Ryan gripped my shoulders, startling me. “It's not a dream this time, buddy. We need to move!”
Something dark and swift caught the corner of my eye. Not smoke, and not a shadow, but thicker than the night air.
“What the hell is that?” Ryan yelled, shooting once. The bullet ricocheted off the brick of the building.
“Watch out!” I screamed as the cloud rose above both of us, positioned to attack.
Ryan shoved me out of the way, and I landed hard on my knees and hands. His body flew backward, hitting the building on the other side of the alley, and he then fell the fifteen feet to the ground.
“Run, Nina!” Ryan said, stunned.
I scrambled to my feet, but before running off alone, I hesitated. Ryan was human, and I promised Claire to keep him safe. The blackness focused on me, and Ryan shot another round to return its attention to him.
“RUN!” he yelled, shooting again. The invisible enemy dragged him back into the building by one foot, and he held his gun in front of him, shooting at what he couldn’t see.
Everything inside me wanted to stay, to try to help somehow, but I held the duffel bag close and dashed down the alley, into the street. Tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision, finally spilling over my cold cheeks.
Another alley was ahead, dark and forbidding, but it seemed the right way to go, so I kept running.
When my lungs couldn’t take in enough air, I stopped, hunched over and puffing. Whatever it was that had Ryan couldn't be far behind, so I leaned against the back entrance of a building, working up enough courage to move. A bus stop was just a half block away.
“Take a step, Nina,” I said to myself, willing courage to move my feet. “It's right there,” I breathed, “Go!”
The door opened, causing me to lose my balance and fall back. Something grabbed me from behind, wrenching me inside with so much force that my hands, legs, and head all fell behind, jutting straight out in front me.
“Ssshhh!” Bex said, covering my screams with his hand.
More tears streamed down my face, and I threw my arms around his neck, sobbing with uncontrolled relief.
He held me at bay, searching my eyes. “Where is everyone else?”
I shook my head. “I don’t…I don’t know,” I choked out.
“The book?”
I held up the duffel bag.
“Okay,” he said, hugging me to him. “Okay, let’s get you out of here.”
He led me to his Ducati that was parked around the corner, and we sped off, fishtailing down the street. As Bex took roads that would lead us to Woonsocket, I fantasized that Jared, Claire, and Ryan would be at St. Anne’s waiting for us.
I replayed what happened over in mind, wondering if I could have done something different, or if I should have tried to help Ryan. Risking his life—and ultimately Claire’s life— to steal a book that would save me was the epitome of selfishness…until I remembered that it would spare Jared as well. Even knowing that, I wasn’t sure I’d made the right choice. Even if I was part of some kind of prophecy, our lives weren’t anymore valuable than Ryan’s or Claire’s.
Father Francis held open the door, waving for us to come inside.
“Are they here?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
The priest closed the door, and then shook his head, sad. “Not yet. You have it?”
“I do. It’s here,” I said, opening the duffel bag. I handed the leather-bound book to Father Francis, and he held it gingerly, as if he were holding a bomb.
He retreated to the front of the cathedral, sitting on the first pew. “The Naissance de Demoniac of Shax the Duke,” he whispered. He completed the sign of the cross, and then prayed over the book.
Bex closed his eyes, and then smiled. “They didn’t like that.”
Chapter Eighteen
The Mistake
It was my turn to pace.
Father Francis and Bex poured over the pages, searching for something to present to Jared upon his arrival. But it had been almost an hour, and we were still the only ones that had made it to the church.
Every parishioner that entered the large, wooden door was politely turned away by Father Francis. It was harder for me to be polite, because each time the door opened, my heart stopped.
After my hopes had been dashed for the sixth time, anger took over. An older woman pushed her way through the door, only to be startled by the sight of me charging down the aisle. “Can't you see the sign? The church is closed!”
The woman scrambled to reach the door handle to escape.
“We need a bigger sign,” I said, crossing my arms.
“Patience, child,” Father Francis said, approaching me with a look of understanding. “He will come.”
“When?” I said emphatically. “He should be here by now. I feel like I'm going crazy.”
Father Francis gently guided me back to my pew, patting my shoulder. “Faith is what you need.”
“I used to have faith. It's hard when everyone tells you that your death is inevitable.”
“Death is inevitable for us all,” the priest said.
Bex looked up, his eyes narrowing.