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  Konstantin looked at his watch, rolled his eyes, muttered something in Russian, and unscrewed the cap of the bottle. “Payékhali!” he toasted, and lifted the bottle to his lips, not bothering to wait for a cup. He slammed the bottle back on the table and smiled. “Good drinking,” he said. “From Khortytsa.”

  Mantu grabbed a stack of paper cups and poured shots for all of them. He raised his cup. “To the ragtag band of fucked misfits on a mission from God.”

  —

  “Oh, my,” Claire said. “I think I’ve had enough.”

  Konstantin had poured the last of the bottle into everyone’s cups. Vinod was mixing his with Tang, but everyone else followed Konstantin’s lead and drank it straight.

  “What do you call this stuff again?” Mantu asked. “Something-something-tits-ya?”

  Vinod laughed then abruptly lowered his eyes.

  “Khortytsa.” Konstantin’s face was as red as if it had been sunburned. He said something else in Russian, and his eyes got teary.

  Ray scraped a spoon in the bottom of a peanut butter jar. “So, Claire, you were telling us about your life before the Brotherhood.”

  “Oh, that was a long time ago. Another lifetime. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “No, I want to hear it, too,” Mantu said.

  She wiped a strand of hair from her eyes. “I was a model.”

  Mantu slammed the table. “I knew it. A fashion model?”

  She nodded. “In London. When I was sixteen, I was recruited by a man who became my agent. He saw me in a market with my mother and gave me his card. My mum thought he was a pervert, but she checked him out and he was with a legitimate agency.”

  “TV?” Mantu asked. “Magazines, all that shit?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But it’s not that interesting.”

  “I’m interested,” Ray said.

  “Me, too,” Sam said. His eyes were glazed and fixed on Claire. He’s infatuated, Ray thought.

  Claire sighed. “It was fun, while it lasted. But when I turned nineteen I started getting out of control. The parties got bigger, and so did the hangovers. I had a very nice boyfriend. A poet, in fact, with gorgeous long hair. I know, how corny, right? We lived together in London for almost a year. But I left him behind because he couldn’t keep up with me. I even alienated my parents, and when my mother got sick I spent more time away from home than with her.”

  “We all do stupid things when we’re kids,” Sam said.

  “I suppose,” Claire said.

  “So how did you get wrangled into the ’Hood?” Mantu asked.

  “I got involved with a man quite older than me, good looking and extremely wealthy. He was an occultist—a very powerful one, and I found that intriguing. He led a lodge in Edinburgh. It had quite the lineage, going all the way back to when the Golden Dawn fell apart in the early twentieth century. He saw my innate talents. Well, along with my other attributes, young and stupid as I was. So he invited me into the lodge. It was all so fascinating, and I got hooked on the power and energy. He groomed me to be his priestess. And I didn’t realize how working such powerful Cabalistic magic was changing me. Warping me.”

  “How so?” Ray asked.

  “The lineage was corrupt. The inner contacts were malevolent, although it took me a long time to realize it. I neglected my career and my family. Lost all of my friends. The lodge was my only home, the center of my life. The stronger I became magically, the more my normal life dropped away. But I couldn’t see that. All I cared about was the power. He was controlling me, and using me to control the others.”

  “I can’t tell you how many stories I’ve heard like that,” Mantu said. “It’s the curse of magic.”

  “Yes, it is,” Claire said. “Which is why the Brotherhood takes such care to build character and not just raise power.” She lowered her head. “But even we were corrupted.”

  “So how did you get out?” Sam asked.

  She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “After one ritual in particular—I don’t want to get into details—something very dark attached itself to me. Afterward, everything around me seemed coated with something black and grimy, and I couldn’t shake it. I kept catching glimpses of the parasite that haunted me out of the corner of my eye, or when I passed a mirror—it was like a short, squat child, but with the leer of a filthy old man. And everything I tried to break its hold on me, every banishing, made it stronger. Then I noticed the lodge was crawling with those things. We had been attracting them, and strengthening them. Feeding them.” She shuddered.

  Ray reached out and held her arm. He felt Sam’s gaze on his hand.

  “I was so broken. I realized I’d thrown my life away, lost everyone I’d loved, given all of my energy to something that was cursed. I was using the tarot daily, and every day the same cards came up—the Blasted Tower, the Devil, and Death. Every single reading, no matter how many times I shuffled the deck. I was afraid to sleep because of the nightmares. One night I sat with a bottle of painkillers, dumped them out on my bed, and sat staring at them with a glass of water in my hand.”

  The room grew silent.

  Claire wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve had too much to drink.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Ray said.

  “So I prayed,” she said quietly. “I put out a distress call. One final plea for help. And the next day I woke up, put all those pills back in the bottle, and went for a walk. It was the first sunny, warm day in weeks, and it lifted my spirits. Just on an impulse I went inside a church. I don’t know why. I had never been conventionally religious. Just the opposite, in fact, and I’d learned in the lodge that traditional religion was a panacea for the simpleminded who didn’t understand magic. But I went in and sat, and closed my eyes. I was the only one in the pews, and I went into a very deep state. When I came out of it, I realized there was a man sitting behind me. I felt his presence before I saw him. He reached out and tapped my shoulder.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “I’ll never forget the look in his eyes. He knew what I was going through. There was such love and compassion in those eyes that I started crying. He got up and sat next to me, and held me, and I lost it. Everything came out. Without a word from him. I cried so hard I felt like I was dissolving.”

  Mantu’s mouth was hanging open. Ray reached out and squeezed Claire’s hand.

  “I’ll never forget what he said. ‘It’s all right, child. Love is the light that banishes all shadows.’ And then I got a good look at him. He was terribly scarred, but radiant. Like a saint.”

  “Micah,” Mantu whispered.

  Claire smiled. “He saved me.”

  Mantu stood, walked around the table to Claire, and embraced her. “I never knew that. He saved me, too,” Mantu said.

  Ray felt his eyes glistening. “Micah was one hell of a recruiter.”

  Mantu kissed Claire on her forehead. “Sister Claire, that makes me love you so much more.”

  Claire cleared her throat. “So. That’s my story. And here we are. Micah is gone, Jeremy is gone, Eleusis is gone.” She looked around the table. “We’re all that’s left.”

  “Well, aren’t you a merry band of drunks.” Burnham stood in the doorway. “Konstantin, get your ass to bed.”

  The copilot grunted.

  Burnham scanned their faces. “Sorry if I interrupted something.”

  “No, it’s quite all right,” Claire said. She wobbled as she stood. “I think we all need to get to bed.”

  Sam stood. “There aren’t enough cots for all of us.”

  “I have some hammocks strung up in the copter. If any of you are sober enough to climb into them without breaking your necks.”

  Vinod started laughing.

  Mantu’s brow wrinkled. “Vinod, bro, what’s so funny?”

  Vinod laughed harder. He tried to speak but choked on his words and sputtered. His mouth opened but all that came out was a high-pitched wheeze.

  “Dear Lord,” Clai
re said. Then she burst into laughter, followed by Sam and Ray. Konstantin started laughing, too, and as he leaned back in his chair he toppled to the floor.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Burnham shouted. But he was smiling. “Get off the darn floor, you Russian ape.”

  “White people,” Mantu said. But then he lost it, too.

  —

  It was not a great morning.

  Of the drinkers, only Konstantin seemed to have escaped a hangover. No one talked or made eye contact as they carried boxes of food out of the copter for Sam. Burnham pumped the aircraft with fuel from a tanker truck and ran through his preflight diagnostics. It was still dark when they gathered to say their goodbyes to Sam.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go with us?” Claire asked.

  Sam shook his head. Ray smelled the alcohol still lingering in his breath. “I appreciate the offer. But I don’t think I’d be much help to you. I’m just a logistics guy, not a fighter. I’m going to try to catch up to some of the brothers and sisters who headed north. I was waiting for you, and now my job here is done.”

  “And we thank you for that, brother,” Mantu said. He extended his hand.

  Sam shook it, then pulled Mantu in for the hug. “I just hope there’s someone waiting for you at Tango and Big Bear.”

  Ray slapped Sam on the back. “Be careful.”

  Claire kissed Sam on the cheek. “Yes, please.”

  They stood in uneasy silence. “I’ll be fine,” Sam said. “There are still plenty of good people out there. If my crew made it somewhere safe, I’ll find them.”

  Burnham embraced Sam and waved the rest of them to the copter. The winds had turned cold, and the early morning clouds were thick and mottled gray. Ray didn’t relish being in the air in the midst of a storm, and it looked like this might be what Burnham had called a serious doozy. Claire walked with him, and when they climbed up the steps into the vehicle she stopped.

  “I had a dream last night,” she said. “It felt like a prophetic vision, it was so clear and vivid. Like a gift.” Her eyes softened. “I was on an island somewhere. On a beach, under the stars. I could hear children’s voices in the distance. And everything was okay. Things were right again. So I think we’re going to make it.”

  “Was I there?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said. But her smile faltered as she entered the darkness of the cabin.

  “Strap in, ladies and gentlemen,” Burnham boomed through the intercom. “This ride might be a little rough.”

  Chapter 6

  Ellen stared out the tiny, frost-covered window facing the fenced playground. It had snowed overnight, and was still coming down, big, chunky flakes mixed with icy pellets that smacked against the reinforced glass. It had been weeks since she had last seen William and the other children playing—no doubt because it had gotten too cold. When she had last seen him, he had been sitting alone with his back against the fence while the other children played. As they were being led back inside he had turned, just for a second, and looked in her direction—almost as if he felt her stare and heard her pained whispering of his name. She had cried out, banging on the thick glass, but the teacher stepped between them and then he was gone.

  She’d cried harder than she had since the day they’d been brought here. To be so close to her son, knowing he had no idea where she was. And now that the depths of winter had come, she wouldn’t be glimpsing him at all. Most days, all she saw were the guards who brought her meals and occasional clean laundry. Dr. Regardie had visited her a few times in the early days, barraging her with questions, but after concluding that she knew very little about the Brotherhood, he lost interest. As much as she hated the pompous asshole, she found herself wishing he would show up again just so she could have someone to talk to.

  And that made her sick.

  She paced the room. It was built for two people, with two utilitarian beds and a small table with two chairs. The bathroom door had been removed, as had the toilet seat and the medicine cabinet mirror—basically, anything she could use to hurt herself or one of the guards. She imagined she looked pretty hideous by now, so she didn’t miss the mirror. The shower had hot water, but it was within the sight line of any guards who might walk in, so she never lingered and showered only once every few days. A pile of old magazines and books sat by her bed. She’d read all the magazines a dozen times, and had even erased all the word searches and crossword puzzles so she could do them again. But very few of the books held her interest, and several repelled her—the ones about complex magical theories, rituals, and demons. Just looking at the diagrams made her want to throw up. What she wouldn’t give for a simple novel about normal people, with no magic or blood or horror, or even one of the sexed-up romance novels she’d made fun of her sister for reading.

  Or, God, just one hour of TV. Even the shitty Mexican telenovelas she’d watched when they were on the run in Guatemala would be a joyful escape.

  She finally stopped pacing. It made her feel too much like an animal in a zoo. She dropped to the floor and started doing pushups. It was part of a routine she’d put together, something to keep her focused, to push away the pain. Between the exercise and the lousy food, she was more buff than she’d been in high school.

  And moving kept the bad thoughts at bay. After her first week, she’d started thinking what had once been unthinkable—how the sharp corner of a metal bedpost could, with enough scraping, cut deeply into her wrist.

  Ten, eleven, twelve…

  Or how the leg of the table, if lifted high enough, and dropped directly on her temple, might break through bone…

  Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…

  William, she repeated to herself. His name became a mantra to chase away the terrible thoughts. He was alive, and he was close. So close.

  Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…

  And yet so far. So goddamn far.

  She dropped to the floor, tears burning in her eyes.

  —

  She woke up, her heart hammering. The door had banged open and ricocheted off the wall.

  “Get the fuck off me,” a woman screamed.

  Ellen sat up in bed. Two guards shoved a young woman into the room. She turned and ran back at the door but it slammed shut. The lock clicked.

  “You fucking assholes!” she screamed, pounding her fists against the metal. “Cocksucking motherfuckers!”

  She had short black hair and sleeves of tattoos on both arms. She was still in normal clothes, too, tight black jeans and a loose T-shirt. When she stopped pounding on the door she turned to Ellen. Her face was smeared with mascara.

  “Who are you?” she asked. She looked maybe mid-twenties, pretty and fashion-model skinny to the point of possible danger.

  “Ellen. You want to come over and sit?”

  “Fuck that.” She glared. “I want to get out of here.” She kicked the door.

  “That’s not going to do it,” Ellen said.

  The woman flipped her the finger.

  “What’s your name? Come on. Looks like you’re stuck here with me for a while.”

  “Marlo.” She looked around the room. “I guess you probably don’t have any cigarettes. Those assholes took mine.”

  Ellen shook her head. “I wish. That’s a bit of a luxury in these parts.”

  Marlo scowled. “Are you a redneck? You sound like one. I don’t get along with rednecks.”

  Ellen rolled her eyes. “How old are you? Fifteen?”

  “Twenty-two.” She stared out the tiny window in the center of the door. “Come on back, assholes. I’ll fuck you up.”

  “They’re not coming back. They bring food, take the laundry and bring it back once a week, and that’s about it.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I lost count. Five months or so, maybe six. Too long.”

  “Have you seen the bitch?”

  “Lily?” Ellen shook her head. “Not since she brought me here. There’s a guy named Dr. Regardie who runs
things.”

  Marlo’s face wrinkled in disgust. “That old pervert? Jesus Christ. This is worse than I expected.”

  “Why don’t you sit down. Tell me your story, I’ll tell you mine.”

  “I need a drink. I guess I can’t call room service for a vodka and tonic.”

  “Plastic cup is in the bathroom. Water is all I got.”

  Marlo cursed under her breath.

  —

  “So your kid is right over there, in that building? And he has no idea you’re here?”

  Ellen nodded.

  “That is some fucked-up shit.”

  “Tell me about it,” Ellen said. “Now—your turn.”

  The young woman sat on her bed, drawing up her thin legs. Her collarbones jutted through her T-shirt. She was pretty, with clear, pale skin, but her face reminded Ellen of a troubled girlfriend she’d known back in Blackwater—resigned, sullen, and devoid of anything remotely joyful. The kind of face that hinted of alcoholism or suicidal tendencies. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Well, one thing we have plenty of is time. Start as far back as you want.”

  Marlo flopped onto her back. “Well, my dad is a general. Real bigwig. James W. Skinner—always had the W in there. He was on TV a lot right after the dirty bombs went off. Ever heard of him?”

  Ellen shook her head. “I never paid a lot of attention to politics.”

  “Me, neither. I hate all that shit.” She banged her fists on the bed. “I am dying for a goddamn cigarette.”

  Ellen ignored her. Even though she had purged herself of the habit, she remembered nicotine fits all too well and didn’t relish watching this girl going through that agony.

  “Anyway, my mom died when I was fourteen. Ovarian cancer. After that my dad got really weird.”

  “Weird how?”

  “Just…different. Real possessive of me. He had never paid much attention to me before that and he was never around, always in D.C. or flying to Europe or to see one of his stupid girlfriends. Didn’t give a rat’s ass how I was doing in school or who I hung out with. But after Mom died he wouldn’t leave me alone. When I started failing high school he pulled me out and got me private tutors. That didn’t work, so he sent me to this fancy rehab place in Boulder.”