Destroyer of Worlds Read online

  As he followed Forsyth out of the apartment, the older man paused by the door and pointed to an intercom. “One thing, Mr. Jansen. This is a secure facility, which means you won’t be able to wander about on your own, even on this hall. If you need anything, press this button to call, and someone will bring it to you right away.”

  They meant to lock him in. It was a cell, just a nicer looking one than he’d expected. “Got it.”

  “Meals will be brought to you. Vegetarian, correct?”

  “Right.” He hated to give away any weakness to this man, but he didn’t really have a choice. “No garlic.”

  “Ah, yes. The incident in the restaurant.” Forsyth looked sympathetic.

  And how the hell did he find out about the restaurant? John knew how badly the incident embarrassed Caleb, not to mention it happened on their off time. No way would he have included it in a report. Sean must have told someone, and of course it got back to Forsyth.

  Unless Forsyth had a tail on Caleb the whole time. But fuck, that was paranoid, even for him. Besides, he’d practically spit pasta pomodoro all over Sean’s date. The guy probably just wanted to bitch to someone besides John, which of course meant everyone in SPECTR knew about it ten minutes later. No reason to get nervous.

  If he repeated it enough times, he might even believe it.

  * * *

  John sat alone on the ugly orange couch Caleb insisted on bringing with him when they moved in together. If Sean thought coming back to the condo would make John feel better, he’d been dead wrong. Everything, from the hideous couch to the shaman’s rattle, now quiescent in its glass case, brought back memories of Caleb and Gray. Eating breakfast together, John learning how to cook things like tempeh and tofu. Cuddling on the couch, watching a NASCAR race while John tried to explain the intricacies of pit strategy. The way Caleb laughed sometimes, almost grudgingly, when something got past his tough guy façade. The feel of his skin, the smell of human sweat and something else, of ancient incense and desert sand kissed by rain.

  His cell phone rang.

  Heart pounding, John snatched it up from the end table where he’d tossed it. The number was blocked, but he answered anyway. “Hello?”

  “John, hey.” Caleb’s voice, and John sank back on the couch, legs going limp with relief. “Are you at home? We can talk over webcam.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll boot up the computer now.”

  “Talk to you in a minute.”

  John ran up the spiral iron staircase to the second floor, where his office occupied a loft space. The computer seemed to take forever to come up; when it finally did, John hurriedly hit the flashing icon of an incoming call.

  Caleb’s familiar face filled the screen. His long hair hung out of its braid, forming a gorgeous curtain over his shoulders and chest. He still wore his elk hide and kevlar coat, and although his eyes looked tired, he managed a smile, at least. The blank wall behind him gave away nothing about his location.

  “Caleb, hey,” John said, grinning despite all the worry and fear. Goddess, it was good to see him. “How are you?”

  “Great!” Caleb said brightly. “They’re treating me really well. Like staying in a four star hotel.”

  “Oh. Really?” He’d expected surliness, or anger, or even bitter blame. Not this odd, perky cheerfulness. “Well…that’s good.”

  “Yeah, it is. Forsyth says I’ll have to do some simple tests starting tomorrow and running through Friday, nothing big. And Saturday morning, they’ll exorcise Gray and send me back to Charleston. We can have dinner together, if you want.”

  What the hell? Were doppelgängers real, and had one replaced Caleb? Because no way would the Caleb he knew be so blithely trusting of SPECTR.

  Which meant something had gone wrong.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” John said, even as his pulse started to race. “I miss you.”

  “Same here.” For a second, the mask slipped. “I can’t wait for this to be over.”

  Was that the problem? John hadn’t exorcised Gray yet. Did Caleb think Forsyth’s exorcism was the only hope he had left? Or had John’s first instinct been right, and something had gone awry?

  But what? If Forsyth knew how to exorcise Gray, he should have damned well said something earlier, true. But he was still part of SPECTR. Still one of the good guys. John might not be happy about the call Forsyth had made to haul Caleb in, or about the fact Gray’s life hung in the balance, but it didn’t change the basic facts.

  “I know,” John said. “I know you never asked for this. You’ve been really brave.”

  Surprised flickered across Caleb’s face, then vanished. “Not much choice,” he said ruefully. “It looks like I’ve got to go now. I probably won’t have time to call again.”

  “I understand.” Damn it.

  Caleb’s mouth twitched into a sad smile. “John? I love you.”

  He swallowed against the painful constriction in his throat. “I love you, too.” Both of you.

  “Goodbye,” Caleb said quietly. Then the final image of him froze on the screen, and a soft beep informed John the connection had been cut.

  * * *

  Caleb shrugged off his heavy jacket and hung it in the closet, beside the creepy row of identical shirts and pants. He couldn’t smell the lycanthrope in here; wherever the thing had gone, at least he wouldn’t have to put up with Gray drooling on the sheets.

  “I do not drool. Much.”

  Caleb sat down at the small desk and stared at the art supplies. Nice to know SPECTR had been stalking him like an insane ex-boyfriend. Too bad he couldn’t exactly get a restraining order.

  “Will we see John again?”

  Caleb closed his eyes, feeling the slice of pain deep inside, thin and insidious as a paper cut which wouldn’t stop bleeding. I don’t know.

  “You do not think so.”

  No. I don’t. Because even if he somehow escaped, even if these moths could exorcise him, what next? Assuming he didn’t end up in prison, John would never forgive him for letting an NHE—letting Gray—go.

  So yeah, tonight had been goodbye. The final farewell, the one they wouldn’t come back from.

  “It is not right. It should not…not end like this.” Grief and bewildered pain because, despite having God-only-knew how many lifetimes worth of memories gleaned from the corpses he’d inhabited, Gray still managed to be naïve. He’d only dimly understood mortal sorrow and mortal betrayal, until accidentally possessing Caleb.

  Now, he knew them all too well.

  I know. I’m sorry.

  His sense of Gray shifted, as if a great tiger curled half around him in the shared room of their brain, both needing and giving comfort. “The fault is not yours. Or mine. Or even John’s. It simply…is.” And maybe that was the hardest thing of all.

  God, they needed something to distract them. Anything would be better than sitting around feeding angst back and forth until they started writing emo poetry. Caleb reached blindly for the sketchpad and a pencil, pulling it to him.

  The sketchpad had an uneven edge.

  Caleb frowned. Sure enough, a piece of paper stuck just far enough out from the rest of the pad for him to notice, like someone had ripped it out and stuffed it back in.

  The hell? Damn SPECTR couldn’t even spring for a sketchbook someone hadn’t already torn a sheet out of? Half-expecting to find some crude joke at the “vampire’s” expense, he flipped open the sketchbook.

  Tape held the loose piece of paper very precisely in place. Someone had written on it …but no crude taunt or joke. Rather, a penciled letter, the characters so light Caleb had to lean forward to make out what it said, even with Gray’s enhanced sight.

  Mr. Jansen,

  You are in grave danger. SPECTR has no means to exorcise the drakul. We don’t know why they’ve brought you here, but be assured they will never allow either of you leave these premises again.

  Caleb bit his lip—there had to be cameras everywhere, recording everything he did
. He reached blindly for a pencil and began to doodle idly on the paper beneath the note, hoping the gesture looked casual while giving him a chance to keep reading.

  We’ve had our suspicions things are not as they seem, but haven’t been able to gain access to the more sensitive areas of the facility.

  Do not attempt escape yet. Find out what SPECTR is hiding. Do this, and we’ll aid your escape on Friday. Once you’re free, you can contact us via the phone number previously provided, and we will exorcise you.

  Leave your answer written on this page.

  The stylized symbol of a moth took the place of a signature.

  “Well, fuck,” Caleb said.

  * * *

  Caleb drew.

  He didn’t know what else to do, and he needed to keep his hands busy, so he sketched on page after page, anything which came to mind. Half the time he barely even paid attention, ending up with wild, colorful scribbles which meant nothing even to him.

  The moths. Fucking hell.

  How could they ask this of him? He wasn’t a SPECTR agent or a cop. He was an artist who worked behind the counter of a coffee shop to get by. Not a hero. Not John.

  John.

  Gray stirred. “If these moths speak truly, John might be in danger.”

  What are you talking about? John’s the original Boy Scout. He’s such a cheerleader for SPECTR, I can’t believe he doesn’t keep a sweater, mini skirt, and pompoms in his desk for emergencies. He does whatever they tell him.

  “No. He does what he believes to be right.”

  Caleb suppressed a sigh. That was all he needed, for the cameras to catch him talking to himself. Maybe it’s a human thing, but SPECTR is like John’s family. Especially after his biological family turned their backs on him for having paranormal ability. No matter what’s going on here, he’ll find some way to make it sound like sunshine and roses.

  Instead of responding with a thought, Gray called up a memory: their first glimpse of John, hunkered down in front of them in an abandoned house, his eyes the most brilliant color Gray had yet seen, so blue the shade seemed like some impossible magic. John had flirted and joked and done everything he could to put Caleb at ease. Not because SPECTR said he had to, not because of regulations, but because he operated that way.

  How many other times had he done the same for others? Plenty, going by what Caleb saw during their brief weeks together. And maybe John had a blind spot when it came to SPECTR, but if there really was something going on…even he would have to see it eventually, wouldn’t he?

  They had to warn him somehow. But how could they?

  “These moths know where the condo is. They can take a message.”

  Huh, the drakul was starting to get devious. Even if they do…what if he doesn’t believe us? What if he toes the line like a good little agent and tells Forsyth all about it? The moths’ agent, whoever left us the note, might get killed.

  “Do you not trust John?”

  He wants to kill you!

  Sorrow and resignation. “Yes. Because he believes it is the right thing to do. But whatever is happening here is not right, and he will not allow it.”

  And maybe this was the most inhuman thing about Gray: he sincerely believed in the innate goodness of someone who wanted to execute him. Caleb certainly couldn’t have done it, and for a minute he resented Gray for asking this of him.

  Because he wanted to refuse. Wanted to jump up, punch a hole in the door, or the wall, and get the hell out of here. Even more, he wanted to sit on the couch and turn on the TV, and pretend he was back in Charlotte and the biggest decision he had to make was whether to show up for work tomorrow.

  What had John said about Caleb’s bravery? Because he sure as fuck didn’t feel very brave right now.

  Shit. Between John and Gray, he would get his ass killed yet. Yeah. Okay. You’ve made your point. Let’s do this, before I change my mind.

  Chapter 3

  John’s legs burned by the time he got back from his morning run on Sunday. The day was overcast, and the air still held a chill this time of year, but sweat filmed his skin and stuck his shorts to his butt. He hadn’t gone running anywhere but on a treadmill for a while—since Caleb came into his life, actually.

  He’d gone almost five minutes without thinking about Caleb or Gray. A record.

  A flyer for a local pizza joint was stuffed in the crack between door and jamb. John ground his teeth as he pulled it loose. He got ads like this all the time, and they always annoyed him.

  Another piece of paper fell out from inside the folded ad. John picked it up as he headed inside, then paused, because this wasn’t the usual flimsy paper of the rest of the ad, but thicker, more like the kind in Caleb’s sketchbooks. As he unfolded it, his heart nearly stopped when he recognized Caleb’s handwriting.

  Hey Boy Scout,

  I don’t know if these people will pass this along to you or not. Shit, I’m not sure if I should even send it all, but I think you’ll do the right thing. I hope so.

  Something is going on here, and I don’t mean the usual weird shit SPECTR deals with. I know you probably won’t believe me, but Gray smells demons. I’m going to try to find out if there really is something scary going on, or if I’m just being paranoid.

  Right now I’m safe—unless they find this note, in which case I guess I’m fucked. Or unless you tell Forsyth I’m sneaking messages out somehow.

  I need you to trust me, just for a few days, okay? You can’t tell ANYONE I sent this to you. I know I’m asking a lot. I probably shouldn’t even send this, but if there is something shady going on here, you need to know about it. I’ll call you on Friday.

  Love,

  Caleb

  John read the note again, twice, before wandering to the couch in a daze. Who brought the note from Caleb and left it for him? And why?

  SPECTR RD was supposed to be a high-security facility. No one should be sneaking correspondence out. Someone had defied regulations to bring him this message from Caleb. Who? Why?

  It was his duty to report this. Unquestionably.

  Still holding the note, he wandered upstairs, not even realizing where his feet took him, until he found himself standing in front of the framed certificates on the wall of his office. Low-Country State School for the Paranormal. United States Department of Justice, Strategic Paranormal Entity Control Academy. Citations, commendations.

  SPECTR had been part of his life since his teen years. It had been there for him when his own parents turned their backs. It took a scared, suicidal kid and gave him a purpose.

  Caleb had to be wrong. He’d always viewed SPECTR as the boogeyman. His paranoia probably kicked into high gear the second he left with Forsyth. No wonder he’d acted weird on the call the other day.

  But Gray shouldn’t smell other NHEs there, should he?

  Maybe someone was possessed. Fuck, now he really had to turn this over to Forsyth. Lives might be at stake.

  But Forsyth was an exorcist, and far from the only one working for RD. How would a faust slip under the radar? It didn’t seem possible.

  Acid chewed at the lining of John’s stomach. He’d planned to break SPECTR rules once already, by letting Gray go when he successfully exorcised the drakul at last. But this was something else, on a much bigger level. If Caleb had mistaken the situation, if John didn’t report the security breach…

  “I need you to trust me,” Caleb had written. And John did. With his life.

  But with all the lives at SPECTR?

  Fucking hell.

  * * *

  Monday morning, Caleb walked down a hallway, two armed guards leading the way in front of him, two following behind. The hall appeared more like what he’d expected from RD: white walls and a white tiled floor, like something in a high tech laboratory. Doors lined the corridor at regular intervals, differentiated from each other only by the numbers set on the wall beside them. Incense and chalk dust perfumed the air, mingling with antiseptic and just a trace of ghoul rot, nearly i
mperceptible even to him.

  He’d spent the weekend being poked and prodded. More blood tests, although what the techs thought they’d find, he didn’t know. Running on a treadmill, while hooked up to machines monitoring everything from his breath to his heartbeat. Pissing in a bottle for a urine test of some kind. At least it gave him something to do besides wonder if the moths actually delivered his message to John.

  The guards led him to an open door, then stepped back to wait. He’d tried talking to them on Saturday, but they’d answered his questions in short, clipped voices and otherwise refused to engage in conversation. No talking to the big, scary drakul, I guess.

  “I do not like them.”

  Which makes two of us.

  “Come in, Mr. Jansen,” Forsyth said by way of greeting. The room was larger than Caleb had expected, its floor concrete rather than tile. Sheets of paper covered in strange symbols hung on the walls. Hadn’t he seen some of those in John’s spirit ward?

  An unfamiliar woman and man waited with Forsyth, both dressed in the typical SPECTR uniform of suit and tie. Caleb resisted the urge to nervously wipe his hands on the baggy cotton pants he’d taken from the wardrobe this morning.

  “The tests today are going to be a bit different,” Forsyth said, making no move to introduce the newcomers. “According to Agent Starkweather’s reports, the drakul can break through some spirit wards, correct?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” John hadn’t been at all happy about it, either, since spirit wards were one of the main tools exorcists used to keep NHEs contained.

  “I see.” Forsyth turned to the two Specs. “Let’s begin.”

  The woman took out a piece of chalk and sketched a ward on the concrete floor. Simpler than the one John had drawn, as far as Caleb could remember, anyway.

  “It lacks its power.”

  You can tell?

  “Yes.”

  The woman stepped back, and Forsyth gestured. “Try to cross it, please.”

  Caleb nodded and strolled over the sketched sigil. His ears popped and sparks flashed against his skin. The woman winced slightly, and he wondered if she felt the ward break somehow. John certainly knew when Gray crossed his.