I wasn’t sure at first whether the older man who came through the door was the sheriff or one of his deputies. He was probably in his late fifties, balding, and with a bit of a gut, though I wouldn’t have called him fat. He was wearing a uniform jacket over his dark brown shirt, pulled aside to show the star on his chest and hiked up to keep his sidearm clear.
He walked past my table as I leaned back, clearing my access to my own sidearm, just in case. I wasn’t eager to get in a gunfight with the local law, but I’d seen enough in little towns where the heebie-jeebies put my hackles up to know that I couldn’t necessarily count on things to stay sane. I didn’t know what was going on here, but the fact that the diner’s staff had apparently called the sheriff over some stranger who just wanted to eat given the relatively early hour didn’t bode well at all.
I was taking care not to stare at the sheriff or the waitress as she came to the counter and spoke softly to him, pointing toward my table, of course. The sheriff—his presence and demeanor was making me suspect that he was the sheriff and not just a deputy, though I still couldn’t be entirely sure—turned to look at me, then patted the waitress’s hand and started toward my table.
I looked up at him as he approached. I’d already put my hands on the table, though I knew I could get to my 1911 fast even so. I just didn’t want to start something if I could talk my way out of it.
Right then, I was really wishing that I’d just stayed in the truck and kept on rolling. Something told me that I’d stopped here in Leutenburg for a reason, though.
He stopped just beyond the corner of the table, his thumbs in his belt, one hand noticeably closer to his sidearm, and eyed me. The nametag on his jacket read “Deace.” “You were asked to leave, Mister.”
I looked up at him, then nodded toward the other clientele, most of whom were turned away, pointedly ignoring our little byplay. “They weren’t. It’s not even seven o’clock yet, and the sign out front says this place is open until nine.” I watched him without blinking. “I haven’t done anything, haven’t threatened or harassed anyone. I just want to eat a meal in peace.”
Something flickered behind his eyes. Was it anger? Or fear? I couldn’t tell. He glanced over his shoulder, shifting his weight, clearly uncomfortable. My eyes narrowed slightly as I watched him, my hands still on the table. There was something very, very wrong here.
His eyes returned to me, studying me a little more closely, and then they stopped. I didn’t look down to see what he was looking at, but from what I could tell, he was staring at the silver crucifix on its leather thong around my neck.
I’d never try to hide it, though I did occasionally tuck it away inside my shirt when I needed to move. Most people just thought it was jewelry, or a sign of my faith.
It definitely was the latter, but it was also my badge of office, in a way.
Sheriff Deace’s eyes were fixed on that crucifix for a long moment, before they moved up to me. His expression was still unreadable, but something had changed. I just didn’t know whether it was for the better or worse.
“You’re going to have to come with me.” His hand had shifted closer to his sidearm.
Definitely worse.
“What have I done, Sheriff?” A part of me couldn’t just go along with this. Part of that was sheer survival instinct, which the Marine Corps had honed and then years as a Witch Hunter had stropped to a fine edge. I knew that if I went into a jail in a town that had something from the other side in control, I might not make it out.
That was always a possibility, but it was one you tried to stave off as long as possible. Life is a gift, and while we shouldn’t be overly attached to this world, we don’t get to throw the gift away, either.
“Are you resisting arrest?”
There it was. I could go along or get into a gunfight with the local law in a diner. That wasn’t really an option.
Hopefully this hadn’t already gone so far south that I wouldn’t get a phone call. At least somebody should know what was going on.
Keeping my hands above the table and spread wide, I slid out of my chair and got up. I was taller than the sheriff, though he probably outweighed me by a good thirty pounds. I could probably still put him on the ground, but I really didn’t want to.
He stepped back, though he didn’t put hands on me, which was a little weird, given what was going on, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I preceded him out the door, still careful to keep my hands in view, waiting for things to get rough outside.
But all he did was open the back door of his SUV. “Get in.”
I did so, surprised that he hadn’t searched me. I still had my pistol on my belt, not to mention the flask of holy water in my back pocket. What is going on here?
He didn’t say a word as he got in the front seat, and I wasn’t going to break the silence until I could figure out more of what was going on. The sense of impending doom that had hung over me since I’d slowed down in Leutenburg hadn’t lessened at all.
I just wasn’t sure how involved the sheriff was.
Leutenburg not being a large town, it didn’t take long to get to the county jail. Still without speaking, Sheriff Deace parked the vehicle, got out, and let me out of the back. He pointed toward the door, still in silence, and I walked through, still being careful not to move too fast or let my hand get too close to my .45.
The office inside was small and pretty typical of a rural county sheriff’s office. The venetian blinds were half drawn in the windows along two walls, and instead of industrial cubicles, the office was divvied up by actual wood dividers, with clear plastic windows. There were some plants on shelves and a couple of the four desks, though no one else was in there at the moment.
I had been expecting to get ushered down the hall to the jail, so I wasn’t quite sure what to do, but I stepped out of the doorway as Sheriff Deace followed me inside.
“Have a seat.” The sheriff pointed toward a chair in front of a desk with “Sheriff Deace” on the little placard in front. “I didn’t get your name, but we needed to get out of the diner.”
I frowned, but did as he said, while he stepped around the desk and sat down. “Jed Horn.”
Deace folded his hands and leaned on his elbows. “Well, Mr. Horn, I apologize for the drama, but I assure you that there’s a reason for it.”
This could get interesting. “I should hope so.” Ordinarily, I might be a little more circumspect, but I was tired, hungry, and had just been through a pseudo arrest for no particular reason.
He had the good grace to look somewhat abashed. “I was just going to try to get you out of town. Or, if you put up a fuss, yeah, I was going to throw you in the clink until morning, but…” He held up a hand as my face clouded. “It was for your own protection. You might not buy that right off the bat, but just hear me out.”
Then he pointed to the crucifix around my neck. “Then I saw that.”
I just raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t going to say a thing until I had more information.
“Now, I know it might just be an ordinary cross, but here’s the thing. Back when I was a youngster, when we were having the same troubles we are now, a fella came through wearing that same crucifix.” He nodded when my eyebrow went up a little higher. “Oh, yeah. I’m certain that it’s the same one. I’ve seen the photos. We’ve got a few in the files here.
“The point is, this gent was able to help out where no one else could. I’m hoping that maybe that ain’t just a piece of jewelry, and you’re like him.”
Well, this was getting interesting.
“Did he carry a gun?”
“Several, actually.” Deace leaned back in his seat with a creak, apparently satisfied enough to relax. I still hadn’t been searched, which lent some credence to this not being a trap. “Among other things. Including a hip flask full of holy water.”
I sighed. Well, that was a pretty good indicator that another member of the Order had come through here. Still moving carefully, I reached back and pulled my own flask out of my pocket and set it on the desk.
You’d think I’d just produced the Holy Grail. The confirmation that I was, indeed, a member of the Order of the Silver Cross made him slump with a deep sigh of relief.
“What kind of trouble do you think I can help with, Sheriff?” I still wasn’t all that happy about how this had gone down, but sometimes there’s only so much you can do.
He sobered, leaning forward over the desk again. “So, with anyone else, I’d expect you to think this sounds crazy. But from what I read in the notes from the last time, I hope that you’ll hear me out.”
I just held my peace. We’d definitely gotten off to the wrong start, but when I swallowed my anger at the way I’d been treated, I had to suspect that some of the bad feeling I’d had when I’d first rolled into town might be explained in the next few minutes.
“So, this town goes back to the 1890s. Founded in 1893, as a matter of fact. And this problem, judging by the town wisdom and records going back to the first newspaper, which was started in 1894, goes right back to the beginning.
“Sam Witwer was the first victim. Sam was the town drunk, so nobody missed him at first. Only when he started to be found around town, in pieces, did anyone really start to take notice. Still, they figured that Sam had finally drunk himself to death, and the coyotes were picking him apart.
“Then it happened again. Only Mary Tannen wasn’t a drunk. And her parts and pieces started showing up in almost the exact same places where Sam’s limbs had been deposited.”
My eyes were narrowing as I listened. This could be any number of things—including ordinary crime—but if he was talking about things that had happened in the 1890s, then I was already starting to think that it was up my alley.
Oh, joy.
See, what the Order does is fight back when the Otherworld and the Abyss try to cheat. The demons of the Abyss will sometimes try to terrify their targets into corruption by force. The Otherworld does the same thing, though for somewhat different reasons. That’s not the way the rules work, and that’s why we step in, with iron, silver, lead, steel, prayer, and holy water when that happens. We sometimes get some pretty high-level assistance, if you catch my meaning, but we are the front line when things get physical.
“Two more died before they caught the culprit. Matthew Harmon was caught with about half of what was left of Olivia Reitmeier’s body. He was covered in blood, dragged in front of the justice of the peace, tried, found guilty in about half an hour, and hanged.
“The really freaky part of the newspaper story was that Harmon didn’t even try to deny any of it, and he laughed on the way to the tree where they strung him up.”
Deace’s eyes had drifted to somewhere far away while he’d talked. From the sounds of things, this had been over a century ago, but for some reason the story was deeply affecting him.
Given what he’d said about “current troubles…”
“That was in 1894. About 1912, it happened again. Almost blow for blow. Four victims that time, before Simon Arendt was caught. Once again, he was tried, didn’t even try to deny it, laughed all the way to the gallows.”
The sheriff looked haunted as he waved his hand at the stack of papers on his desk. Now that I noticed, I saw that some of them appeared to be very old. “So it’s gone. Over and over, for over a hundred years. Every ten to fifteen years, it starts again. And it started again six weeks ago.”
I frowned as I thought it over. There were some missing pieces here. “You said one of my order came through here.”
He nodded, pulling out a much newer, but still yellowed notebook. “It was the last time. He seemed to think that this was the work of a cult, one that had been around since the town was founded, if not before. He found a ceremonial…something, out in the hills to the north of here and destroyed it. Said he thought they had been trying to summon something, but with the ceremonial site destroyed, they should move on somewhere else. The perp was caught the next day, and the usual song and dance went down. This being the modern day, there wasn’t a quick trial or sentencing, but the perp was found dead in his cell after a week. Looked like he’d been beaten to death. There were some questions about how that had happened, but it was essentially over after that.”
I thought it over. “But now it’s started again?”
He nodded. “Three victims so far. I’m guessing that whatever the other guy did, he didn’t put enough of a damper on the cult’s activities. Or he really miscalculated.”
Without knowing who it was, I couldn’t comment on his professionalism, but I’d seen the latter before. That’s actually a common risk in this business. Neither the Otherworld nor the Abyss are particularly aboveboard or honest, and half the job is trying to figure out just what is going on. And you can always be wrong, because the beings we deal with are far more cunning than any ordinary man.
“I’d guess that he miscalculated.” I was still thinking through what he’d told me, and some of the picture was coming together. I’d have to do some looking around, get on the hunt, but I could make some guesses. My eyes narrowed as I thought it over. “The pattern is too long-lived to just be a cult. And the perp always laughing on the way to the hanging tree…” My frown deepened. “No, I think that if there was a summoning involved, it happened a long time ago. This isn’t a ritual. It’s a predator.”
He’d blanched as I’d spoken. I suppose it’s a lot worse to hear that there’s some sort of supernatural predator prowling around your jurisdiction, rather than a cult of serial killers. “That’s my theory, anyway. I’d have to investigate to tell for sure.” My gaze sharpened as I shifted all my attention to him. “Can I do that without running afoul of the locals?”
He had the good grace to look abashed. “Look, I’m sorry for how this started out. But you’ve got to understand. All the victims lately have been out-of-towners, people passing through or visiting. That was why Mable tried to get you out before dark, and why she called me. She wasn’t trying to be hostile. She might not have handled it all that well, but she didn’t want to see your body parts show up scattered around the town tomorrow.”
I had to nod. Had to accept it, as bitter as I might still have been. My profession might call me to a higher moral level—being in a state of sin makes you vulnerable to some of the things we fight—but I’m still a former Marine with a short temper. It makes things tough, sometimes.
Standing up, I stretched. “Well, then, I guess I’ll find a place to bed down and start looking around.” I raised an eyebrow as he stood up on the other side of the desk. “Though I’d really like a meal first.”
Deace sighed and pulled his jacket off his chair. “Come on. I’ll buy.”
Something in the Dark comes out on Kindle and in Paperback on October 8.
Pre ordered the book, looking forward to getting it.