“It always does,” Xue replied.

Another impact, more shaking of the doors.

“Uh, where is Deek and Geffe?” Antoine asked. “Scythia?”

“I don’t know,” Morty said. “I just managed to knock the gravel loose from my brain. I don’t know where those Gs are.”

“Geffe is out there,” Xue said. “Down by the gates. I do not know Scythia’s or Deek’s location.”

5

“YOU MAY COME out,” Artus said. “Deek? I know you are still here.”

Deek slowly moved from the shadows in the corner of the courtyard. His flute was held in a limp grip, his small hooves stumbling and steps weak as he stared at the dead that were strewn everywhere.

“I . . .” he began to say, but couldn’t finish and shook his head.

“I know,” Artus said. “Not all Gs were made to handle such violence.”

Deek nodded, his stone eyes still staring at the corpses of the wards he was supposed to have helped protect.

“Can I . . . ? How can I help now?” Deek asked.

“Show the wards respect,” Artus said. “Gather them together, cross their arms, and give them a proper goodbye.”

Deek nodded and got to work as the siege raged outside. The sound of the possessed horde seeped in through every crack and gap in the cathedral’s stone walls. It was like an angry whisper that could not be placed and seemed to come from everywhere at the same time.

When he was done positioning the bodies into a line, arms crossed over chests, Deek plucked his flute from his belt and played.

“That is nice,” Artus said and closed his eyes.

Deek was so busy playing, trying to make up for his earlier cowardice with a song of magic and power he hoped would give the dead wards some peace in their journey to the afterlife, if there was one, that he didn’t notice how Artus’s stone body became truly still, another corpse to be added to the list.

Deek played on.

6

GEFFE WAS NOT having fun.

He’d started to run back into the cathedral when he and Jack had felt the sanctuary’s protective magic kick in. Hard to miss when the ground shook and a bolt of power shot up through stone legs and into stone guts.

But then things went sour.

Geffe barely made it halfway to the steps when explosions in the sky caught his attention. Then there was a strange G flying toward the sanctuary grounds, followed by what looked like Morty. More explosions, the strange G fell, Morty fell, a flash of light so intense that Geffe thought his stone eyes would be seared forever, and Hannah running from the cathedral chased by some guy who obviously had murder on his mind.

His first instinct was to go help Hannah. But that was wiped away as Jack screamed. If Geffe had had blood in his body, it would have run cold at the sound of Jack’s screams.

Slowly, because God knew he didn’t want to, Geffe turned to look back down at the gates. The possessed had swarmed them and were chipping away at Jack with crowbars, screwdrivers, tire irons, and whatever else they had on hand. A couple of the demon-filled vessels took potshots with their pistols, but the ricochets kept hitting others, so they were shouted at and told to knock it off.

Jack screamed and screamed.

“Dammit,” Geffe said as he ran back to the gates.

They fell as he reached them, Jack’s voice breaking off in mid-scream. Geffe slid to a halt and was going to turn to run away again, but he was overwhelmed by the first wave of possessed, his small half-donkey, half-human form trampled into the dirt and grass.

He was stone, so being trampled wasn’t exactly a worry.

The worry began when he was lifted out of the dirt, held up by hundreds of possessed hands, and passed backward across the sea of vessels until he was outside the sanctuary grounds. He was taunted, threatened, told he would die the worst deaths imaginable; but surprisingly, he was not harmed. Even though the possessed had more than enough weapons of obsidian to get the job done.

They didn’t harm him. The sea of possessed continued to flow, and Geffe eventually found refuge when he was thrown to the island of the rotten bar.

“Geffe, yes?” a possessed man asked. “Valac.”

Geffe lay on the top of the bar. The surface was covered in so many sticky, anonymous liquids, that when he shifted his body, the movement squelched loud enough to be heard over the roaring enthusiasm of the possessed horde.

“It’s disgusting, I know,” Valac said. The man he possessed was missing his right eye, but Valac winked with that lid anyway. When Geffe shivered, he asked, “Cold?”

“What do you want?” Geffe growled.

“Not a lot anymore,” Valac said as he lifted a glass of brown liquor, drained it, then fished a bottle out from under the bar and refilled the glass. He pointed the newly filled glass at the horde. “I only have one last task to finish and my time up here is over. I get to return home and let others deal with running things on Earth.”

“You want to go back to Hell?” Geffe asked. “Why?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Valac replied. “It’s where I’m from. Unlike many of the demons who possess these pitiful bodies of flesh and bone, I was never human. I fell from above then grew up below. That is where I belong.”

“Fallen angel,” Geffe scoffed. “How many times have I heard that line?”

Valac shrugged and sipped his drink. His eyes darted to the chaos that was consuming the sanctuary grounds.

“Why protect them?” Valac asked and waved his hand. “Yes, I know that the magic, which created you, compels you to protect all that seek safety within your sanctuary, but why?”

“Buddy, I am going to assume that’s a rhetorical-type question,” Geffe replied. “Why do what you do? Because that’s who we are.”

“No, I disagree,” Valac said. “My work accomplishes something. I am here to build a new world and give my kind their rightful place on Earth. You and yours? Fighting for nothing. That’s the simple truth. Humanity is over, the species is dead. They can never rebuild, they can never achieve more than a tenuous grip on memories of what the world was like. And like those memories, the last humans not owned by my kind will fade away. Gone forever.”

“Maybe,” Geffe said. “But what happens to the human race ain’t exactly my area of expertise. All I know is some folks asked for sanctuary and we gave it to them. We protect them because that is what we do.”

“But when they are gone?” Valac asked. “When this sanctuary is gone?” He chuckled and finished his drink. “More so than it already is. What then? What will you and your stone brothers and sisters do then?”

“We protect the cathedral as we have since this all began,” Geffe said.

“Your cathedral will not be left to protect,” Valac said. “You know that. I know that. I am more than certain even the inanimate stones that the building is made from know that. It’s the obvious conclusion.”

“Nothing is obvious in this world,” a voice said from the tree line.

Valac didn’t look back right away. He refilled his glass and chuckled some more, sipping slowly. Then he set his glass down, turned and leaned his back against the bar, arms crossed.

“You are a hard one to kill,” Valac said. “Hell knows we have tried.”

“How is your friend Haborym?” Tom asked as he emerged from the trees. “Found his way back up here yet?”

“Haborym is around somewhere,” Valac said. “He always is.”

“Well I’ll be dipped in cow manure,” Geffe said as he regarded the huge grotesque. “Ain’t you something to behold.”

Tom was a mess. His left wing was sheared off completely, along with his left arm from the elbow down. Jagged hunks of obsidian clung to the stump like flecks of necrotic flesh. His face was scorch-marked and he had several divots in his stone helmet. One of his swords was snapped in half, but still sheathed in what was left of the scabbard.

He looked at Geffe and nodded.

“I came here with your friend Morty,” Tom said.

“Of course,” Valac said, interrupting before Geffe could respond. “You and Mordecai make a lovely couple.”

He downed his drink and smacked his lips then pushed off from the bar and walked toward Tom.

“The last Stonecutter died,” Valac said.

“No, she is not dead,” Tom replied.

“She was when they took her inside,” Valac said. “The demon forced from her body gave me a heads-up, as the humans like to say. Told me the girl was dead.”

“She is not dead,” Tom repeated. “I would know. I would feel it. I do not.”

“Maybe you’re wrong,” Valac said, still walking toward Tom. “Maybe you only believe you would feel it. Maybe the magic that made you lies and you will feel nothing at all when her death comes.”

Tom grinned, his black teeth shining in the dim light of the torches that dotted the area. “When her death comes?” Tom said. “See. You know she lives still.”

Valac smiled and held out his hands, palms up. “You got me. Caught in my own trap of half-truths.”

His hands moved to the small of his back and were suddenly gripping two shards of obsidian. His smile widened.

“I was not sent to find you, but you are a rare treasure,” Valac said. “A rogue grotesque not tied to a building.”

“I am tied to her,” Tom said. “She is the sanctuary I must protect.”

“I wish you luck with that,” Valac said and moved in fast.

He got two swipes of the black glass at Tom’s midsection before his hands were sent falling into the dirt. Tom flicked his blade clean then slid it back into its scabbard. Blood squirted out from Valac’s nubs, covering Tom from face to waist, yet the demon didn’t make a sound. No grunt, no cries of pain, no protest.

He only smiled.

“There is only one way out of all of this for her,” Valac said. “You know that. I can see it in your eyes. The struggle, the agony, the weight of the knowledge.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Geffe.

“Watch this one, donkey man,” Valac said. “When the time comes he will turn on all of you, even though he knows what must be done is the only way to—”

Valac stopped speaking as Tom’s shattered arm was shoved through his chest and out his back, the possessed body’s heart impaled upon the jagged end. A last sigh escaped Valac’s lips, the smile still there as the body fell to the ground to join its severed hands.

“Holy wow,” Geffe said. “You don’t mess around.”

“Tom,” Tom said.

“What?” Geffe asked.

“Tom is my name,” Tom said.

“Oh, good to know,” Geffe said. “I’m Geffe. Pleased to meet ya.”

“You will show me where they took Desiree,” Tom said.

“Sorry, partner, but I haven’t a clue who you’re jabbering about,” Geffe said. “Is that the girl Valac said was dead?”

“She’s not dead,” Tom said.

“Yep, you said that before,” Geffe replied.

“Take me to her,” Tom said.

Geffe stood on the bar, wiping some of the yuck from his butt and legs, then put a hand over his eyes like he was shielding them from the sun. Even though it was night.

“Yeah, I’m not sure you’re seeing what I’m seeing,” Geffe said. “I’d love to take you to this dead girl.”

“She’s not dead,” Tom growled.

“Right, okay, calm down,” Geffe said. “But have you noticed what’s between us and the cathedral? Only a couple of thousand obstacles.”

“They are nothing,” Tom said and pulled his blade back out. “They will be nothing. Follow me.”

Tom walked past the bar and straight for the collapsed gates. Geffe’s donkey jaw dropped.

“Follow you? Are you crazy?” Geffe called.

Then Tom began to slice and slash his way into the sea of possessed.

“Fair enough,” Geffe said and jumped down from the bar. “I can deal with crazy.”

He dove into the fight with Tom and they were both quickly consumed by the horde, the only signs of their passage the screams of pain and the occasional geyser of blood shooting up into the air.

7

HIGHLANDER WORKED fast. He shouted orders with such confidence that no one dared defy him as he held out his hand for surgical instruments, took them, and did all he could to keep the young girl alive.

“I’m going to be sick,” Elisa said as she turned her head from the girl’s wound that gaped at her while Highlander applied clamps to hold back torn flesh in order to get to the blood vessels that needed immediate attention. A small amount of blood spurted from the girl’s body and onto her shirt. “Oh, yeah, I’m gonna puke.”

“Do not puke,” Highlander snapped. “Hold this!”

He turned a pair of forceps toward her. To her credit, Elisa took them and held them still as Highlander worked.

Across the infirmary, Olivia finished applying bandages to Hannah’s injuries. The older woman only stared past the G’s shoulder, looking at some point in the far, far distance that was not in that room.

“She’s in shock,” Olivia said and looked back over her shoulder. “Fetch me a blanket.”

Kimmy, Brian, Rider, and Joanie huddled together in the corner of the infirmary, their eyes flitting back and forth between Olivia and Hannah, Highlander and Elisa.

“Now,” Olivia shouted. Joanie jumped, then scurried across the room to a set of shelves and the stacked blankets sitting on top.

“Quiet,” Highlander said with a hiss.

“Sorry,” Olivia said as Joanie handed her the blanket. Olivia wrapped it about the older woman’s shoulders and tried to smile. The smile faltered. “This will help.”

Hannah blinked a few times then looked Olivia in the eyes. “Nothing will help anymore,” Hannah said. “We let them in. It’s all over.”

“We didn’t know,” Brian protested from the corner. “We didn’t know.”

“Your ignorance is our death,” Hannah said.

“Stop talking like that,” Olivia said. “Choosing to be weak is stupid.”

“I am not choosing to—” Hannah began.

“Shut up! Now,” Highlander shouted at them. “I need to concentrate. Everyone shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

The room quieted down and all that could be heard was Highlander’s stressed and strained breathing and the click and clatter of stainless steel medical tools being tossed onto a tray set by his left elbow.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen went by before Highlander sighed and stepped back from the girl. “That’s all I can do,” Highlander said. “I’ve never performed surgery like that before. Not on people. Cats and dogs. A six-foot python once. But never a person.”

“Except for yourself,” Hannah said.

Highlander blinked then nodded. “Yes. True. Except for myself. I did that.” He nodded at Desiree. “I did that too.”

“You did your best,” Elisa said, her eyes on Desiree’s face. “She’ll make it or she won’t.”

“She’d better make it,” Coins said as he stood on top of a table and tried to see out one of the long, narrow stained glass windows along the infirmary’s wall. “That’s the last Stonecutter right there. If she doesn’t make it, then we might as well close up shop and call it quits for the day. And by day, I mean forever.”

“I did my best,” Highlander shouted. His hands went to his temples and he pressed in hard enough to make his eyes bulge slightly. “I did my best!”

Elisa hurried around the table and pulled his hands away before he could seriously hurt himself.

“You did,” Elisa said in a soft, soothing voice. “You did your best.”

“Last Stonecutter?” Kimmy asked, her voice cracking. “What does that mean?”

“It means she can make more of us,” Olivia said. “She can help build an army of grotesques so we can fight the demons.”

“That girl can do that?” Rider asked, sounding awed. “How? Is she like super fast at carving stone?”

“No,” Coins said and looked back at everyone in the room. “She’s not. She’s a girl with a special gift that I know she hasn’t been trained to use properly. There hasn’t been time.”

“You know her,” Elisa said as she helped Highlander strip off his latex gloves. She moved him over to a chair and forced him to sit down. He did so without protest or comment, his eyes completely focused on the still and faintly breathing form of Desiree on the medical table. “How do you know her?”

“Her grandfather carved me,” Coins said. “I keep telling you all that I was made in the 1990s, not earlier. I thought he was the last Stonecutter since his daughter, who wasn’t much more than her age when I was taken from the workshop, didn’t have the gift.”

“You remember all this?” Olivia asked. “How? Most of us only have snatches of memory from our time of full solidity.”

“I’m newer?” Coins asked, obviously unsure of his answer. “The magic was fresher?”

“It’s not milk,” Olivia said.

“I don’t know, Olivia,” Coins admitted. “I remember some things. That’s all I know.”

“So what can she do?” Rider asked. “Why is she so important that she has to be saved? If she can’t like carve a bunch of you guys in like five minutes, then she’s not worth much. We need an army of Gs like now.”

“I can’t argue with him,” Elisa said. The sound of the horde outside could easily be heard. “We need a hundred Gs built to fight. Otherwise, the possessed are getting in here.”

“I know,” Coins said and shrugged. “But she’s a girl. She’s only human. To carve one of us, if she even knows how, would take months. There’s a reason there aren’t thousands of animate Gs in the world. It’s hard damn work.”

“So we’re fucked?” Brian said. “Great.”

“We could use you as bait so the rest of us can escape past the possessed,” Highlander said, his eyes turning from Desiree to glare at Brian. “That would be appropriate, I think. Yes. I think that would be very appropriate since you let them in here. You let in the killers.”

“Careful, Highlander,” Olivia said. “Your hands are as bloody as theirs.”

“No they are not!” Highlander shouted. He leapt to his feet and pointed a finger at the group of teens. “They are the ones that are bloody! Over and over! My blood! Over and over! My blood! Over and over!”

“That was Gil,” Kimmy cried. “We didn’t like it.”

“Calm down,” Elisa said and wrapped Highlander in a strong embrace. “Take a deep breath. Calm down.”

He shoved her away. “Get off me,” he shouted. “Don’t touch me! No one touches me again! No one!”

“Calm yourself, Highlander, or I will calm you in a way you would not like,” Olivia said, her body taking on a slight glow.

Highlander shot her a look of pure hatred, but did not respond. He sat back down and closed his eyes, his arms folded across his chest.

He would have stayed that way forever, but Desiree stirred and moaned. He was up and at her side instantly, his fingers on her wrist to check her pulse. “Stronger,” he said, pure joy in his voice as if none of the strife from the moment before had happened. “So much stronger.” He looked back at Coins. “How?”

“She’s born of magic,” Coins said. Before the teens could butt in, he added, “She still can’t carve an army of Gs, though.”

Desiree mumbled some words and Highlander leaned in close to hear.

“What is she saying?” Elisa asked. Highlander shushed her. “Sorry.”

More mumbling, and Highlander stood up straight, backing away from the table so fast he tripped over his own feet and fell down against the chair he’d been sitting in, sending it clattering across the floor.

“What did she say?” Elisa asked, helping him back to his feet.

“Her blood,” Highlander said. “She said to take her blood. It’s the only way.”

“Only way to what?” Olivia asked.

“I don’t know,” Highlander said. “She didn’t say.”

All eyes turned on Coins. He flinched.

“Do you know?” Olivia asked.

Coins hesitated then nodded and said, “Yes.”

“What does it mean?” Elisa asked. “Why would she say to take her blood?”

Coins shook his head.

“Out with it, Coins,” Olivia ordered.

“Come on,” Coins said. “Look at her. She’s only a girl!” He shook his head over and over. “Nope. No way. I won’t be part of this.”

There was a huge crash and rumble from outside the infirmary. Then screams and shouting followed by gunfire. A lot of gunfire.

8

“WAHOO,” NISSA yelled as she strafed the oncoming horde with automatic rifle fire. Possessed bodies were ripped in two, in three, torn to shreds by the hot bullets. “Come and get some, you demon fucks!”

“Fire in the hole,” Tessa shouted as she pulled the pins from four grenades and threw them through the broken front doors.

Explosions tore apart the horde and body parts shot into the air, raining back down immediately, coating everyone in blood and guts.

“Beautiful,” Nissa yelled.

The horde pressed back to the opening in the cathedral. The weight of the mass behind the front line refused to retreat despite the certain death those in the lead faced as Nissa and Tessa emptied magazines full of bullets, tossed grenade after grenade, and thoroughly, completely enjoyed themselves with their armaments.

“How?” Morty yelled at Antoine.

“Artus,” Antoine said and hooked a clawed thumb over his shoulder, pointing it toward the courtyard. “One of the intruders took him down. He’s hurt and no longer attached to the cathedral directly.”

“He’s what?” Morty shouted, but didn’t wait for an answer.

He took off running through the nave, ignoring Antoine’s and Xue’s calls for him to stop and come back.

Morty also ignored the cowering wards who refused to leave their corner of false security. He raced past them and into the courtyard to find Deek playing his flute while crying at the same time.

With one look, it was obvious that Artus was solid. He wasn’t resting, he wasn’t saving his energy or strength. He was completely solid, no different than any non-magic gargoyle.

“When? How?” Morty sputtered.

Deek didn’t stop playing.

“Deek,” Morty shouted. “How did this happen?”

Deek’s eyes fell on Jon’s body.

Morty looked at it then grabbed it up in full rage and tore the corpse apart, ensuring that any part of the courtyard not already coated in blood was thoroughly covered.

Deek stopped playing, his eyes wide with shock.

“What?” Morty growled, his stone body dripping with Jon’s blood. “It had to be done.”

“Okay,” Deek said and let his flute fall from his fingers onto the courtyard’s cobblestones.

“Mordecai,” Xue roared from the front of the cathedral. “We need you!”

“Keep playing,” Morty said to Deek.

Before Deek could pick the flute up again and start playing, Morty had turned and stormed out of the courtyard. He stomped back to the gallery, ignoring the wards once more.

The horde was filling the doorway. Xue, Antoine, and even Nissa and Tessa, were fighting them back with brute force, shredding the possessed bodies as fast and brutally as Morty had shredded Jon’s corpse back in the courtyard.

“The shitty thing about guns is they run out of ammo,” Nissa shouted at Morty as he joined the fight to hold the gallery and keep the horde from making it inside the cathedral. Her faerie fist was dainty, but it had no trouble going straight through a possessed woman’s forehead and out the back of her skull. “That’s why the gods made fists, though, right?”

“Fucking A right,” Tessa yelled as she ripped a man’s arm off and shoved it through his rib cage.

Morty pummeled as many faces as he could focus on, his fists a blur of violence. To his left was Antoine, who was putting his claws and fangs to their full use. It was like watching a wood chipper in action, but with flesh and bone instead of pruned branches and fallen trees.

On the far side of Antoine was Xue. The huge grotesque didn’t lay a hand, or paw, on a single possessed vessel. He didn’t have to. His mouth was wide open and a stream of what looked like liquid fire shot out at the horde, ripping through the possessed like water through cheap tissue paper.

Morty had seen Xue use his power once before and knew it wasn’t so much a stream of fire as it was a stream of molten rock. Basically, the grotesque was puking lava. Morty had always thought it was way cooler than Olivia’s blue body flame, but he would never have said that to her face. Less cool or not, Olivia’s flame still did a lot of damage.

Morty almost felt less than adequate as he started throwing boring old punches with his boring old stone fists into the horde. Almost. It was hard to feel too inadequate when crushing skulls, breaking bones, and tearing hearts straight out through rib cages.

Nissa screeched and fell back, nearly taking Tessa with her. Her torso hung limp as an obsidian blade stuck out from her chest.

“Nooooo,” Tessa roared and began fighting ten times as hard as before, shredding every possessed that was within arm’s reach.

“Get her back,” Antoine yelled at Morty.

He was about to shove Nissa and Tessa out of the way and take their place, but the two were snatched up by a hundred grabbing hands and pulled out into the horde. Tessa fought like a wild animal, nothing but teeth and claws. But her screams and bloodcurdling cries of violence were cut short the second she was lost from sight and buried deep within the horde.

Then a huge explosion tore a twenty-yard hole in the horde.

“Guess she still had some grenades left,” Morty said in a voice that was a mix of pride and sorrow.

The others said nothing. There was nothing to say. They adjusted their positions to make up for the gap left by the faeries and kept on fighting.

9

“WE WON’T MAKE it,” Geffe yelled as he ducked and rolled under another swipe of an obsidian blade. “They have too much black glass!”

“We will make it,” Tom shouted back at him, snapping an arm off at the elbow as one of the possessed tried to stab him with obsidian. He laughed, but it was empty and mirthless. “Nice try! I do not fear your blades!”

“Yeah! Because you got the stuff built into you,” Geffe shouted. He slammed his fist into a kneecap and it popped free, ripping right through the man’s skin to fall bloody and useless onto the grass. The man fell and Geffe ripped his throat out. “I gotta be a little more careful!”

Geffe clambered over the corpse then fell back onto his ass as a hard kick to his donkey head sent him reeling.

“Get up! We are almost there,” Tom said, clearing the possessed out of the way with wide swipes of his sword. He was using so much force that he almost crushed the possessed as much as he sliced them in two. “Get up!”

They were almost there, true, having fought a good deal more than halfway through the horde, but they still had a lot of ground to cover before they reached the stone steps. Then the explosion hit and Tom was sent flying back from the blast’s concussive wave.

Geffe was low enough to the ground that he wasn’t affected nearly as much and recovered quickly, scrambling across body parts to reach the fallen grotesque.

“Your turn to get up,” Geffe yelled. He donkey-kicked a woman who tried to grab for him despite having half her body blown to crap. Most of her face caved in as his feet connected, but Geffe didn’t take credit. He was pretty sure the explosion had softened her up for him. “Get up, you big galoot!”

Tom moaned and struggled to sit up. He frowned and pushed Geffe away.

“Hey,” Geffe protested before a blade of obsidian struck the spot right where he’d been standing. “Oh.”

Tom went for his own blade, but it was no longer in his hand. The broken one was still on his waist, though, and he pulled that out, blocking another strike from the possessed man holding the obsidian blade. Tom’s stone eyes went wide as the two blades connected.

“That’s mine,” he roared and slid his broken blade down the man’s longer one then twisted and slashed, slicing the man’s hand off at the wrist with a quick flick. “Mine!”

He let his broken blade fall away and caught the undamaged one before it touched the ground. He kicked the possessed man back and lurched up onto his feet, stabbing the man through the head before he was fully upright.

“Good, you’re up,” Geffe said and pointed as the horde of possessed closed in around them again. “Just in time.”

Then he saw what the possessed all held. Obsidian. Every single one who had surrounded them was holding an obsidian blade or shard, brandishing them with obvious menace and intent to do serious harm to their stone bodies.

“I can take most of them, but not all,” Tom said, holding his blade out as he turned in a slow circle. “You will need to take on the rest.”

“Brother, I ain’t so sure I can do that,” Geffe said as the possessed tightened in on them.

“You don’t have a choice,” Tom said. “Fight and win, or you will die out here at the hands of the demon abominations.”

“Since ya put it that way,” Geffe said.

Geffe prepared himself to fight again, but it was quickly clear that they weren’t going to make it. There were too many possessed. That simple.

The sky, the ground, the possessed erupted in fire. The screams were of the vessels and the demons inside, a cacophonous wail of excruciating pain and pure outrage. The bodies burst apart from the heat, melting into bubbling pools of flesh punctuated by scorched bones and dotted with singed teeth here and there. Clumps of burning hair drifted up into the sky like innocent embers from an innocent campfire.

Roan landed directly on a clump of burning bodies and turned his head left then swept it right, his mouth throwing flame like an Army sergeant clearing brush in some jungle theater of war. The screams lifted, lifted, then faded as the fire’s fuel burned out.

The horde of possessed stopped in their tracks. Thousands of demon-filled vessels halted their march and attack on the cathedral and turned their eyes on Roan as the dragon grotesque spun about and cleared more room around Tom and Geffe. Obsidian glinted in the intense light of Roan’s flames, but no one made a move to stop the G.

“Get on,” Roan ordered.

Geffe didn’t hesitate. He hurried forward and scrambled up onto Roan’s back, settling in at the base of the G’s neck. Tom did not move so quickly. He watched Roan carefully, his sword still out and ready for a fight.

“Get on,” Roan shouted. The power of his voice made Tom take an involuntary step back. “Now!”

Tom nodded and climbed onto Roan’s back. The dragon grotesque was not quite as huge as the dragons of legend, but he was pretty damn close. He had more than enough room for a G Tom’s size to settle between his wings.

“Hold on,” Roan said as he lifted up off the ground.

The gunfire began immediately, the bullets bouncing harmlessly off Roan’s underside. An RPG was fired from somewhere in the crowd, but Roan only laughed as he dodged the missile easily. He sent a fireball soaring out over the landscape and the RPG followed immediately, colliding with the fireball and detonating harmlessly over the far-off trees.

“The protection is down,” Roan shouted, angling his head back so Geffe and Tom could hear him. “Artus has been removed from his perch!”

“Then why take us to the cathedral?” Tom yelled as the dragon began a circling descent toward the stones steps of the cathedral entrance. “We’ll be trapped inside.”

“I will take care of the protection,” Roan stated. “Yes, you may become trapped, but the cathedral will become a sanctuary once again under my power.”

“But for how long?” Tom shouted.

Roan gave him a side-eyed glance. “For as long as I can hold on.”

The dragon let loose with a wide swath of flame so hot that it was bright blue. It eradicated all of the possessed who were fighting to gain entrance to the cathedral. The steps were clear and Roan set down, his head facing the regrouping horde.

“Inside,” Roan ordered.

Geffe didn’t argue and was down and scrambling to the cathedral doors before Roan had fully settled. Tom hesitated, but gave the dragon a nod and jumped down from the grotesque’s back to follow Geffe inside.

10

“GOOD TO SEE you,” Morty said as Tom squeezed through the Gs to enter the cathedral. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.” He nodded at Tom’s missing wing and hand. “Looks like you almost didn’t. How’s that ego doing? Still fine?”

“Do not be rude, Mordecai,” Roan called over his shoulder. “A comrade in arms has been hurt.”

“What? No, it was a joke. He said something to me earlier at the casino about ego and . . . ,” Morty replied. He shook his head. “Never mind. You had to be there.”

“The wounds are nothing,” Tom said. He shrugged and turned to face the horde that was already swarming back at the cathedral. “But I do have your friend here to thank for extracting me from the possessed army.” Tom looked Morty up and down. “You took a direct hit. How are you not harmed?”

“Yeah, about that,” Morty began.

Before Morty could finish, two RPGs flew at the cathedral entrance, but both were incinerated by a stream of Roan’s fire.

Morty and Tom watched as Roan dug his claws into the steps, breaking the stonework over and over until there was nothing but gravel before the cathedral doors. The dragon shifted his weight and lay on his belly in the gravel. He closed his eyes as the horde was almost on him.

A flash of light erupted from the grotesque and enveloped the entire cathedral, creating a visual shield of wavering blue and white. Morty and Tom took a couple of steps back, completely taken by surprise at the show of power.

“I didn’t know he could do that,” Morty said.

“He should not be able to,” Tom replied. “He is a grotesque, not a gargoyle.”

“He’s always been different,” Morty said. “Now I see why.”

The horde reached the shield and the first line of possessed went up in blue flame.

“He will not be able to maintain that kind of power for long,” Tom said. “We will need a contingency plan.”

“We always do,” Morty said.

He turned from the doorway and regarded the Gs who stood behind them.

“We can’t stay,” Morty said.

Geffe, Antoine, and Xue regarded Morty with cautious, but understanding eyes. They each nodded then looked at Tom.

“He was made by Desiree’s grandfather,” Morty said. “The second to last Stonecutter.”

“Where is she?” Tom asked.

“The infirmary,” Antoine said.

“Will she live?” Tom asked.

“For now, yes,” Antoine said, those three words telling everyone that the odds were not good.

“Take me to her,” Tom snarled.

“I’ll do it,” Geffe said, glancing over his shoulder as the horde of possessed continued pressing, and dying, against Roan’s shield of protection. “I’m no good up here, anyway.”

“None of us are,” Morty said. “Let’s meet in the infirmary and we’ll plan our next move from there.”

“We do not have much time,” Xue said. “Roan is strong, but he cannot hold back the power of Hell forever.”

“Yeah, I know,” Morty said.

“What happened to your gargoyle?” Tom asked.

Morty nodded at that far-off courtyard. “A collaborator got to him,” he said. “The human was killed, but Artus is solid. I don’t know if we can do anything for him.”

“That’s not true,” Coins said as he approached the group.

“Coins?” Tom asked, his face showing nothing but complete surprise. “How . . . ?”

“I’m why she was leading you south,” Coins said. “Come on. I’ll explain in the infirmary. Right after I do something.”

He turned from the group and walked through the nave. No one headed for the infirmary; instead, they quickly followed behind Coins.

“What is that in your hand?” Morty asked, seeing a small vial clutched in Coins’s stone grip. “Is that blood?”

“Yes,” Coins said.

“Her blood,” Tom said and nodded, his confusion turned to understanding. “I see what must be done.”

Coins entered the courtyard and knelt next to Artus’s still form. Deek was playing a quiet, somber tune and he stopped as everyone came into the courtyard.

“Keep playing,” Coins said.

Deek shook his head as if to say it wouldn’t matter, but started playing again.

Coins opened the vial of blood and poured it over Artus’s head. There was no light, there was no whirling of air or crackling of electricity. The gargoyle simply opened his eyes and blinked at the Gs standing around him.

“Oh,” he said after a second or two. “Oh, I see now. Yes, she is right.”

“What?” Morty asked. “Who is right? What do you see?”

“Welcome back, Artus,” Xue said, giving Morty a harsh look.

Coins and Antoine helped Artus upright and the old gargoyle nodded in thanks. “I am fine now,” Artus said. “I will be fine until the time comes.”

“Time comes?” Morty growled. “Someone better be telling me what the ever-loving hell is going on soon, or I swear I’ll . . .”

He trailed off and shook with frustration.

“Yeah, I feel the same way, big guy,” Geffe said and patted Morty’s leg. “Like trying to navigate the range on a cloudy, starless night.”

“Here,” Coins said and handed Artus a second vial of blood. The gargoyle took it and held it in a shaking stone hand. Coins steadied him. “Don’t hesitate.”

“I shall not,” Artus said. “Now, all of you, go and prepare. There is little time.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “So little time.”

“Will someone tell me what is going on?” Morty nearly roared.

“Infirmary,” Coins said. “That’s where everyone is at.”

Except everyone was not there. The remaining wards were still huddled in the corner of the nave as the Gs walked out of the courtyard.

“Come on, people,” Antoine said. “We’re moving.”

The people stayed where they were.

“Move,” Xue roared and specks of lava shot from his mouth to melt the stone floor of the nave.

The wards moved, crying and weeping as they hustled out of the nave, headed to the infirmary.

“That’s one way to get the giddyup back in their britches,” Geffe said.

“Man, your cowboy shtick is getting stronger by the minute,” Antoine said.

“We are who we are,” Geffe replied, his donkey ears twitching back and forth.

11

HANNAH WAS HOLDING Desiree’s hand when the remaining wards, followed by the group of Gs, came bursting into the room. The woman looked weak, but was more herself than before. Desiree was sitting upright on the medical table, drinking water, her body wrapped in several blankets. The girl’s eyes were nothing but hollows and shadow as she regarded the newcomers.

“What’s going on out there?” Hannah asked. “What happened?”

“We lost the faeries,” Morty said. “The possessed got them.”

“Oh, dear,” Hannah said, a hand going to her mouth.

“What about the cathedral?” Kimmy asked. “Are we safe?”

Tom barked a loud, harsh laugh and all eyes fell on him. “What would you like to be the answer? Because anything other than no would be an outright lie.”

“Dial it back,” Morty said as he patted Tom on the shoulder. “Go sit down by your ward.”

“She’s not my ward,” Tom snarled. “She is the last Stonecutter.”

“Yeah, we got that part,” Morty said.

Tom stomped off to join Desiree and the girl brightened briefly at the sight of him coming toward her.

“What is our situation?” Olivia asked. “I saw the shield go up. How? That is not Artus’s doing.”

“Artus died,” Morty said and Olivia gasped. He shook his head. “No, not forever. Some of the girl’s blood brought him back.”

Olivia shifted her gaze to Coins.

“You said it would help,” Olivia said. “But I did not think that was what you meant.”

“It wasn’t,” Coins said. “It only bought us some time. Not much, but some.”

“The Stonecutter’s blood will allow the gargoyle to help the dragon maintain the protection around this cathedral,” Tom said. “But he is too weak to sustain it for long even with the power of the grotesque doing most of the work.”

Olivia widened her eyes at Morty, the question unspoken.

“Roan,” Morty said. “He brought up the shield. Not sure how he can do that, but he did.”

“What does that mean?” Brian asked, his voice close to a panicked whine. His tone elicited whimpers and mutterings from the other wards. “How much time do we have?”

“Yeah, and what happens when that runs out?” Rider asked. “Do they get in? Are we going to become like them?”

The wards all shouted questions, talking over each other, no one asking anything other than what would happen, what would happen, what would happen.

“Quiet,” Xue roared.

“What he said.” Morty sighed.

The group quieted down, but not entirely.

“Coins told me what needs to be done,” Elisa said. She was sitting in the far corner, her head in her hands. She didn’t look up as she spoke. “I think I know a way we can pull it off.”

She sniffled and a tear fell from her downturned face to land in a growing stain of moisture on the floor. She sniffed again and finally looked up. Her face was nothing but anguish and grief. “There has to be another way, though,” she said.

“There isn’t,” Coins said. “Trust me on this. The second I saw her, I knew why she was here.”

“Why?” Antoine asked. “What are you talking about?”

“He is talking about these mountains and the Stonecutter’s blood,” Tom said. “At first, I did not know why Desiree insisted we navigate south instead of heading somewhere more remote where we could hide until she grew older and stronger. But now I know.”

“You said she came here for you,” Morty said to Coins. “Talk, Coins.”

“When I was brought here, it was only a few months after Desiree’s grandfather carved me,” Coins explained. “I was new, fresh, and filled with his magic. The moment I was set inside this place, I was connected to something greater than all of the Gs of the world combined. Did he know that would happen? I’m not sure, but it’s that connection that Desiree locked onto.”

“Which means what?” Morty snapped. Olivia placed a hand on his arm. “Sorry. Keep talking.”

“These mountains are some of the oldest in the world,” Tom said. “They sing with ancient power. They vibrate with the energy that created this planet. They are a direct link to the rest of the world.”

“Which means, if we succeed, we can affect the entire planet,” Coins said. “We might be able to stop the possessed and send the demons packing. Kick their asses out of here and back through the Gates.”

“If she dies,” Elisa said. “Tell them that part, Coins. Tell them that she must be bled dry and die for that to work.” She sniffed some more and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “If it will work at all.”

Eyes turned to Tom. He nodded. “It will work.”

“It will,” Coins said. “I wish it wouldn’t, but it will. There’s still a problem.”

Morty laughed, a harsh, sharp bark of derision. “Oh, is there? Beyond killing a little girl, what’s the problem, Coins?”

Coins ignored the sarcasm. “For her blood to be effective, she must be bled dry in a place that connects to the core of the earth. Her blood must have a direct line to the very bedrock of this planet.”

“So, we dig a hole,” Geffe said. “I’ve found that quite a few problems can be solved by digging holes.”

“Not that easy,” Coins said. “This ground is nothing but clay for yards deep. It would take forever to dig a hole that would finally reach the granite and limestone underneath.”

“Elisa knows a place,” Highlander said. When eyes turned on him, he shrank back and lifted the collar of his T-shirt up to cover half his face. He glared at everyone until they looked away.

At Elisa.

“The quarry over off Grange Holler Road,” Elisa said. “It’s nothing but granite and limestone. Four hundred feet deep into the ground. The hole is already dug for us.”

“How do we get her there?” Antoine asked.

“Morty can fly her,” Geffe said.

“And do what? Kill her myself when I get there?” Morty asked. “Are you joking?”

He shook his head and partially spread his wings, finally showing the damage he’d taken when the RPG had hit him. It was easy to see the stress fractures that crisscrossed the stone.

“Then there’s this problem,” Morty said. “I didn’t get hurt as bad as Tom here, probably because I was close to the sanctuary, but this still isn’t good. I might make the flight, I might not.”

“Her blood could repair you,” Coins said.

“She does not have enough,” Tom said. “And he cannot carry me, as well. I will not allow Desiree to sacrifice herself without me there. That is not acceptable.”

“I had a feeling this would come up,” Elisa said as she stood and wiped her palms up and down the thighs of her jeans. “Good thing I have a way to get there.”

“You gonna grow wings all of a sudden, little lady?” Geffe asked.

“No,” Elisa said. “But I may grow wheels.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t the answer I was expecting,” Geffe replied.

“Elisa? Would you care to explain?” Olivia asked.

“I have a truck,” Elisa said. “One of my foster fathers was a mechanic and showed me how to work on engines. I’ve kept the truck up over the years outside the sanctuary grounds. Just in case.”

“Just in case of what?” Antoine asked. Everyone gave him a sharp look. “Oh, right, yes, in case of this.”

“I can get the truck, we load her in, then drive to the quarry,” Elisa said. “Then she does what she does and we’re saved. Yay . . .”

The wards muttered about wanting to be saved, how would she get there, would she take everyone with her, what would happen to them. The muttering grew until Xue snorted out a plume of fire. The silence was instant.

“They will follow and fight you the entire way,” Morty said. “They probably know about your truck. Hard to keep secrets out there.”

“They don’t know about the truck,” Elisa said. “Why would they? The possessed don’t drive.”

“But maybe they saw you or followed you?” Geffe asked. “It’s possible.”

“Possible, yes, but not likely,” Elisa said. “I was careful. Used to be a junkie, so I know how to get to a stash hole without being followed.”

“A truck is a little bigger than a stash of drugs,” Morty said.

“It’s not the size of the stash, it’s the not followed part that matters,” Elisa said. “Trust me on this, will you?”

No one spoke for a long while until several explosions shook the cathedral.

“Time is running short,” Tom said. “Your protectors are already weakening.”

“We go now,” Olivia said. “We will trust that Elisa knows how to, as she says, stash a truck.”

“I go,” Morty said. “With Tom, Geffe, and Coins. Antoine, you and Xue remain here with Olivia. Help protect the cathedral.”

“And the wards,” Brian said.

“Yes, and the wards,” Morty replied, rolling his stone eyes.

“I’ll be going as well since none of you know where the truck is or how to drive,” Elisa said.

Morty started to argue, but he had no argument against that.

“Fine,” he said. “You will drive.”

“I will go too,” Highlander said.

“No way,” Morty snorted. “You’ll lose your shit the second we get outside this room.”

“We all lose if she dies on the way,” Highlander said. He looked at Elisa. “Is the truck big enough for us all?”

“Yeah,” Elisa said. “It’s plenty big.”

“I’m coming as well,” Hannah said, still holding Desiree’s hand.

Olivia nodded before Morty could protest.

“Between myself, Xue, and Antoine, we will keep the cathedral secure,” Olivia said. “But only for as long as the protection holds. After that, we will not last long.”

“We still have the problem of the possessed fighting us the entire way,” Morty said. “I will be limited if I’m stuck on a truck.”

“As will I,” Tom said.

“We have a solution for that,” Coins replied.

12

THEY STRIPPED THE armory bare. Half of what was left went to the wards still hiding within the infirmary and the other half went to the group that would take Desiree to the quarry.

“This is kind of badass,” Geffe said as he held a revolver in each hand, belts of bullets strung across his chest like mini-bandoliers.

“This is heavy as hell,” Morty said as he picked up a .50 caliber rifle. “How did the faeries handle all of this?”

“It’s who they were,” Coins said and shrugged. “I guess. They liked guns. A lot.”

He smiled down at the Thompson sub-machine gun he held in his grip.

“Clichéd, but damn if it doesn’t feel right,” Coins said and looked around. “You go with what works.”

“Guns.” Tom snorted. “A human affectation.”

“You’ll want it when we’re racing through the mountains with a ton of possessed on our asses,” Elisa said as she smacked an AK-47 against Tom’s chest.

He snarled.

She didn’t blink. “Bite me, Samurai Jack. No time to be a weapons snob.”

“Samurai Jack?” Tom asked. “What does that mean?”

Elisa picked up a duffel bag of ammunition and gear and slung it across her back. The weight made her hunch her shoulders, but she didn’t complain.

“We’ll have to take the tunnels,” Elisa said and glanced at Hannah. The older woman blanched. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It won’t be nice down there,” Hannah said. “Birch and Parsons. They . . .”

“I know.” Elisa nodded. “But we don’t have a choice.”

“Let’s go,” Morty said, impatience making him twitchy. He pointed the .50 cal at the group and everyone flinched. Coins pushed the barrel down and to the side. “Sorry.”

“This way,” Elisa said, and led them through the cathedral and into the library. She pointed to the bookshelf that was still wide open.

Hannah, Highlander, and Tom, with a sleeping Desiree in his arms, followed. Geffe, Coins, and Morty took up the rear as the group descended the stairs down into the dark, dank tunnels. They had barely made it ten steps from the bottom of the stairs when the overpowering smell of copper hit them.

“So much blood,” Hannah said as they continued through the labyrinthine maze.

Then they reached the exit tunnel and Hannah froze. She gagged and turned her head before throwing up against the wall. Elisa had to fight her own gorge and pressed the back of her hand against her mouth while she averted her eyes from the bodies on the ground.

Highlander wasn’t squeamish at all and crouched by Birchstein’s body.

“He put up a fight,” Highlander said. “See the lacerations on his arms? He held them off for a while.”

“It was ineffective,” Tom said, coolly.

“Yes. True,” Highlander agreed. “But he tried. Trying counts. It counts. His trying counts.”

Tom started to respond, but received a nudge in the back by Morty and the .50 cal. He whipped his head around and saw the look on Morty’s face. The comment died behind his stone lips.

“Hold up,” Coins said. “There’s a problem.”

“What?” Elisa asked. She pointed at the door at the far end of the tunnel. “This is the way out.”

“Not arguing with that,” Coins said. “But see that shimmer halfway between us and the door? That’s where the new barrier ends. It doesn’t extend to the door.”

“So? It didn’t extend outside the door before,” Elisa said. “Not much difference.”

“Except that if we open that door and there’s a ton of possessed waiting for us, we’re screwed,” Coins said. “We can’t just shut the door and let the barrier protect us.”

“I’ll go,” Morty said. “I’ll see what’s out there. If it’s blocked, then we look for a different way out.”

“This is the most direct route to the truck,” Elisa said. “There’s another way, but it will take us to the far side of the grounds and we’ll have to circle back. We’ll lose time and the possessed will probably catch us along the way.”

“Damned if we do, damned if we don’t,” Highlander muttered.

“Let’s see what’s here first,” Morty said. “Stay back.”

He started walking then stopped, turned, and handed the .50 cal to Coins who nearly fell over from the bulk of the rifle.

“I’m better with my fists,” Morty said as he began walking again.

When he reached the door, he paused and listened. Then he frowned.

“What do you hear?” Tom called.

Morty held up a hand and continued listening.

“Humming,” Morty said. “I hear humming.”

He prepared himself then yanked open the door. Then he laughed.

“What is it?” Elisa asked and ran to join him, ignoring any danger that might have been waiting on the other side of the door.

She laughed too when she reached Morty.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s safe.”

“Not for the possessed,” Morty said with a hearty chuckle.

Outside the tunnel, standing on a pile of bodies four feet high and three times as wide, was Scythia. She was casually humming while she licked the blood from her talons.

“Hey,” she said, looking up at everyone. “What’s up?”

“Will ya look at that,” Geffe said as he reached the door with everyone else. “Never underestimate the little Gs.”

“You got that right,” Scythia said. She studied the group. “What’s with the guns? We going somewhere?”

13

“YOU’LL TAKE THESE and position yourselves here and here,” Olivia said as she handed rifles to several of the wards. “You keep your eyes on those doors and Roan outside. If the new barrier falls, you open fire on anything that tries to come inside.”

“Why?” a woman asked. “If the others are gonna drain that girl of her blood, and that’s gonna drive off the demons, then why are we still fighting?”

“Because they may not get to the quarry before the barrier falls,” Olivia said.

“I have the kids blocking all the windows,” Antoine said as he joined Olivia in the gallery. “They’re using pews and other furniture, so it won’t hold long, but it’ll buy us time if the barrier goes down.”

Several of the wards sniffled and whimpered.

“I wonder if it’s even worth fighting,” Antoine said quietly. “I mean, do we really stand a chance?”

“Don’t say that,” Olivia replied. “Humanity made us; we must do what we can to protect the humans who are left. This goes beyond the magic that created us. This is about the magic that created all life.”

“Wow, that’s deep,” Antoine said. “Kind of a stretch, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps, but the Stonecutters had a reason for carving us and imbuing us with their magic,” Olivia said. “I have a hard time believing it was only to protect buildings and those within them. Why else would we come awake specifically when the Gates of Hell opened? We must stop the demons at all costs.”

“The Stonecutters should have been more specific on that one,” Antoine said.

“What the Stonecutters intended does not matter,” Xue said as he turned from his position directly in front of the doors. “That is in the past. We look to the future now. We have made a plan and been given a duty. We will honor that duty until the plan is complete. End of discussion.”

“I’m only saying that maybe we are biting off more than we can chew,” Antoine responded and walked away into the nave.

“He has little faith,” Xue said as Olivia moved to his side.

“Then we will need to make up the difference,” Olivia said.

Her eyes drifted across Roan’s back and out to the possessed as they pressed and shoved against the barrier that held them back. Several of the vessels were smoking and sizzling from the protective magic, but they didn’t show a sign that they cared or felt any pain. They simply kept pressing and pressing until they fell to the ground and others took their place.

“This is not my first siege,” Xue said. “But I expect it will be my last.”

“Not your first?” Olivia asked. “Do you remember the last siege you were in?”

“I do,” Xue said. “In China, demons are called yaoguai. There was a rift in the spirit world during the century I was carved. I stood with hundreds of my fellow grotesques and fought them off as they tried to take over the royal palace. I lost many friends over that year, but, in the end, we drove the yaoguai back into the rift and our Stonecutters sealed it shut.”

“Over the year?” Olivia asked. “You were under siege for a year?”

“Yes,” Xue said. “It was a long year.”

Olivia laughed, then tried to stifle it when she saw the look Xue gave her. It refused to stay stifled and she burst out laughing even harder.

“I do not see the humor,” Xue said, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

Olivia continued to laugh softly as she and Xue watched the possessed press and push, die and fall. The laughter dried up as the pile of dead grew and the faces of the corpses could be seen easily even from up inside the cathedral.

“We will not have a year. What do we do if we lose?” Olivia asked.

“We die with the humans,” Xue said. “Our story ends.”

“Yes, I suppose it does,” Olivia said, her eyes on the sea of possessed that stretched all the way back to the tree line.

14

THE TRUCK WAS a heavy-duty diesel box truck, the type used on a thousand construction sites across the country to haul or pick up needed supplies. Or it had been. Construction stopped being a priority when the Gates opened. Destruction became the new industry.

“Both the main and auxiliary tanks are full of fuel,” Elisa said as she opened the driver’s side door and climbed up into the cab. It was a good four feet off the ground. “I checked the tires last week, so we won’t have to worry about a blow-out.”

The group stood in an old barn, piles of moldering hay pushed into the corners, bird droppings littering the concrete floor, rusted-out equipment stacked in one of the stalls, a pile of human bones stacked in the other.

“This was too easy,” Tom said, still holding Desiree.

“It’s why I picked this spot,” Elisa said. “I scouted the area for weeks to make sure this barn was off the possessed’s radar.”

“Still too easy,” Tom said.

“Holy shit,” Highlander cried from the back of the truck. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!”

“Yes, we get it, Highlander,” Hannah said, her voice weary as she sat on a half-broken barrel by the barn doors. “Holy shit.”

“You’ve been working hard on this,” Morty said as he stepped next to Highlander and took a look inside the cargo area of the box truck. “You’ve been working just as hard keeping this a secret.”

“Street instinct,” Elisa stated as she started the truck up. The engine hitched and coughed black smoke a few times, but the engine caught and smoothed out after a few seconds. “You have to give me credit for covering our asses. The cathedral was great and all, but I knew it wouldn’t last forever.”

“Nothing ever does,” Geffe said then moved next to Morty. “Uh, give a fella a boost? Can’t see what it looks like from down here.”

Morty lifted Geffe up and the grotesque let out a long, impressed whistle.

Inside the cargo area were several benches, each bolted to the floor and set up against the walls. In the far back, toward the front of the truck, was a bed, along with two storage lockers and a small table. Four chairs hung on racks bolted into the wall above the bed.

“Set her on the bed,” Elisa said, joining the group that stared in at the accouterments the truck provided. “There are straps on each side Hannah and Highlander can hang onto while we drive so they don’t get thrown off on the corners. I don’t plan on slowing down much, because once we leave this place, we’re going to become one helluva target.”

“What are these?” Coins asked, having hopped up into the truck. He pointed at several latches spaced along the sides of the walls. About two feet below each were a set of hinges. “Are those windows?”

“You guessed it,” Elisa said. “Those guns aren’t much use if all you can do is hold them inside a locked truck.”

“Where were you planning on this thing going?” Morty asked.

“I don’t know,” Elisa said. “Honestly. No clue at all. I wanted it here and ready when the time came.”

“The fuel?” Highlander asked. “What is the fuel? Can’t be old diesel from the gas stations. Nope, can’t be that. Too old. Gone bad. Way bad.”

“Biodiesel,” Elisa said. “The engine was easy to convert since it was already designed for petroleum diesel. A couple of quick part changes and some replacement hoses, and fuel wasn’t a problem anymore.”

“Will it smell like french-fries?” Highlander asked, almost twitching with excitement. “My neighbor had a car that farted french-fry smell. I loved it.”

“It’s gonna smell like rancid oil,” Elisa said. “But it’ll combust and that’s all that matters.”

They heard the sound of explosions far off in the distance.

“They’re testing the new barrier,” Geffe said. “Time to load up and move out.”

“How far is it?” Coins asked. “The quarry? How far are we going?”

“Twenty miles, about,” Elisa said. She did not sound happy about it. “It’d be shorter if I use the highway, but back roads are safer. I expect most of the possessed in this whole area are converging on the cathedral anyway, so hopefully we won’t run into too much trouble.”

“We will,” Tom said.

“Could you maybe not speak unless it contributes to the discussion?” Hannah asked. She moved from her barrel and to the end of the truck. It took a couple of tries, and she refused help, but she managed to get inside and turned back to the group. “Hand her here.”

“Let me get in,” Highlander said. He almost jumped all the way up without using a handhold. He put his arms out like Hannah. “Okay.”

Tom grunted and leapt up into the truck, tucking himself into a crouch when he landed so he didn’t slam his head on the ceiling. Hannah and Highlander barely had time to get out of his way. He moved swiftly, but gently, and set Desiree down on the bed. She whispered something to him and he nodded then took a seat on one of the benches closest to where she lay.

“What did she say?” Hannah asked as she walked to the bed to sit right on it next to Desiree.

“She made me promise not to interfere when the time came for her to die,” Tom stated. His voice was flat, empty of all emotion and feeling. “I made the promise.”

“Oh,” Hannah said. “That must have been hard to do.”

“I am built of stone,” Tom said. “Everything in my life is hard.”

“Was that a joke?” Coins asked, joining them. Tom glared at him. “I suppose not.”

Elisa stepped up onto the deck of the truck and grabbed the rear door’s strap—ready to pull it down and closed.

“Get comfortable and hang on,” she said. “I’ve never ridden back here, or taken this out for a drive, so I have no idea how rough the trip will be.”

“I will ride up front with you,” Morty said.

“No way,” Elisa replied. “You’re in the back. You’d take up the whole cab and I wouldn’t have room to move the shifter. Geffe and Scythia can ride up with me. He can stand on the bench seat and be my extra set of eyes.”

“I got great eyes,” Geffe said.

“Once we get going out on the main road, I’ll smack the back of the cab so you know it’s time to open the windows,” Elisa said. “Keep your guns ready. There may not be a lot of possessed coming at us, but even some is too much. We need to take them out before we get to the quarry or they’ll let all of the demons know where we’re going and then we’ll have a real problem.”

“Yes, because our problems so far have been pure fiction,” Coins said.

“We are grotesques come to life, partner,” Geffe said. “Our lives are nothing but pure fiction.”

“Good point,” Coins replied and smiled.

“Be ready,” Elisa said and jumped from the deck, pulling the rolling door down with her.

The cargo area was plunged into darkness.

“Anyone have a light?” Coins asked.

There was a flicker and then the distinct glow and smell of a cigar.

“I found where you’ve been keeping the cigars you stole from me,” Morty said as he puffed the cigar into a bright red cherry.

“Do you mind, Morty?” Hannah asked, coughing. “This space is too closed up for that stink.”

“No offense, Hannah, and I do mean that, but kiss my stone butt,” Morty said as he pulled the cigar from his lips and blew on the end. “We’re kind of in an end-of-the-world situation, so I’m going to enjoy one last smoke before kissing my own stone butt.”

“Why would you kiss your own butt?” Coins asked.

“To say goodbye,” Morty replied.

The truck lurched and began to move backward. After a minute, it slowed, stopped, and changed directions, moving forward over a very rough dirt road. Everyone hung on the best they could.

It was a bumpy few minutes before the ride smoothed out and Elisa smacked the wall between the cab and the cargo area.

“Time to see the world at thirty-five miles per hour,” Coins said as he stepped up onto a bench and unlatched one of the windows. It opened inward and down, which was awkward since he had to lean back almost to the point of losing his balance in order not to get hit, but he managed it and then stood there for a few moments, staring out at the dark landscape speeding by. “Well, that was anticlimactic. I can’t see a thing.”

Morty pushed past Coins and laughed. “Same here. There could be a hundred possessed standing on the side of the road with their thumbs out and we wouldn’t see them.”

“They’ll see us,” Coins said. “We may have wanted to do this during the day when the headlights weren’t so obvious.”

“I think any vehicle moving on the road would be obvious,” Hannah said.

“True,” Coins agreed.

He gripped his sub-machine gun with one hand and the edge of the window with the other, still staring out into the night.

Tom stayed seated where he was, watching only Desiree.

15

IN THE CAB, ELISA gripped the steering wheel so hard that she lost feeling in the tips of her fingers and in both thumbs.

“Relax,” Scythia said. She pointed a talon at her head. “Eagles have even better vision than donkeys. If there are possessed out there, I’ll see them.”

“During the day, maybe,” Geffe said. “But donkey vision at night is some of the best.”

“We’ll see,” Scythia replied.

“It’s not a contest,” Elisa said. “Keep your eyes open, okay? Give me a heads-up if you see movement. I want to know which side and how big. The more time I have to swerve, the better.”

Two sets of headlights blinked on at full power half a mile farther down the road.

“What the hell?” Elisa said. “Wait, how? Possessed fry cars. They can’t drive.”

“Maybe they ain’t possessed,” Geffe says. “Might be more collaborators.”

“Why?” Elisa snarled, pressing her foot down on the accelerator. “Do they think the demons won’t eat their souls?”

“That is not how it works,” Scythia said. “But, no, they must not.”

The side mirrors lit up and Elisa glanced quickly at hers then the passenger-side one.

“At least two more cars behind us,” Elisa said. “They’re going to try to box us in. Not gonna happen.”

Geffe gripped the handle in the passenger’s side door. “Uh, Elisa? Are you speeding up?”

“Yeah,” Elisa replied, pressing the pedal even harder until the truck made a surging lurch and the engine whined to a dangerous pitch. “You know how much this thing weighs? We’ll win, they’ll lose.”

“Oh, hell in a handbasket,” Geffe said.

“Damn right,” Elisa said.

16

THE SURGE OF speed nearly sent Coins falling to the floor, but he held on to the open window’s edge and glanced back over his shoulder while Morty gripped a bench to keep from collapsing against the bed.

“Something is up,” Coins said.

“Let me see,” Morty said. “Move over.”

“Go open your own,” Coins exclaimed.

Morty grumbled, but did open his own window, sticking his head out as far as his shoulders would allow.

“What are those lights? Headlights?” Morty asked. He ducked back inside and looked at Coins. “You seeing that?”

“Yep,” Coins said. “Lights in front of us and lights in back.”

“Lights in front?” Hannah asked. “Then why are we speeding up?”

“That’s a very good question,” Morty said. “I have a bad feeling Elisa is taking a stand.”

“Don’t you need to stop moving to take a stand?” Coins said. “Should someone tell her that?”

“Collaborators,” Highlander said as he checked Desiree’s bandages, making sure the sutures held. “There’re always more assholes. Always more. Assholes, assholes everywhere.”

“Cannot deny that,” Tom said. “But pay attention to Desiree, not the collaborators.”

Morty ducked back inside. “Collaborators.”

“Yes, we have already deduced that is who they are,” Tom said. “The possessed cannot drive cars.”

“But what about RPGs?” Morty asked. The others looked at him. “RPGs? Rocket-propelled grenades? Like the ones back at the cathedral.”

“Oh,” Tom said. “Yes. An RPG was fired at the dragon as he was assisting myself and Geffe.”

“RPGs are wired,” Morty said. “They take electronic tech to launch and have electronic tech inside them. One of the possessed vessels couldn’t have fired those back at the sanctuary.”

“Collaborators at the cathedral,” Hannah said, sounding so tired. “Hidden in with the possessed.”

Morty was about to say something more, but all conversation was cut off as a bullet came ripping through the back door of the box truck. Tom wrapped himself around Desiree as Morty turned his back, spreading his wings as far as he could, blocking the slugs from hitting anyone on the bed. After a couple of seconds, the gunfire stopped.

“Hold on,” Coins yelled. “We’re on the cars in front!”

His head whipped from looking forward to looking back as a car raced by on his side. Morty looked over at the window opposite and saw headlights rush past that side.

“Now they’re all in back,” Morty said.

They heard the sound of brakes squealing, followed by engines being gunned. Then more gunfire started. The truck shuddered then swerved to the right. Hard. The distinct sound of rubber slapping the road was heard. The truck straightened out, but there was an obvious tilt to its ride.

“The tires,” Hannah said. “They’re shooting at the tires.”

“Not anymore,” Morty said and walked his way back to the bullet-riddled rear door. “Coins? Gonna need some assistance.”

“Gladly, bub,” Coins replied.

“You two, get down,” Morty said, pointing at Hannah then Highlander.

“I need to watch my patient,” Highlander protested.

“I’m going to open this door here,” Morty said. “If you don’t get down, you’ll be watching a bullet head straight for your eye.”

Tom stabilized Desiree on the bed as much as he could, then crouched over her, his stone body a protective shield.

“Do it,” Tom snarled. “Make them go away.”

“That’s the plan,” Morty said.

He lifted the door and opened fire with his .50 cal. Despite his size and strength, the huge rifle still managed to jolt him back so his aim was off and the shots went wild.

“Take a knee and get control,” Coins said as he moved to the door, braced his feet, and opened fire with his Thompson.

He swiveled back and forth at the hips, strafing the cars that followed right behind the truck. They were two abreast and the car on the right drifted close to the car on the left before it took a hard left turn right off the road, crashing into a large oak that had probably stood for over a hundred years. Not anymore.

The .50 cal barked again and the left headlight of the lead car was obliterated, quickly followed by the right. Morty laughed then kept firing, sending rounds directly into the engine block of what looked like an old county sheriff’s cruiser.

Coins took it from there and sprayed bullets into the now-visible windshield. Shadows jolted and danced inside, then the car swerved back and forth until it was perpendicular with the road. One of the cars behind it clipped the trunk, sending it spinning 360 degrees before it came to a stop, the second car behind it barely missing a collision with the front.

As Morty took aim at the last two cars, the truck took a sharp left onto a narrow, dirt road. He was thrown against the wall and almost sent falling to the cracked asphalt outside.

“We’re close,” Coins shouted as he somehow maintained his balance and continued firing at the cars.

The collaborators fired back. Coins jolted and shivered as a hundred slugs slammed into his stone body. He stumbled and fell on his ass, but kept the Thompson firing, taking out the headlights of the car on the left.

“Son of a bitch,” Morty said as he struggled to get to his knees and steady the .50 cal.

He managed to achieve a semblance of stability, but it wasn’t easy on the rutted, gravel road, which bounced them violently every few seconds. Elisa had barely slowed down, taking the road as fast as if it was made of pavement.

At more gunfire from the cars, Morty focused on the flashing muzzles, ignoring the pinging of bullets off his chest and head. They were more like annoying gnats than dangerous projectiles. He fired twice and the gunfire stopped, replaced by a gaping hole in the passenger half of the car’s windshield.

Coins ejected the empty drum from his Thompson and slapped in a fresh one. He emptied that as well before the left car veered off into a stand of pines, causing half the trees to collapse over the smoking hood.

“One more to go,” Coins said.

“I got it,” Morty said. He fired and fired, stopping only when the magazine was empty and the rifle clicked dry. “There.”

The last car stuttered to a stop, its engine catching fire and flames shooting out from under the hood. The truck sped on and the incapacitated vehicle was quickly lost from sight.

“Someone could still be alive,” Coins said. “Should we go back and take care of them?”

“No time; besides, they were waiting for us. Someone knows something,” Morty said. He reloaded the .50 cal and slung it across his back. He glanced over at Coins and frowned. “If they sent those after us, then what are they sending at the cathedral?”

“What?” Coins asked. “Why would they even try? The cathedral has the barrier around it.”

“But for only as long as Roan’s power holds,” Morty said. “Artus is alive, but of no help. All he’s doing is focusing Roan’s energy so that it stays stable.”

“All it would take is a large enough attack to break that stability,” Coins said.

“I should go back,” Morty said.

“No,” Tom barked. “Your duty is here. What we need to accomplish is more important than the cathedral.”

“If we succeed, then this affects the entire world, remember?” Coins asked.

“Our aim is to destroy the demons and eject them from all of the possessed,” Tom said. “To end Hell’s reign on Earth.”

“It could save millions, Morty,” Coins said. “Possessed all across the earth will be set free.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll help save millions,” Morty said. “I stay.”

“You stay,” Tom said. He lifted his damaged arm. “My ego appreciates it.”

Morty laughed, but cut it short as a moan from the bed caught everyone’s attention. Eyes, stone and flesh, shifted to see Highlander halfway collapsed, his hands gripping his thigh.

“Highlander?” Hannah asked. “Were you shot?”

“Yes,” Highlander said. “I need help.”

Morty rushed to him, doing more bouncing off the truck’s walls than walking, but he reached Highlander in a blink. The young man had both hands pressed to a spot on the inside of his right thigh. Morty frowned.

“What happens if you let go?” Morty asked.

“I could die,” Highlander said. “I think it nicked an artery.”

“Are you going to bleed out?” Morty asked.

“No. Maybe. Probably not right away,” Highlander said through gritted teeth. “I need you to put some pressure right above the wound. Can you do that?”

“I can do that,” Morty said. Highlander screeched as Morty gripped his thigh. “Hannah? Hand him his medical bag. He’s going to have to close this up fast.”

“In here?” Hannah asked. “Oh, my Lord . . .”

“You can do this,” Morty said to Highlander. “It’s only a nick.”

“I can do this,” Highlander replied as Hannah gave him his medical kit. “It’s only a nick.”

17

ROAN WATCHED AS the crushing waves of possessed eased off then parted directly down the middle. Three figures came walking up as if they were taking an evening stroll and accidentally happened upon a mob of demon-filled humans. Despite their human forms, Roan recognized them instantly. One was impossible to mistake.

“A delegation,” Roan said. “Have you come to surrender, Duke Haborym? Or you, Gaap? Perhaps you have come to find reason, Valac. You have always been the more rational of your kind.”

“I could say the same for you, Roan of Cardiff,” Valac said and bowed as the three demons reached the barrier shield.

Valac was wearing a well-dressed man, perhaps in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair neatly trimmed and a goatee that would have been more appropriate on a 1950s beatnik. Roan guessed the body had belonged to a university professor. There were plenty to choose from in the area.

Gaap inhabited the body of a teenage school girl complete with plaid skirt and white blouse. The blouse was drenched in blood and the skirt was torn up the side, easily showing that he/she/it wasn’t wearing anything underneath. He gave Roan a wink and a wave.

Haborym had three faces, as always. What the rest of the body looked like didn’t matter so much.

“What can I do for you?” Roan asked.

“Drop your magic?” Gaap asked and laughed. “That would be super.”

“I will politely decline that request,” Roan said.

“Of course you will,” Valac said. “I doubt my colleague expected you to comply.”

“State your business or leave,” Roan said.

“Well, we will not be leaving,” Valac said. “That leaves the stating of our business.” He cleared his throat and stroked his goatee. “I would like to make you an offer. Let down the protective barrier without a fight and we will, of course, allow your wards to live.”

“I expected you would,” Roan said. “You need their bodies.”

“I’m not finished,” Valac said, holding up a hand. “We will also allow you and your kind to leave unharmed. If you stop this useless stalemate, then all gargoyles and grotesques will be spared.”

“I doubt that is true,” Roan said.

“Roan, you know me,” Valac said. “I give true answers to honest questions.”

“I did not ask you a question,” Roan said.

Valac smiled. “Then do so.”

“Are your offers true?” Roan asked.

“They are,” Valac replied.

“Let me split them open with my firebrands,” Haborym snarled as the flaming weapons appeared in his hands. “We do not make deals with accursed gargoyles!”

“I’ll handle this, Duke,” Valac said.

“Yes, he’ll handle it.” Gaap snickered. He lifted his skirt and thrust the vessel’s privates at Roan. “Then later maybe dragon boy can handle this. A little stone fun in this vessel’s hot sn—”

“Gaap, you are not helping,” Valac said. He sighed and rubbed his face. “Roan, I’m tired. I’ll put it out there. I am exhausted from this siege and from the entire war. Your cathedral is the only holdout left. All I have to do is check this off the to-do list, and I get to go on vacation for a very long while. Please, I beg of you, help a demon out.”

“You have to be joking with me,” Roan said. “In what reality would you think that plea would work?”

“The reality where we have one of these,” Valac said and held his hand high in the air.

Roan felt foolish. He had been so focused on the demons who faced him that he hadn’t realized that the gap in the possessed horde had never closed behind them. A wide avenue of open ground still existed, and at the far end of that avenue were suddenly headlights. And the roaring of a large engine.

“What is that? A truck?” Roan asked “But you cannot operate vehicles like that.”

“Me? No, I cannot,” Valac said. “Neither can my colleagues. But, any human can. We may have kept a few from being taken as vessels for just such an occasion as this. How do you think we took New York? Gaap here has been busy transporting those few cooperative folks to this backwoods location for a few days now. The woman behind that wheel can and will drive that truck up across these grounds and directly into the entrance of your cathedral, more than likely running directly over you.”

“The barrier will hold,” Roan said, but there was doubt in his voice.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Valac said and shrugged. “If it was simply a matter of a vehicular collision. I do believe, though, that you are dreadfully low on energy.” He sniffed the air. “Your magic is weak, and your anchor hiding inside, the supposed-to-be-dead Artus, can offer you no assistance. But, even still, you could probably handle the truck head-on.”

Roan let loose with a quick gout of flame. Valac jumped back, as did Gaap. Haborym stood in place and waved his firebrands over his vessel, absorbing the flames instantly.

“The problem for you, Roan of Cardiff, is that the truck is pulling a full trailer,” Valac said. “What is it filled with?”

“Explosives,” Gaap cried out and laughed.

“Precisely,” Valac said. “The collision will weaken you, the explosion will defeat you. If your wards are lucky, perhaps half of the cathedral will be left standing.”

“I doubt it,” Gaap cackled.

“Give me your answer now,” Valac said. “Will you accept our terms and drop your barrier?”

“My answer is no, Valac,” Roan stated. “But I suppose you knew it would be.”

“I suppose I did,” Valac said. He raised his arm again and let it fall. “Then that is that.”

The truck revved then began rolling forward, gaining speed quickly.

“Olivia,” Roan called. “Antoine!”

“We heard it all,” Olivia said as she moved from the shadows of the cathedral’s doorway and out onto the steps behind Roan. “This will not happen.”

“Oh, but it will,” Valac said. “You cannot stop this.”

“You will die as well,” Roan said.

“Only these current vessels,” Valac replied. “We will find new vessels.”

“Which will be in even shorter supply when you sacrifice those around us,” Roan said.

“My two comrades and I will always have a place in the hierarchy. We will displace the lesser from their vessels,” Valac said. “And before you ask, yes, it will be disappointing to lose the numbers of vessels, but war is about loss.”

“Yes, it is,” Roan replied.

“What’s the call here?” Antoine asked.

“We stop the truck,” Olivia said as the vehicle grew ever closer. “Follow my lead.”

“No,” Roan said as Olivia and Antoine started past him. “Get inside. Secure the wards the best you can.” He nodded at the horde that still filled the grounds. “They want you to step outside the barrier. See the black glinting in the torchlight? They will swarm and destroy you in seconds.”

Olivia glowed blue with power. “No, they will not.”

“Yes, they will,” Roan said. “You will kill some, but there are too many. Even for you. Get back inside and protect the wards. Save all of your energy for that.”

Olivia began to argue again, but Antoine took her elbow and pulled her back to the doorway.

“He’s right,” Antoine said. He gave the dragon a pat on the flank as he passed. “Good luck, Roan.”

“And to you,” Roan said.

The grotesques were gone from sight, leaving Roan by himself on the crushed steps of the cathedral.

“You sent them to their deaths,” Valac said.

“I see it differently,” Roan said.

The truck kept coming. Its engine screeched as the driver refused to shift gears, keeping it in low in order to get up the incline of the grounds and to the cathedral as fast as possible. The sound of metal shearing filled the air as the truck’s transmission began to come apart.

“You will lose,” Roan said. “My friends will defeat you.”

“Your friends?” Valac asked. “The ones driving to the quarry? No, I think not. They encountered some resistance, which I have been told they managed fine, but that was far from the worst of what we have in store for them. Goodbye, Roan.”

“Goodbye, Valac,” Roan said as the truck reached the barrier.

The explosion sent fire ten stories high into the night sky. The barrier was down before the flames hit half that height.

18

“WHY ARE WE stopping?” Morty asked as the truck slowly rolled to a halt, its shocks protesting over one last heavy bounce.

Before anyone could respond, the sound of a massive explosion reached them, loud enough to make almost everyone inside the truck jump.

“The cathedral,” Hannah said.

“Shut up about the cathedral and pay attention,” Highlander snapped, his hands working on the wound in his thigh. “Hold that light still while the truck is not moving!”

“Can you do it?” Morty asked.

“Yes,” Highlander replied. “Yes, I can. Shut up.”

There was a knock on the wall between the cab and the cargo area.

“Check it out,” Morty said to Coins.

Coins hefted his Thompson and nodded. “Got an extra stogie?”

“No,” Morty said, rolling the one between his lips to the other side of his mouth. It had gone out about three miles back. When Coins arched a stone eyebrow, Morty said, “I don’t. Honest.”

“That’s a shame,” Coins said and jumped down from the back of the truck.

“What happened at the cathedral?” Hannah asked. “Did the possessed get in?”

“There is no way to know that,” Tom said.

“But aren’t you Gs connected somehow? Can’t you feel what is happening to the others?” Hannah asked.

“No,” Morty said. “Not like that. Not now.”

Coins came running back to the rear of the truck and smacked the deck. “You’d better come see this.”

“What is it?” Morty asked.

“Come look,” Coins said. “It ain’t good, bub. Ain’t good at all.”

Morty looked at Tom. The large grotesque nodded.

“Go,” Tom said. “I will watch the back for any sneak attack.”

Morty nodded in return then hurried and hopped out of the truck. He was barely to the cab when he saw the problem. Certainly not a sneak attack.

“How many would you say?” Elisa asked from the driver’s window, her elbow leaning on the edge, her chin in her hand. “I’d say that looks like, what, all of them?”

“All who aren’t at the cathedral,” Morty said, staring at the horde of what had to be at least a few thousand possessed standing in the road. “If it’s still there.”

“That explosion?” Elisa asked.

Morty nodded.

“Shit.”

“What’s the call, boss?” Geffe asked, leaning over Elisa and out the window. “Take them head on?”

“Dude? Outta my face,” Elisa said and pushed him back.

“I don’t know how we could,” Morty said, answering Geffe’s question.

“The quarry is half a mile off,” Elisa said. “Then it’s another mile down the winding road to the bottom. We have to get her to the bottom, right? Put her in touch with the bedrock?”

“Yes,” Morty said. “But that won’t happen if we have to go through these vessels.”

Elisa revved the engine. None of the possessed even flinched.

“I could get us maybe a quarter mile before they stop us,” Elisa said. “I’m surprised they haven’t shot out the tires.”

“Or the engine,” Scythia said from inside the cab.

“They want something,” Morty said. “Let’s find out what it is.”

Morty walked forward, Coins and Elisa hissing for him to stay back. Morty ignored them and held his .50 cal up against his shoulder. He adjusted his burnt-out cigar again as he approached the new horde.

“Who’s in charge here?” Morty asked.

“Who do you think?” a man replied.

“Valac,” Morty said. “I figured you’d be back at the cathedral.”

“I go where I am needed,” Valac said, smiling. “I am no longer needed there. Not anymore.”

“Are they all dead?” Morty asked.

Valac shrugged.

“Nice way to avoid an answer,” Morty said. “So, Valac, what do you want?”

“We want the last three humans you have inside the truck,” Valac said. “And we want the Stonecutter. Hand them over and I let you and your stone friends go free.”

“I wouldn’t call letting Hell win exactly going free,” Morty said and plucked the cigar from his mouth. “Hey, you got a light? I left mine back in the truck.”

“No, unfortunately, I do not,” Valac said. “Haborym could have accommodated you with his firebrands, but he is back at the cathedral tying up some loose strings.”

“Loose strings?” Morty repeated. “Good to know.”

“Why is that?” Valac asked.

“That means you didn’t take down all of my friends,” Morty said.

Valac shrugged once more.

“Oh, well, too bad you didn’t have a light,” Morty said. “I would have loved to finish this cigar before I send all you assholes back to Hell.”

“You can’t get through us,” Valac said. “Even if your truck was still operational.”

Valac gave a slight nod and gunfire erupted. Bullets ripped into the front grill of the truck and steam and fire erupted from the hood. The gunfire stopped and Valac’s cocky smile grew.

“Elisa?” Morty shouted.

“I’m good,” she shouted back.

“Nice chat,” Morty said to Valac. He turned and walked back to the truck, ignoring Valac’s shouts for him to come back.

Elisa, Geffe, and Scythia were scrambling out of the cab when he reached the truck.

“That’s that,” Elisa said.

“Not really,” Morty said. “Come on.”

They followed him to the back of the truck.

“Highlander?” Morty asked as he climbed up inside.

“I’ll live,” Highlander said quietly.

“You closed it up?” Morty asked.

“I did,” Highlander said. “But I’d best not move around.”

“I was going to say the same thing,” Morty said. “In fact, I want all of you to stay here and not move around. The truck’s dead and that horde is too big to fight. I’ll have to do this on my own.”

“Do what on your own?” Tom asked, glaring at Morty. “I said before that I will not leave her side. I will be with her to the end.”

“Tom, you can’t fly, man,” Morty said. “I still can. Not very far, but I won’t be going far. I’ll actually be going down more than up. All I have to do is get her there alive.”

“And kill me,” Desiree said, her voice so tiny, so weak.

Everyone was silent, waiting for her to speak again. But she didn’t.

“Yes,” Morty said. “Then kill you.”

“I will not—” Tom began to roar then stopped as Desiree’s ashy gray hand grabbed his broken arm. He shook with rage, but the touch of the girl seemed to keep him restrained. After a second, he sighed. “They will shoot at you. They will try to stop you.”

“I know,” Morty said. “That’s why I need your help. You’ll have to do your best to distract them.”

Coins ejected his empty drum and searched the equipment duffels for a new one. He found it, slapped it in, and held up his Thompson. “Not a problem, bub.”

“I will shred them down to their very molecules,” Tom snarled as he stood up to his full height.

“I’ll, uh, shoot them with these,” Geffe said as he waved his pistols around.

“Try not to shoot us too,” Elisa said as she pushed the barrels of Geffe’s pistols down.

“I can shred with Tom,” Scythia said.

“Good,” Morty said. “Wards, stay inside here. Gs, go kill some possessed.”

Morty looked at the little girl and she looked right back.

“My wings are damaged, so the flight won’t be smooth,” he said.

“I know,” Desiree whispered.

“It’s going to hurt,” Morty said.

“I know,” Desiree said. “Life hurts.”

The words nearly broke his stone heart. He’d heard many similar sentiments from a hundred wards over the years, but Desiree was the first to truly reach him inside. It could have been because she was a Stonecutter. Or it could have been that some of the cold in Morty’s stone had warmed as they reached the end of their journey. Whatever that end might hold.

“Tom?” Morty said.

Tom turned and lifted Desiree from the bed. He gently handed her to Morty.

“Show her love at the end,” Tom said.

“I will,” Morty responded.

Tom leaned down and kissed the girl’s forehead. She smiled up at him.

“Go before I change my mind,” Tom growled.

Morty hopped down from the truck. Once free of the cargo area, he spread his wings. The pain was intense. More intense than he would have thought possible. He looked at Desiree, but the girl had her eyes closed.

“Hold on,” he said and leapt into the air.

The Gs who remained jumped from the deck and turned to race at the horde that had already started to open fire.

19

EVEN IN THE darkness of night, Morty could see the possessed below. They were like a blanket of bodies that filled the dirt road winding down to the bottom of the quarry. The truck would never have gotten through. There were so many that some only had to shift an inch before they ended up in open air, tumbling over the side of the road and down into the quarry.

The bottom was also filled with possessed.

“They knew this could happen,” Morty said as he circled his way around the quarry, hunting in the dark for some clear area to set down. None could be found. “They’ve been waiting.”

“Does not . . . matter,” Desiree said.

“It kind of does,” Morty replied.

Several gunshots sent him swerving to the right.

“Take me down into them,” Desiree said. “It will be best if they are present.”

“Why?” Morty asked.

“You will . . . see,” Desiree replied before her eyes slid shut.

Her face was slack, but Morty still felt her heart beating. Although it was dangerously slow.

“If you say so,” Morty said, eyeing the horde-filled quarry. “You’re the Stonecutter.”

Morty spotted an area that was less dense with bodies than other parts. He aimed for it and dove, ignoring the pain that erupted throughout his wings. He made it halfway down before he felt the tearing and cracking.

His wings began to crumble.

“Hold on!” Morty said and wrapped the girl tighter in his arms. “We’re crashing! Again!”

He knew what to do. Immediately before his wings fully disintegrated, he twisted his body so his back would absorb most of the impact. He was in luck; his back only had to absorb a fraction of the force of the impact. The bodies of possessed took the real brunt.

Hands tore at him, grabbing for the girl, but Morty managed to flip himself over so the hands only found his newly wingless back. Lying directly under him, staring right into his eyes, was a woman, her ribcage caved in. Blood poured from between her lips then was coughed into his face as the eyes shifted and narrowed.

“This will not work, Mordecai,” Valac said. “The child is too weak. You are too weak.”

“I’m doing just fine, dickhead,” Morty said and threw a headbutt into the woman’s face, crushing her head.

“The ground,” Desiree whispered.

“I know,” Morty replied.

He screamed as he felt the blade enter his lower back. He couldn’t help it and looked back over his shoulder to see a grinning man with a very long hunk of obsidian in his hand.

“Mordecai, Mordecai, Mordecai,” Gaap said. “You’re done for, son.”

Morty stared at the obsidian then his focus shifted to a spot past Gaap’s shoulder.

“What?” Gaap asked. “Is something behind me? You know a demon invented that trick, right?”

“If you say so,” Morty said and smiled. “But I’m pretty sure a G invented this one.”

“What one?” Gaap asked as Tom’s huge body collided with him, crushing the body into nothing but pulp.

“I cannot fly, but I can fall,” Tom said as he struggled to his feet. “Here. Take it and fight.”

He handed Morty his last obsidian blade and shoved the G away from Desiree.

“She is my duty,” Tom said.

The horde moved in as Morty leapt up and began slashing away, trying to keep some space around Tom and Desiree as the larger G dug through crushed bodies to get to exposed earth.

“Hurry up,” Morty cried as he took several blows with various weapons to his torso. “There’re too many for me to handle!”

A shape fell and crushed more possessed.

The shape popped up and became two shapes. Coins and Geffe nodded to Morty then opened fire on the possessed. Another shape fell from the sky and was ripping into vessels before even hitting the ground. Scythia’s talons tore through the horde as she leapt from spot to spot, creating a circle of space delineated by shredded corpses.

“Tom,” Morty shouted as he impaled three possessed with one stab. “Now is the time!”

There was a distinct shout then a sob behind Morty, but he didn’t turn around. The two deserved their privacy in the last moments.

Tom roared with all the anguish of the world then went silent.

The ground beneath them shook violently. It rocked and rolled, sending everyone and everything falling to the dirt-covered bedrock. The jagged, towering walls of the quarry lit up like a football stadium as every single one of the possessed began to glow, their fire-bright light reflecting off the white limestone. Morty shielded his eyes from the glare.

Thousands of voices joined together into a wail of surprise, anger, and defeat rolled into one sound.

Then the possessed were still, and the light was sucked down into the ground, pulled like a blanket through a crack.

Morty got to his feet. He looked about as Geffe, Coins, and Scythia got to theirs as well. They were the only ones standing. The possessed were down. Not one of them was moving so much as a pinky finger.

“It worked,” Coins said. “Holy shit, it worked.”

“Yes, it did,” Morty said. “See, Tom? It worked.”

There was no answer and Morty turned around to face the G. He gasped.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed.

Tom was solid. A statue of stone wrapped around Desiree’s body.

“Tom?” Morty asked. He moved closer, reached out, and touched the G’s shoulder. Cold as ice. “Tom?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Scythia asked, climbing over bodies to get a closer look. “Why did he go . . . ?”

Her voice trailed off as her body stiffened then went as solid as Tom’s.

Morty whirled around and saw Coins giving him a sad look.

“What’s happening?” Morty asked.

“What was supposed to happen,” Coins said. “The end of Hell on Earth.”

“Now, hold on a cotton-picking minute,” Geffe said as he pointed at Tom and Scythia. “Are you saying that . . . ?”

His question was left unfinished as he became solid.

“You knew?” Morty asked Coins.

“Yep,” Coins said. “That’s why I wanted one last cigar.” He tipped his hat at Morty. “See you on the other side, bub.”

Morty stood there and let the obsidian blade fall from his hand. He chewed on the end of his cigar and started laughing. Only half a chuckle made it out before his body stiffened and stopped moving.

“WHY IS IT SO QUIET?” Hannah asked as she and Elisa huddled together in the corner of the truck. Highlander was up on the bed, having slept through it all, his blood loss too much to even stay awake for the end of Hell’s reign.

“I don’t know,” Elisa said. She slapped at her waist and found the pistol she had strapped there. “I’ll go look.”

“No,” Hannah said with a hiss. “It could be a trap!”

“Why?” Elisa asked. “They have the numbers by a factor of like ten thousand. They don’t need to set a trap.” She got to her feet and drew her pistol. “Maybe it actually worked.”

She moved slowly to the end of the truck then blinked a few times as she looked out at the dirt road. A couple of hundred possessed had started to swarm around the truck, but they never made it. Instead, they lay still on the ground, their bodies tangled and intertwined with each other.

“Hannah,” Elisa said. “I think it worked.”

Elisa didn’t turn around, but she felt the truck shake as Hannah stood up and joined her.

“Are they dead?” Hannah asked.

“I don’t know,” Elisa said. “We should check.”

“But what if—?”

“They’re not,” Elisa interrupted before Hannah could finish. “Can’t you feel it? The demons are gone. That chilly feeling of hatred and evil is gone.”

Hannah shivered at Elisa’s words and nodded.

“Come on,” Elisa said as she holstered her pistol. “Let’s check them.”

She hopped down and went from one body to the next. Most were in such bad shape, having been completely neglected by their demon hosts, that they were basically dead on their feet when possessed. Elisa pushed corpse after corpse out of the way until she came to a moaning young man.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Elisa asked as she crouched next to the man. “Mister? Wake up?”

The young man’s eyes cracked open and he winced.

“So bright,” he muttered and closed his eyes again.

Elisa looked about at the night’s darkness. “Too bright”?” she asked. “Jesus, where did they keep you?”

She left the young man, who had lapsed into a shivering sleep, and continued searching the fallen horde.

“I have one here,” Hannah cried out. “A little boy!”

“Here’s another,” Elisa responded as she found a woman alive, her arms wrapped around her body, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “And another!”

The two women continued to search through the bodies. They made it out in front of the truck and were standing at the edge of the quarry when Elisa stopped, having found a pair of twin girls clinging to each other for dear life. She got them calmed down then looked for Hannah.

“Where are the Gs?” Elisa asked when Hannah came over to her.

“What?” Hannah replied.

“The Gs,” Elisa said. “If it worked, and we sent the demons back to Hell, then why haven’t Morty and the others come up here to help us? Where are they?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” Hannah said.

“Stay up here and see if you can get the survivors to move to the truck,” Elisa said. “It’s not going to take us anywhere, but it will be a place we can regroup.”

“Where are you going?” Hannah asked.

“Down,” Elisa said and pointed to the dirt road that lead into the quarry. “I’ll look for others and see what’s happened to the Gs.”

“Be careful,” Hannah said.

“I will,” Elisa replied.

She moved off through the horde, checking bodies here and there as she made her way down the road. She wasn’t looking for survivors since there wasn’t much she could do for them, but she did discover more than a few on her way to the bottom.

When she reached level ground, she found the survivor rate plummeted to almost none. Bodies lay this way and that, dead eyes staring up into the night. Elisa pushed on until she came to Coins and Geffe. She reached out then drew her hand back in pain. Their stone bodies were so cold, it hurt to touch them.

“I don’t understand,” she muttered as she studied the frozen Gs. “How did this happen?”

Then she saw Morty. He stood in the middle of the dead, his cracked and broken wings sticking part way out, Tom’s obsidian sword at his feet. He had a cigar clamped firmly between his lips. Elisa tried to pull it free, but it began to tear, so she let it be. It was better where it was.

“Thank you,” she said and leaned in to kiss his cheek. The cold burned her lips, but she ignored the pain and lingered for a second before pulling back. “Thank you so much, Mordecai.”

She moved past him and found Tom. She thanked him as well.

Elisa took a deep breath. She needed to get back up top and help Hannah with the survivors. She didn’t know what to do about the frozen Gs, but they weren’t going anywhere. She began to walk away, certain no one had survived whatever happened at the bottom of the quarry.

Except she was wrong.

Elisa had made it only a few steps before she heard the whimpering cry. She spun about and peered into the darkness, hoping to see movement. She listened hard, but there was no new sound.

“Hello?” she called. “Hello?”

Another whimper, very faint.

Elisa hurried to where she thought the sound was coming from, weaving around most of the bodies, clambering over others when her way was blocked. She froze almost as solid as the Gs when she reached the source of the sound.

“No way,” she said as she knelt and looked under Tom’s body.

Desiree’s eyes were wide-open and blinking back tears.

“He’s heavy,” Desiree said. “And really cold.”

“Shit,” Elisa cried out.

She put her hands on the grotesque and shoved with all of her strength, putting her legs into it, ignoring the ice-cold pain in her palms, until the-stone-that-was-Tom began to shift.

“Come on,” Elisa grunted at Desiree. “Crawl out. I can’t hold him forever.”

Desiree scooted out from under Tom and rolled out of the way as Elisa let the body fall.

“Mama?” Desiree called, the girl that should have been dead sounding very much alive. “Is my mama here?”

“Come here,” Elisa said and took Desiree into her arms. The girl cried for her mama softly and Elisa gently stroked her back until the tears started to dry up. “Yeah, baby, we all want our mamas. But we take the family we can get.”

The sky above the quarry lightened. Elisa explained to the girl that they couldn’t stay there. They needed to get up and move. Elisa managed to get her to her feet, too exhausted to attempt to carry her. She checked the girl over, but wasn’t surprised when she didn’t find the faintest trace of any wounds on her.

“Where are we?” Desiree asked, her eyes avoiding all the bodies and staying focused on Tom.

“A long way from home,” Elisa said. “But we’re leaving this place now. Come on.”

She led the girl through the corpses and up the road. They passed dozens of men and women, young and old, who were alive, and none of them could open their eyes. Elisa told them to stay where they were and she’d come back for them.

When they finally reached the truck, Elisa had Desiree join Highlander on the bed. The young man was still out cold, but breathing evenly.

“Can you watch him for me?” Elisa asked Desiree. The girl nodded. “Thanks. You probably don’t remember him, but he once saved your life.”

Elisa hopped out of the truck and found Hannah talking to a woman who was seated up against a tree.

“They can’t open their eyes,” Hannah said.

“I noticed,” Elisa replied.

“She says that they were trapped inside their own bodies, held in pure darkness,” Hannah said.

“A void,” the woman croaked.

“Sounds like Hell,” Elisa said.

“It was,” the woman croaked. “It truly was.”

20

IT WAS TWO MONTHS before the first survivors began to regain their sight.

The stories they all told were of an absolute void, so dark that darkness didn’t even exist. To open their eyes to the light of Earth, even the light at night, was beyond excruciating. Many went mad with pain even with their eyes closed. Blindfolds became the post-demon fashion trend. But many survived. Several hundred from the vessels who had laid siege to the cathedral and dozens from the quarry.

With so many people to help, Elisa was able to get teams together to head into the nearby towns and see if they could salvage any of the buildings. It was another two months before they got even a dozen structures in habitable condition. Keeping things tidy was not on the possessed’s list of priorities. Neither was using toilets.

Elisa decided controlled burns of most of the houses was the safest, and most sanitary, way to deal with the filth problem.

Four months later, the last of the survivors left Margaret’s Patch. Elisa moved everyone into Bryson City. It was the most intact and least defiled. The majority of the people gathered in apartment complexes and hotels. But a few—those done with being herded together—picked houses to live in.

Elisa pulled her diesel pickup to a stop in front of one of those homes, honking the horn until Rider and Joanie came running out.

“Brian’s staying here,” Joanie said as she hopped into the backseat of the cab. “Kimmy is about to pop and he won’t leave her side.”

“Is Highlander with them?” Elisa asked.

“He’s at his house,” Joanie said and pointed to a two-story ranch a half a block away. “Hannah’s with Kimmy and will send Brian to get him when it’s time.”

“I hear there’s a surgeon living at the Holiday Inn,” Rider said as he got in the front seat. “A couple of nurses too.”

“Yep, I met them,” Elisa said. “They’re busy getting a clinic set up. The hospital is destroyed, but they think they can clear out the shelves from an old CVS and use that space.”

“Cool,” Rider said. He looked over his shoulder at the loaded trailer the pickup was pulling. “Bulldozer?”

“Nope,” Elisa said. “Front end loader. Bulldozers have that huge blade for shoving.”

“For bulldozing,” Joanie laughed.

“Exactly,” Elisa said.

“So what’s the front end loader for?” Rider asked. “I thought you said we’re going to find something.”

“We are,” Elisa said. “But we’ve got some work to do first before we can do that.”

“Okay,” Rider said.

“Okay,” Elisa said and nodded then got the truck rolling.

The kids had dropped the teenage attitude months before. Oddly, never having been possessed conveyed a certain status amongst the survivors. While they weren’t considered better, they didn’t have demon taint on them. They were uncontaminated in a world in which very little had escaped contamination. Those living in Bryson City trusted the former wards more than they trusted each other.

There was no shared bond amongst the formerly-possessed. In the void, they had been totally isolated, completely alone. In survival, many felt almost the same way. Trust would take time. Maybe a lot of it.

Elisa put those thoughts away for another day and drove them out of town. She took several turns before Rider said, “Are we going back to the cathedral?”

“Not quite yet,” Elisa said. “In a couple of days.”

“Days?” Joanie exclaimed.

“I told you we have a lot of work to do first,” Elisa said. “Don’t worry, I brought camping gear and supplies.”

“Great,” Joanie said, sounding like it was less than great that she’d be camping.

“Trust me,” Elisa said, “what we’re doing has to be done.”

They wound through the mountains until they found a dirt road. Elisa turned onto it and smiled as she drove. When they reached their destination, Elisa stared at the abandoned truck that blocked their way.

“That’s going to be a problem,” she said.

“That? You mean the truck?” Rider said, as he stared out the windshield at the corpses that had pretty much rotted down to bare bones. “Not the bodies?”

“They’ll be easy,” Elisa said. “That’s one reason we have the front end loader.”

“What’s the other reason?” Joanie asked.

“Come on. I’ll show ya,” Elisa said and got out of the truck.

She led the two teenagers through the corpses and around the box truck, right to the edge of the quarry.

“There they are,” Elisa said and pointed at the far-off figures of Geffe, Scythia, Coins, Tom, and Morty. “Time to take them home.”

TWO DAYS LATER, they had the trailer loaded with not only the front end loader, but the five frozen stone figures.

The gates had never been replaced, so Elisa drove directly onto the grounds. She stopped the truck and motioned for the teens to do the same. They helped her load up the mangled gates that held Jack’s chipped and dented face. Done with that, they hopped back into the truck and continued on right up to the crumbled steps.

“Hey, Roan,” she said as she got out of the truck, nodding at the stone dragon. Roan was as frozen as those on the trailer. “How’s it going? Keeping things safe?”

Parts of him were chipped off from the explosion; he was still scorched all over despite the rains they’d had, but he was mostly like he had been before the end of it all.

“We can’t get inside to the courtyard, but that’s fine,” Elisa said. “Only Artus and Deek are in there.”

“Someone said they came here and could hear Deek playing his flute,” Joanie said.

“I call bullshit,” Rider responded.

“That’s what I said,” Joanie said.

“Who knows?” Elisa replied then walked past Roan to where Olivia and Antoine stood in mid-stride, their arms up and ready for battle. She gave them a pat then turned to look at the rest of the grounds. “It is a place of magic.”

“What is? Here?” Joanie asked. “I thought all magic was gone now?”

“Where did it go?” Elisa asked then laughed and shook her head. “Never mind. Let’s get to work.”

They did.

It took most of the day to get the frozen grotesques, as well as Jack and his gates, off the trailer and into position, but they managed it and Elisa was fairly pleased with the results.

“Someone should make a plaque,” Joanie said as the three of them regarded the grotesques. “You know, to honor what they did.”

“That’s a great idea,” Elisa said. “I’m putting you in charge.”

“What? I don’t know anything about making plaques,” Joanie protested.

“You can learn,” Elisa said. “No one even touched the library. Check out a book. Figure out how.”

Joanie started to protest some more, then scrunched up her face. “Okay. I guess I could do that.”

Rider glanced up at the sky.

“If we go now, we can make it home before dark,” he said. “I wonder if Kimmy had the baby yet?”

“We’ll find out,” Elisa said.

The two teens hurried back to the truck and hopped in. Joanie rolled down the window and leaned out.

“Are you coming?” she yelled to Elisa.

“In a second,” Elisa said.

She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. She felt good about bringing the Gs home. They didn’t deserve to stay at the bottom of the quarry. She stayed that way for a couple of minutes, ignoring Joanie and Rider as they called for her to come on.

Elisa opened her eyes and started walking away from the half-demolished cathedral. She paused after a couple of steps and cocked her head. It was faint, but she swore she could hear it. Unless her mind was playing tricks with her, but she didn’t think so.

The teens asked why she was smiling so much when she got back into the truck.

Elisa didn’t answer; instead, she stayed quiet so she could savor the last few notes of the flute that echoed in her ears.

The End

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About the Author

Jake Bible, Bram Stoker Award nominated-novelist, short story writer, independent screenwriter, podcaster, and inventor of the Drabble Novel, has entertained thousands with his horror and sci/fi tales. He reaches audiences of all ages with his uncanny ability to write a wide range of characters and genres.

Jake is the author of the bestselling Z-Burbia series set in Asheville, NC, the bestselling Salvage Merc One, the Apex Trilogy (DEAD MECH, The Americans, Metal and Ash) and the Mega series for Severed Press, as well as the YA zombie novel, Little Dead Man, the Bram Stoker Award nominated teen horror novel, Intentional Haunting, the ScareScapes series, and the Reign of Four series for Permuted Press.

Stone Cold Bastards is his first book with Bell Bridge Books.