“It also understands you and Caden are family. It is impatient, angered. It has sensed your brother’s pain.” He frowned, noticeably troubled. “Their bond is much stronger than I anticipated.”
Ryan looked from the cryptid to Evening. The thing was already retreating, its gait a strange shuffle-lope as it took three steps backward. “It knows where Caden is?”
A gust of wind buffeted Ryan as the Mothman launched straight upward. The thunder of its wings was almost as punishing as the droning buzz, both sounds amplified throughout the clearing. Not as sharp this time, or as piercing, but enough to make him grit his teeth. He grasped Evening by the arm. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Hurry. Back to the car.” Evening wrenched away, striding crisply in the direction of the road. “It will lead us to Sergeant Flynn.”
“Then you did communicate?’ Ryan ran to catch up. He switched on his flashlight, irked that Evening was able to dash so agilely, never faltering or stumbling. The guy wasn’t even breathing hard. He also didn’t bother to answer.
By the time they reached the road, any strain Evening had experienced during his telepathic communication with the Mothman was no longer evident. The tension lines on his face had vanished, his black eyes sharpened by preternatural intelligence. Ryan still had no idea how they were going to find Caden when the Mothman abruptly materialized several yards down the road. The thing had been daunting when standing, but far more intimidating soaring in flight, its wing span large enough to rival a pterodactyl.
“Holy shit.” He froze with his fingers wrapped around the door handle of his patrol car. Backlit by moonlight, on a cloud-streaked sky, the creature looked like a demon from the Netherworld. A ripple of fear crept down his spine.
“Get in the car, Sergeant.” Evening opened the door on the passenger’s side and ducked into the seat. “The creature will stay within range, at least until we reach the area where Mr. Mason has your brother.”
Ryan did as instructed, firing the ignition and shifting into gear. He hit the gas, his gaze traveling to the mic on the dashboard. It wouldn’t hurt to have backup, but he’d committed to Evening that he’d keep the sheriff’s department out of their plan. Stupid. Then again, there was no logical way to explain getting help from an alien and a monster rooted in folklore. All he needed was a witch on her broom to make the Halloween night complete.
“You said it sensed Caden’s pain.” He craned his neck, leaning forward to peer upward through the windshield. The Mothman was still there, a giant black bird blotting out the stars. “Does that mean he’s hurt?”
“Most likely.”
“Fuck.”
Evening sent him an arched glance. “I have never understood the attachment for that particular vulgarity.”
“Yeah?” Ryan tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “You might want to try broadening your vocabulary. When you talk, you sound like some aristocratic duke from the 1800s.”
“Ah. Perhaps my favorite period of Earth’s timeline.” Evening tapped one finger restlessly against the dashboard. He didn’t extend his gaze upward, but tension was evident in his rigid posture, impatience in the fidgety beat of his fingertips.
In Ryan’s opinion, the edginess made him more human. “You’ve lived on Earth that long?”
“Longer. I remember when Fort Randolph was all that existed of Point Pleasant.”
Ryan nearly choked. “You were here in the days of Chief Cornstalk?”
“Yes, a great leader to his people. His murder was a tragedy.”
Ryan would have said more, much more—Cornstalk supposedly cursed Point Pleasant with his dying breath—but the Mothman veered abruptly into the woods on his right, vanishing from sight. He stomped on the brake, bringing the car to a screeching halt. “Damn. I can’t see where it went. Now what?”
Evening opened the door and stepped outside. “Now we run.” Without waiting, he leaped outside and sprinted for the trees.
Chapter 18
Lyle hadn’t tied his hands. That much was good.
Caden squatted in the corner of the igloo, directed there by Mason. Two lousy bullets left in the gun and he couldn’t get the damn thing away from the guy. The trek back had worn him out, his injured arm throbbing with each thudding beat of his heart. The wound had stopped bleeding, but it hurt like hell.
Mason was back to mumbling to himself. He kept the gun steadily pointed in Caden’s direction as he snagged a duffle bag from his sleeping area and dumped its contents on the ground. Four iron stakes, coils of rope, and a thick-bladed butcher knife.
Crazy. Fanatical.
Lyle hadn’t joked when he said he planned to cut out Caden’s heart.
Caden gripped his forehead with one hand, pressing hard on his temples. Trying to reason was pretty much out the door. The moment Lyle tried to tie him, he was going to have to make a play for the gun. Even wounded, he stood a chance of taking Lyle down. If only his head wasn’t pounding, his arm pulsing, his thoughts muddled by pain.
The fire still flickered, but it was sputtering, the shadows in the igloo growing heavier. Caden welcomed the darkness, the gloom better for concealing himself. With any luck the damn thing would die altogether. Unless— A spark of hope shot through him. With Lyle’s mind twisted the way it was, maybe he could use the dying flames to his advantage. Caden didn’t have Evening’s abilities, but if light had been a trigger in altering Mason’s mind, there was a chance he could use it as a trigger again. At the very least, a delaying tactic to buy him time. He had nothing to lose.
“Lyle.”
Mason halted what he was doing and straightened, two spikes clutched in one hand, the .38 in the other. “Need to stake you out before I can cut out your heart. That’s how they do it on TV in the horror shows.”