A Gathering of Crows

SEVEN

The crow cawed again. The sound echoed through the night, loud and obnoxious. Then the bird spread its massive wings and swooped toward them. Donny and Marsha stood transfixed, gaping as it approached. Levi stepped in front of them.

“Stay behind me.”

“It’s just a bird,” Donny said.

“No, it isn’t. This is something else.”

The crow landed in the yard and then seemed to blur. It grew, changing shape, transforming into a tall man. The entire process took only seconds. Behind him, Levi heard Donny and Marsha gasp. He knew how they felt. The transformation was simultaneously incredible and terrifying. He’d certainly never seen anything like it before, and he’d seen a lot in his travels. Encountering it like this left him momentarily stunned. He knew of therianthropy and zoanthropy, of course. They were two terms that described the same thing—the metamorphosis of human beings into animals, and vice versa. His library back home was full of examples, and although he had never witnessed it personally, Levi knew associates and peers who had, and he’d heard their stories. Werewolves were the most obvious example, but the phenomena extended far beyond mere lycanthropy. In many Native American, Chinese, West African, Central American and Pacific Island cultures, there were incidents of people turning into dogs, cats, bears, boars, owls, leopards, cheetahs, hyenas, lions, lizards and even sharks. Some scholars believed that this was where stories of centaurs and mermaids had originally come from, as well as human-animal hybrid deities like Ra and Anubis, but Levi knew better. Indeed, most of what passed for mankind’s collective knowledge regarding religion, the paranormal and their own human history was incorrect. Man’s understanding of shape shifting was no different.

“Holy shit,” Donny said.

Marsha whimpered in agreement.

The figure took form, rising to its full height. It was a man, dressed in black, archaic clothes that made Levi’s outfit seem positively risqué. Looking at the Puritan-style hat, cloak and garments, Levi was reminded of the “Terror of Salem”—the Reverend Cotton Mather, scientist, theologian and witch hunter. The man’s face seemed hidden in perpetual shadow. Only his cruel eyes and crueler mouth were clearly visible. The sight filled Levi with dread.

So fast, Levi thought. It changed so quickly… What am I facing here? What are these things, Lord?

Whatever its identity, this was no mere shape shifter. If a human being turned into a wolf or bird or anything else and then transformed back to their human form again, they’d have an aura. All living human beings had auras. Levi had been able to see auras since birth, and his father and grandfather had taught him how to read them when he was just a child. Just like snowflakes, no two auras were alike.

Their colors varied, encompassing the entire spectrum. A trained eye could tell if a person was healthy or sick, happy or sad, just by noting the color of their aura. Different colors meant different things. Levi learned a lot about the man standing before them by reading his aura. It was black, just like the shadows concealing his face and the strange garb covering his body. Human auras were never black. That meant the man was something else.

Something inhuman.

That alone didn’t frighten Levi. He’d dealt with more than his fair share of supernatural entities over the years. Indeed, just two years before, he’d defeated Nodens, most powerful of the Thirteen, and stopped the beings’ attempt to breach the walls of this Earth and drown it in eternal darkness, snuffing out all life. Their battle had started with a confrontation much like this. Levi had encountered a seemingly human woman whose aura was black. While investigating, Levi had soon learned that the woman was nothing more than an empty shell. Her husk had been commandeered by Nodens. She was transport. Nothing more.

The entity standing before him now was different. Levi probed silently, reaching out with his mind. Although the thing—because Levi could no longer think of it as a man—radiated evil and contempt, it wasn’t the encompassing, overwhelming nihilism projected by a deity like Nodens. This was a lesser adversary. An avatar, perhaps. A psychic projection. Maybe even a minor demon. But none of those would account for the level of chaos and destruction that had been visited upon Brinkley Springs. Such lesser supernatural beings would be incapable of such transgressions—at least, without being discovered. But then again, perhaps their actions had been discovered. Perhaps they had been noticed, and that was why he’d been placed here tonight.

“You stink of magic.” The thing’s voice was a raspy, grating whisper, as if its throat were filled with gravel or dirt.

“And you stink of blood and offal.”

“Indeed. And now I’ll add yours to the stench, little thing, as well as the blood and innards of those behind you.”

“You can try, but I warn you, these two are under my protection. You will fail.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You are weak. You may know the art, but that will not save you.”

“That remains to be seen.” Levi struggled to keep his voice calm and his expression serene. “Tell me, whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

“So polite, you are. I’m impressed. Most of these creatures have simply run away from me, or screamed or tried in vain to fight back, but you seek dialogue. You, sir, are a gentleman. Since you asked politely, My name is Samuel.”

Levi paused. “Samuel?”

The creature laughed. “You pitiful bag of meat. Of course my name isn’t Samuel. Did you actually think I would give you my real name?”

“I suppose not, but it certainly never hurts to try.” Dispensing with the charade, Levi recited a passage from The Long Lost Friend, issuing a challenge of sorts. “Enoch and Elias, the two prophets, were never imprisoned, nor bound, nor beaten.”

“Is that a fact?”

Levi ignored the interruption. His voice rose to a shout as he continued. “Thus, no one of my enemies must be able to injure or attack me in my body or my life, in the name of God the Father—”

“Don’t you mean God the Destroyer?”

“—the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Ut nemo in sense tentat, descendere nemo. At precedenti spectatur mantica tergo.”

The challenge completed, Levi’s shoulders went slack. He stood, panting, covered with sweat, and waited for the adversary’s reaction. When the reply came, it wasn’t at all what Levi had expected.

“Are you quite finished, little magus?”

Levi’s stomach fluttered. He suddenly felt very cold. The creature wasn’t evil—at least, not in an earthly sense. He had faced evil countless times. He’d seen its effects, the damage it caused. He’d seen evil reflected in both human and inhuman beings. This creature, while certainly evil in both its intent and the acts it committed, wasn’t an agent of hell, nor had it been spawned in one of the nether regions. If it had originated in the Pit or been satanic in origin, it would have reacted strongly—perhaps violently— to his challenge. The fact that it had merely taunted him told Levi that this was something else, something beyond the Judeo-Christian pantheon or any other of the world’s major religions. This wasn’t just evil. This was something much worse. Levi knew of only one pantheon that fit that description: the Thirteen, a race of beings that were neither gods nor demons, but holdovers from a universe that had existed long before this one. They were the ultimate in antiquity, older than the stars. Concepts like good and evil were beneath them, inconsequential, as was human life.

Only one of the Thirteen would have reacted to Levi’s challenge as this being had. But that made no sense, either. Levi knew all of the Thirteen, and none of them matched this entity’s description. He quickly ticked them off in his mind. Ob, Ab and Api. Leviathan and Behemoth. Kandara. Meeble. Purturabo. Nodens. Shtar, Kat, Apu and—

Levi heard footsteps sweeping through the grass behind him as Donny and Marsha slowly backed away.

“Is there anything else you’d like to say?” The creature’s condescending tone dripped with impatience and boredom. “Anything at all that you’d like to add before I eviscerate you and decorate yon trees with your innards?”

“Actually, yes there is. Donny? Marsha?”

“Y-yeah?” Donny sounded as terrified as Levi felt.

“Run!”

The shadow surged forward, roaring. Marsha screamed. Levi took one step backward and then braced his feet, squaring off against the onrushing attacker. Meeting its furious stare, Levi kept his eyes wide. He did not blink. He did not dare. His heart pounded as he recited an enchantment to spellbind an enemy.

“Thou horseman and footman,” he cried, making a motion with both hands. “You are coming apart under your hat. You are scattered. With the blood of the five holy wounds, I bind thee. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, you are enchanted and bound.”

“No, little magus, I am not.”

Levi scampered backward, dismayed. In truth, he’d suspected the spell would be ineffectual against this enemy, but at the very least, it should have bought him some time. Even if only to flee. Like his challenge, the creature just ignored it.

Its terrible mouth curled into a garish smile. “Now it is my turn. Your soul will feed me well.”

“Levi!”

The shout came from behind him—Donny’s voice. What were they still doing here? He’d told them to run. Not wanting to risk taking his eyes off his opponent, Levi yelled, “Get out of here. Please, you don’t—”

The creature slashed at him with one hand, sprouting long, black talons from its fingertips as it struck. Levi grunted. The air rushed from his lungs as the sharp claws raked across his chest, shredding the fabric of his shirt. As they tore through his shirt pocket, one of the nails slid against Levi’s copy of The Long Lost Friend. There was a sharp, crackling sound, accompanied by a spark of blue-white light. The attacker yanked its hand away as if it had been shocked. Grinning, Levi breathed deep. The air smelled bitter and electric. He glanced down at his chest. The shirt was torn but his skin remained unbroken.

The shadow-man growled. “How?”

Still smiling, Levi patted his now-frayed pocket.

“Whoever carries this book with him is safe from all enemies, visible or invisible; and whoever has this book with him cannot die without the—”

The entity struck at him again, this time aiming its talons at Levi’s eyes. Levi side-stepped the charge and delivered an uppercut to the being’s abdomen. Pain raced up his arm, and his fist went numb. It was like punching a block of ice.

“C-cold…”

“Not nearly as cold as your corpse will be in death. And that is all that will exist of you—an empty husk of decaying flesh. And then, not even that. You will return to the dirt that spawned you. Your soul is mine to consume. You will not exist beyond this level.”

“Well, you’ll have to succeed in striking me first, and I don’t intend to let that happen.”

They stepped away from each other. Levi panted for breath. His adversary scowled, clearly unhappy with the stalemate.

“I order you to leave this place,” Levi said.

“You order me to do nothing, bearded one. My brothers and I will deal with you later. For now, I am content to turn my attention to your companions, instead.”

The thing rushed past Levi, unleashing a powerful swipe with its forearm. The blow didn’t connect, but Levi stumbled backward anyway, more from instinct than fear. The entity raced past him and charged toward Donny and Marsha, who were still standing at the edge of the yard, seemingly mesmerized by the battle.

Levi steadied himself and pointed his right index finger at the creature. Winded and half-nauseous from the adrenalin surging through his body, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His finger wavered in the air. His arm shook.

Marsha shrieked.

“Get the fuck back,” Donny shouted. “What are you doing? Get out of there.”

Levi opened his eyes again, and in a calm, clear voice, said, “Hbbi Massa danti Lantien.”

The entity slowed, as if running through wet cement. It glanced over his shoulder at Levi.

“What is this?”

“Me, going to work.” The trembling in Levi’s fingerbecame more pronounced.

Donny grabbed Marsha’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go while we can.”

“No.” She pulled away from him. “We’re not leaving anybody else. Not again.”

“Marsha—”

“I said no, goddamn it!”

The man in black turned back to them and slogged forward. It hunched over, grunting with effort, clearly exerting itself with each step.

Levi took another deep breath. With his finger still upraised, he exhaled.

“I, Levi Stoltzfus, son of Amos Stoltzfus, breathe upon you. Three drops of blood I take from you. The first from your heart. The second from your liver. The third from your vital powers. In this, I deprive you of your strength and vitality. Now crawl on the ground like the worm you are. You’ll raise no hand against us.”

The enemy collapsed on its belly, indignant with rage. It thrashed on the wet grass, but its movements were slow and lethargic.

“That will slow him down,” Levi yelled at Donny and Marsha, “but it won’t last long, and it cost me something. Go. Go now!”

“What about you?” Marsha asked.

“I’ll be fine. Like I said before, I’ve had experience in these matters.”

Donny grabbed Marsha’s arm again and pulled, leading her away. Levi saw them both glance over their shoulders as they cut across the neighboring backyard and disappeared into the darkness. Then he was alone with the thing.

“Now,” he said, his smile returning, “where were we? I believe you said something about taking my soul?”

“I’ll devour it,” the creature groaned. “If not me, then one of my brethren.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Surely you jest. You have given me your name, and you have not the sigil nor the power to make me talk.”

Levi sighed. “Fine. We’ll do this the hard way, then. Dullix, ix, ux.”

Powwow hadn’t worked against this being, and the charm to still-bind it, while effective, was already weakening—otherwise it wouldn’t have been able to thrash and roll about. Levi racked his memory, searching for something that might work. Making sure he remained out of the thing’s reach, Levi quickly tried several different spells and charms, running the gamut from snippets of the traditional Catholic Rite of Exorcism to obscure Haitian voodoo recitations, Enochian chants and various rites of the Golden Dawn. All were ineffective.

“Is that your best, little magus? You are well versed in the art. Of that I can attest. But still, you are weak. Weak!”

The creature’s movements increased. It flopped back and forth like a fish on dry land, struggling to sit up. Levi grew desperate. There was no time to create a binding circle or to invoke the Greater Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram, although Levi had his doubts now that even that would work against this enemy. Nor did he have time to construct a spirit trap. Even if he’d had time, he didn’t have a luminol light or anything else that he could use to force the entity into the trap. And again, he wasn’t sure that would work, either. Spirit traps were only useful against incorporeal spirits, and whatever this thing was, it had certainly felt corporeal enough when he’d punched it in the stomach.

The entity lifted its head free of the ground, looked up at him and smiled. “Soon, bearded one. Soon.”

Levi nodded. “I’d prefer later, if you don’t mind. We’ll get together and do lunch.”

Turning, Levi fled in the same direction Donny and Marsha had gone. His enemy’s laughter followed him. Levi cringed at the sound. His ears burned with shame and embarrassment.

“You have given me your name,” the dark figure called.

As he ran past the church where he’d tried to communicate with the spirit of the dead man, Levi noticed that the corpse was no longer there. The chalk outlines and the bloodstains were still present, but where the body had been, there was now just a small pile of ashes. The dog’s corpse, which he’d left impaled on the wrought-iron fence, was gone, too. More ashes sprinkled the ground beneath where it had dangled.

Nothing left, Levi thought. They’re consuming souls, and their victims are reduced to dust within hours. No decay. No decomposition. They just turn to nothingness. This is bad magic. This is very bad magic, indeed.

He found Donny and Marsha easily enough. They’d made no effort to hide the signs of their passage. Both were breathing hard. Their footfalls slapped the pavement as they dashed across the street. Levi caught up with them on the other side, just as they were ducking behind a vacant apartment building.

“Wait.”

Donny spun around, fists raised, his jaw twitching.

When he saw that it was Levi, his shoulders went slack.

“Holy shit! We thought for sure you were dead.”

“Not yet.” Levi wiped the sweat from his brow with his ripped shirttail. “I appreciate the two of you sticking around back there, but I really wish you hadn’t. You could have been killed.”

“What the hell happened back there, anyway?”

Donny asked. “What are these things?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“I thought you said this was your job? That you deal with things like this?”

“It is my job. I’ve just never dealt with something like this—or at least, something in this particular form.”

Donny frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I have an idea—a few ideas, actually—of what we might be facing here, but I’m still not one hundred percent sure. I need to do more, in order to be positive. I need to see more.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to learn their identity. Until I do that, I’m afraid I can’t fight them.”

Marsha paled. “Then what are you going to do?”

“Get the two of you to safety first. I can do that much, at least. After that…”

Donny nodded. “Yeah?”

“After that,” Levi repeated, “then I guess I’ll have to face them again. And this time, alone.”

“Are you crazy? I watched that fight back there. He nearly punched your head off.”

“But he didn’t. He wanted to, but if you remember correctly, his blows didn’t actually connect with me.”

“I noticed that,” Marsha said, nodding. “He clawed your shirt. How is it that he didn’t cut you?”

“You wearing body armor?” Donny asked.

“No.” Levi smiled slightly. “He couldn’t hurt me because I carry something on my person that prevents attacks like that. Something much better than body armor. His claws cut my clothing, but they were ineffective on my body.”

“Even so,” Donny said, “you might not get so lucky a second time. You go back, then I’m going with you.”

Levi shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question. I told you, I have to face them alone.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You don’t have a choice. I’m going to make sure the two of you are hidden away. I’ll provide you some safeguards that should prove effective. But then I’m going back out again, and you’re not coming with me. Your responsibility is to your girlfriend here.”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Marsha said, glancing at Donny.

“Oh. I’m sorry. The two of you seemed so close, I just assumed.”

“She’s…” Donny paused, floundering for words.

“I just don’t—”

A crow screeched overhead. All three of them jumped.

“Come on,” Levi said. “Let’s get under cover while we still can.”

“Get the hell away from here or I’ll blow a goddamn hole in your belly!”

The threat was accompanied by the sound of a shotgun being pumped. The noise was muffled through the heavy wooden door, but still identifiable enough that both Paul and Gus jumped out of the way. Standing on either side of the door, safe from any potential shotgun spray, they looked at each other and shook their heads.

“Go on!” The person inside the house was clearly terrified. His voice quavered as he shouted. “Get out of here now, goddamn you. I ain’t telling you again.”

“Greg,” Gus called out. “Put down the shotgun. It’s me.”

“Me who?”

“Your brother, dumb ass. Gus. Who’d you think it was?”

Gus kicked the door with the toe of his boot, which he’d wisely changed into after taking off his Spider-Man bedroom slippers. The door rattled in its frame. An ugly brown wreath that hung askew near the top of the door swayed back and forth slightly, shedding leaves and bits of bark.

“You didn’t say it was you,” Greg hollered. “All you said was ‘it’s me.’ How the hell was I supposed to know who ‘me’ is?”

“Never you mind that. I’ve got Paul Crowley out here with me. Now hurry up and let us in before somebody sees us.”

“Paul’s here with you?”

“Hi, Greg. Yeah, I’m here. Now open up. Bad things are happening and it’s not safe out here.”

There was silence on the other side of the door for a moment. Then they heard a thump as Greg sat the shotgun down. A moment later, the locks clicked and a chain rattled as it was slid across its hasp. Then the door creaked open. The battered wreath shed more twigs and leaves. Greg peered out at them.

“Take a picture,” Gus said. “It’ll last longer. Now let us in, damn it.”

The door opened the rest of the way and Greg stood to one side, letting Paul and Gus rush by him. Greg was clad only in a pair of black sweatpants and mismatched socks. He quickly shut the door behind them and then locked it again. The shotgun leaned against the wall, next to a woven floor mat piled high with work boots and dirty shoes. Greg picked it up and eyed them warily.

“Would one of you boys mind telling me just what in the hell is going on? I hear shooting all over the place and folks screaming, and the power is out and the phones are off, too. Hell, I can’t even get my weather radio to work, and that runs on batteries.”

“We don’t know,” Paul admitted. “Something bad, obviously. Like you said, there’s people shouting and lots of gunfire. The big propane tank behind the firehouse may have gone up. We’ve seen some dead folks, just lying in the street. But nobody seems real sure who’s causing it or even what exactly is happening. One fella told us it was dark people, but we don’t even know what he meant by that.”

“Dark people? Who told you that?”

“You’d recognize him,” Gus said. “Used to bring his car into the shop. I can’t remember his name. Always seemed nice enough, but Paul seems to think maybe he meant black folks.”

“Dark people?” Greg frowned. “That don’t make any sense. Why would black people want to shoot up Brinkley Springs?”

“That’s what I said, too,” Gus exclaimed.

Paul shrugged. “I ain’t saying they are. I’m just telling you what the other guy said to us. None of it makes any sense to me.”

“Come on. Let’s sit a spell. Figure this thing out.” Greg motioned with the shotgun for them to followhim. He led them into the living room and beckoned to a brown, worn-out couch. Paul and Gus both sat down, grateful for the respite. The couch springs groaned beneath them and the cushions sagged. Greg crept over to the window and pulled the faded curtains shut, stirring up a cloud of dust. The room, already gloomy, grew pitch-black.

“Hang on a minute,” Greg said, stumbling around in the darkness. “Let me light a candle.”

They sat in silence, listening as he fumbled his way to the kitchen and searched through drawers until he found what he was looking for. Then he returned with a long red candle in a tarnished brass holder. The flame glinted off the three bottles of Rolling Rock beer he clutched by the necks in his other hand. He placed the candle on the coffee table and then handed each of them a bottle. Both men accepted them without pause. The glass was cold and wet, and the sound the caps made as they twisted them off was somehow comforting—but not as much as the first sips.

Paul sighed. “I needed that.”

“I reckon so,” Greg agreed. “You both looked pretty shook-up.”

“It’s hell out there,” Gus said. “And to be honest, big brother, I was a little worried about you. Glad you’re okay.”

“Shit.” Greg patted the shotgun almost lovingly. The flickering candle flame reflected off the barrel. “I’ll tell you what. I’m the last person in Brinkley Springs they want to mess with.”

Paul took a long drink of beer and then pressed the bottle against his forehead. He leaned forward, sighed again and then looked at them both. “So, what are we gonna do? You boys got any ideas?”

“I was thinking on this while I was in the kitchen,” Greg said. “I reckon that fella you met was wrong. It ain’t black people that are doing this.”

“Who do you think it is?” Gus asked.

“That’s easy. The NWO.”

Groaning, Gus rolled his eyes. “Oh, Greg. Now ain’t the time to start with that goddamn New World Order nonsense again. I swear to God, you’re worse than that crazy Earl Harper wing nut who lives up above Punkin Center. Always with the NOW bullshit.”

“N-W-O, not N-O-W. And it ain’t bullshit, little brother.”

“The hell it ain’t. First you thought Y2K was gonna kill us all. Then you said nine eleven was an inside job. Then there was all the crap about how President Obama didn’t have a birth certificate. And then you—”

“And all of that stuff is connected. Bush and Obama are pawns of the same people. But that ain’t my point. You guys ever hear of eugenics?”

“No,” Gus said, “and neither did you until you got on the Internet. Swear to God, somebody ought to take away your computer access.”

Greg ignored the comment. “They want to control humankind through what they call selective breeding. The Nazis started it, but the NWO are continuing it. See, the only way to control the population is to first get it back down to a manageable size. They’re culling the herd, same way the game commission does when the deer population gets out of control. That’s why we’ve got diseases like cancer and AIDS. You telling me that we can put a little goddamn skateboard-looking robot on Mars and have it send back pictures, but we can’t find a cure for cancer? There’s a cure. You can bet on that, boys. There’s a goddamn cure. They just won’t release it because cancer helps cut down the population.”

Paul drained his beer and belched. The Pheasant brothers both fanned the air and frowned.

“Seems like cancer would take a long time to cull the population,” Paul said. “Wouldn’t they try something that worked a little quicker?”

“Don’t encourage him,” Gus said.

“Well, they ain’t just using cancer. That was just one example. Look at the world! We’ve got a high child-mortality rate among the poor. We’ve got war everywhere. These are all ways of whittling down the population. Another way to do it is shooting sprees. See, the CIA are in on it. So is the KGB.”

“There ain’t no KGB anymore, Greg.”

“So you say, Gus. Me, I don’t believe everything I hear from the mainstream media. I’ll tell you something. That old Putin ain’t no dummy. The KGB are still around. They’re just called something different now.”

“Look,” Paul said, “I’ve never been one to tell a man what he should or shouldn’t believe, Greg, but I just don’t understand what any of this has to do with what’s happening outside. I don’t reckon Vladimir Putin declared war on Brinkley Springs.”

“The CIA and the KGB both developed ways to control people’s minds. One morning, you could wake up and everything could be fine, and then, all of the sudden, you grab your rifle and start shooting. Haven’t you guys noticed how things like that are on the rise? Every week, we hear about a school getting shot up or some nut killing all his co-workers. It’s all just another method of population control.”

“Goddamn it, Greg.” Gus slammed his bottle down on the coffee table, sloshing beer all over his hand. “The NWO aren’t shooting up Brinkley Springs any more than that Amish fella staying at Esther’s is. That’s stupid talk, and it ain’t helping us any right now.”

“Then tell me why we haven’t heard any sirens. Tell me why the cops haven’t shown up yet. Why are the phone lines down? And none of the electronic stuff is working. This is a controlled situation, Gus. Hell, they’ve probably got the town cordoned off. Nobody gets in or out, I bet.”

Paul stood up. “I think we should put that theory to the test.”

The Pheasant brothers stared up at him. “What do you mean?” Gus asked.

“Personally, I don’t believe in this NWO stuff, but one thing’s for sure, you’re right about the police and firemen. Nobody has shown up to help, but maybe that’s because nobody knows about our situation. I think we should try to leave, try to go for help.”

“I don’t know,” Gus said. “It’s like a war zone out there. Maybe we’d be better off just staying put.”

“Screw that. People are dying outside. Our people! We saw it. I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m gonna let it end this way. Brinkley Springs may have been dying, but it doesn’t deserve to get murdered. I’m going. On foot, if I have to, but I’m going, either way. It would mean a lot to me if you guys came along. I could use the backup.”

The brothers glanced at each other for a moment and then stood up as one.

“You’re right,” Gus said. “This is too big for us to handle on our own, but that doesn’t mean we should just hide out like a bunch of kids. Let’s go.”

“Hang on a second.” Greg glanced down at his sweatpants. “I reckon I ought to change first. And maybe we should all drink another beer, just to get ourselves ready.”

“You’ve got five minutes,” Paul said. “Chug the beer while you get dressed. You ain’t gonna come back downstairs in a pair of Spider-Man slippers, are you?”

Greg and Paul began laughing. Gus shook his head.

“Fuck you both.”

Paul grinned. “I’ll remember you said that if it turns out your brother was right about the New World Order.”

“If he’s right, then I hope the NWO shoots you first.”

Melanie Candra peeked through her curtains and watched in terror as a tall, looming figure dressed entirely in black chased a fat man in flannel boxer shorts down the sidewalk. As she stood there trembling, the pursuer caught up with his prey, grabbed the man’s hair with one hand and yanked him off his feet. The fat man uttered a short, surprised squawk and then his attacker swung him through the air. His scalp tore free. The loose flap of skin and hair dangled from the black figure’s hand. Its owner soared halfway across the street and then slid across the asphalt on his face and chest. He quivered, but did not rise. The dark shape then raced over to him and knelt beside the body. Melanie let the curtains fall shut again and backed away from them, biting her lip to keep from screaming.

She’d moved to Brinkley Springs from New Jersey a year ago, hoping to open an equestrian center and horse farm. Real-estate prices were cheap and she’d found the small-town sentimentality a refreshing change from that of the Mid-Atlantic suburbs. She hadn’t counted on the economy changing so drastically, however, and now her dreams of running a horse farm were just that—dreams. Instead, she was stuck in a dingy little farmhouse that was drafty in the winter and filled with insects in the summer, in a town that seemed to die a little bit more each day. And if Brinkley Springs hadn’t been dying before, it certainly was now. Judging by the sounds outside, it was being murdered. Exterminated.

The street fell silent again. Still shaking, Melanie tiptoed into the kitchen and pulled a large butcher knife out of the top drawer. She’d thought that having a weapon—any weapon—might make her feel better, but instead, she wanted to puke. She crossed the kitchen and back into the living room. She glanced down at the cordless phone. The light was still off. The power was still dead. She found herself longing for the days of rotary phones. They still worked during a blackout. She wondered, however, if that would be the case in this instance. Earlier, when she’d tried dialing 911 on her cell phone, it had been dead, as well. She couldn’t even get it to come on, let alone dial for help.

She stood there in the silence, wishing for a sound. The ticking of her cuckoo clock. The ring of a phone. The engine of a car driving by. A bird chirping. A dog barking. Anything would be better than this oppressive stillness that seemed to have suddenly settled over the street. Well, except another scream, of course. She didn’t think she could handle another one of those. Maybe the man in black was gone. Maybe the fat guy in the flannel boxer shorts was dead. Maybe that was why it was so quiet out there now—the murderer had moved on to find another victim.

What if he’d moved on to her? What if she was next? What if he’d seen her at the window and was now standing on her front porch or peering in her windows? Still clutching the knife, she pulled her pink knit bathrobe tighter around her and glanced at all the windows, verifying the curtains were drawn on each.

If he’s out there, she thought, I can look through the peephole. I’ll be able to see him but he won’t be able to see me.

No, but he’d hear her. The floorboards around the door tended to creak when stepped on. She’d have to be quiet. She had a vision of some black-clad maniac driving an ice pick through the peephole right into her eye.

Trembling harder, she crept to the front door and slowly brought her face to the peephole. Then she peered outside. Melanie breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that her front porch was empty—a sigh that was stifled a moment later when she saw the man in black breaking down the door of the house across the street. He raised one black-booted foot and kicked the door in on the first try, reducing the heavy oak to kindling. Then, with a sweep of his cloak, he stepped through the wreckage and went inside. She held her breath, waiting for him to come back out or waiting for the screams to start—but neither happened. She tried to remember if the house was occupied or not. So many of them stood vacant, and more seemed to end up on the market every month. Not that they were selling. She’d pretty much had her pick when she bought this place. Melanie had intended it to be temporary—a place to live in and keep her stuff until she got the horse farm operational. Then she’d planned on fixing this place up and using it as a rental property.

Restless, she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, stopping suddenly when she spotted a blur of movement from the open doorway across the street. She’d been expecting the killer, or perhaps a fleeing resident, but what exited the home was a large black bird. Flapping its wings, it soared up above the roofs and disappeared from her sight.

She noticed that the fat man’s corpse was gone. In its place was a small pile of dirt or ash. She couldn’t tell which from her vantage point. She wondered if someone had dragged the body away, or if perhaps the man hadn’t been dead after all. Perhaps he’d crawled away, wounded.

Moments later, three men armed with guns crept past her home, moving from car to car, using the parked vehicles as cover. They seemed very intent. Their expressions were grim and serious. Melanie recognized two of them as the men who ran the local garage—they were brothers, she thought. The Pleasants? The Pheasants? She couldn’t remember which. She didn’t know the other man who was with them, but he looked like someone who could handle himself; he had a big, burly frame. She reached for the doorknob, intent on calling out to them for help, but then she paused. What if they were working with the other killer? She’d heard gunshots sporadically through the night. It had sounded like more than one person was shooting and more than one type of firearm was being used. What if these weren’t the good guys? Maybe they were some kind of domestic terrorist group or just a bunch of crazies.

She stood there, debating with herself and hating her indecisiveness, until they’d moved on, and then was overwhelmed with a sense of regret. Clenching her jaw, she decided to risk it. She reached for the doorknob again when there was a soft rustling sound from the corner of the living room. Eyes wide, Melanie spun around so fast that she almost lost her balance. Teetering, she reached out with one hand and pushed against the wall for support. The noise was coming from the chimney. It grew louder as she stood there. Dirt and flecks of debris drifted down from above. Melanie whimpered. She realized the flue wasn’t closed, but surely that didn’t matter. The chimney wasn’t wide enough for a human being to fit through.

Was it?

A black form burst from the opening, and Melanie screamed. She flung the butcher knife at the shape, realizing too late that it was nothing more than a bird—a crow, just like the one she’d seen fly out of the house next door. The knife spun end over end and then thudded softly onto the carpet. The bird paid it no notice. Instead, the crow flew up onto the mantel and perched there, staring at her with its beady eyes.

“Jesus Christ…”

The bird croaked in response. A second crow emerged from the fireplace and landed on the recliner. Then a third appeared and lit on the couch, followed by a fourth and a fifth.

A gathering of crows, she thought, a murder. A gathering of crows is called a murder…

Melanie backed up to the door. Keeping her gaze on the birds, she reached down and fumbled for the umbrella she kept in the corner next to the coat rack. Her fingers closed around the handle. She raised the umbrella and shook it at the birds. As she did, the umbrella ballooned open, momentarily blocking her view. She caught a whiff of something that smelled rotten.

“Get out of here,” she yelled, wrestling with the open umbrella. “Shoo!”

When she lowered the umbrella, the birds were gone. In their place were five identical men, each dressed all in black. They varied only in height. One of them raised his hand and spoke. His voice was like a rusty, squeaking hinge.

“Hello.”

She didn’t even have time to scream.

Randy woke up cold, wet and confused. His head throbbed. The pain seemed to be centered in his temples. He opened his eyes and saw the night sky. Pinprick stars stared back at him. He was lying on something hard. Pavement? Asphalt? He shivered in the damp air. What was he doing outside? And what was that smell?

Groaning, he pushed himself into a sitting position. His hands, pants and shirt were sticky. Frowning, he glanced down at the wetness and saw that it was blood. Then he looked up at the wreckage.

The blood wasn’t his. He was shocked by how much there was. It had come from the car, running out onto the road and…

And then it all came back to him.

Randy gulped cold air, buried his face in his bloodied hands and screamed—mournful, unintelligible shrieks that left his throat raw. He wished he would pass out again, but that didn’t happen, so he continued screaming. He didn’t stop until he heard something flutter overhead. Startled, Randy looked up and saw a small bat swoop overhead. Randy had seen bats in his backyard plenty of times, but he hadn’t realized they could fly so fast. This one zipped right along. Seconds later, it crashed into the invisible barrier. The bat dropped like a stone and landed on the road. It twitched once and then lay still. Even from where he sat, Randy could tell that the collision had killed it. The bat had been going too fast, just like Stephanie and Sam.

Wiping his nose, he choked down a sob. There was nothing he could do for them now. Not for Stephanie. Not for Sam. Not for his parents. Not for anyone.

As Randy watched, a tiny smoke like wisp escaped from the bat’s corpse and rose into the air. The shapeless, ethereal form hovered for a moment and was then pulled toward the barrier, as if by a magnet. There was a brief flash of light and then the white stuff—whatever it was—disappeared. He considered this for a moment and then decided that he’d probably been better off passing out. Otherwise, he could have blundered into the same thing that had just killed the bat.

“What the fuck is going on? What is this shit?”

Randy stared at the dead bat and realized something. It wasn’t the only dead animal around the base of the barrier. The ground was littered with dead birds—robins, woodpeckers, sparrows, crows, pigeons, finches and even a white duck. Not just birds, either. He saw a red fox, two groundhogs, a skunk and a mother possum with several babies still clinging to her back. All of them were stiff and lifeless. Stranger still were the small piles of ash between the bodies. He wondered what the dust was and where it had come from.

Obviously, this was not an exit. He had never been one for science fiction. He’d never read many comic books or watched horror movies, preferring NASCAR and football instead. But he’d played enough video games to know that whatever was happening, it wasn’t normal. Something had sealed off the town. If you touched it, or got too close, it sucked out your energy—or whatever those white wisps had been. He had no doubt that the barrier stretched far overhead. He wondered if it extended underground, as well, but he lacked the tools to dig down and find out. He was pretty sure such an effort would be a waste of time. They were trapped here.

He thought back to when he was younger. He and Marsha would spend their summer nights running around in the backyard, capturing lightning bugs and putting them in one of their mom’s mason jars until it was time to go to bed. Now he knew how those bugs had felt, except that he didn’t think the men in black would let everyone go once it was time to go to sleep.

He climbed to his feet and picked bits of gravel from his palms. Then he gingerly felt his scalp. He had a knot at the back of his head and another on his forehead, but the skin didn’t feel broken, and as far as he could tell, he wasn’t bleeding. Making a concerted effort not to look in Stephanie and Sam’s direction, Randy limped back to his truck and climbed inside. He took a few deep breaths and forced himself to calm down. The only thing left to do was find his sister. If he couldn’t protect their parents or his friends, the least he could do was make sure Marsha was safe. Once he found her, maybe they could try the old logging road on the back end of town. He’d taken his truck four-wheeling up into the mountains many times, and he knew that the rugged truck could handle the harsh terrain. If they were lucky, maybe the force wouldn’t extend that far. Maybe it was a way to escape. They had to try, at least, because the only alternative Randy could see was to sit down and wait to be killed—and that was no alternative at all.

Another bird slammed into the shield and was snuffed out. As with the bat, a smoky form drifted up from the corpse and was absorbed by the barrier. Randy rubbed his temples. The throbbing had subsided somewhat, but his head still hurt. He put the truck into gear. As Randy pulled away, his headlights spotlighted the still-steaming wreckage of Sam’s car. Randy swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to look away.

They stood over Melanie Candra’s mutilated body, which had been torn limb from limb. Her blood seeped into the carpet and decorated the walls, mantel, furniture and ceiling fan.

“I have met our adversary,” said the first. “A magus, schooled in the ways of old. His knowledge was impressive, if ineffectual. He tried a number of different schools and workings against me, and failed.”

“And you killed him?”

“No. He escaped me, but he won’t remain free for long. I’ll kill him last.”

“Are you certain of his abilities?”

“He is strong, but he cannot stand against us. He’ll be no problem. A minor annoyance, nothing more.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because the fool gave me his name. He performed a rather rustic binding spell. Simplistic and crude, but it worked… temporarily.”

The others interrupted with coarse laughter. “And this was how he escaped? He slowed you down?”

“I tell you it matters not! During the spell, he invoked his name and the name of his father. We have all that we need to defeat him now. Our magic is stronger.”

The fifth, who had remained quiet until now, spoke. “If what you say is true, and I have no reason to doubt that it is, then there are two magi in this town.”

The others gasped and hissed.

“Two?”

“Indeed. Two, for I encountered one as well.”

“Perhaps you were confronted by the same magus.”

“No, this was a young man who does not have knowledge of the gifts he possesses. He escaped me quite by accident. I let him go, content to save him for later.”

“I have seen this young man, as well,” said the third. “Did he flee from a home when you saw him last?”

“Yes.” The fifth nodded.

“Then it was him. I saw three young people run from a home. Are you certain he doesn’t understand his gift?”

“I am positive. Why?”

“When I saw him, he was able to start two vehicles and the three of them drove away. I assumed then that he was the magus we had sensed. I was unaware of the second.”

They fell silent and bowed their heads in thought. After a moment, the first spoke.

“Two adversaries. We must be very careful, brothers.”

“It is of no consequence,” said the second. “One does not know how to use his abilities and the other has given us his name. We will save their souls for last, and then be sated and ready to sleep again.”

“Then that will be soon,” the fourth replied, “for I sense the town is almost emptied. There are only a few left. Most are hiding together in groups, which should expedite things.”

The first raised his arms. “Perhaps we will have time to enjoy the night and revel before the dawn comes. Let us finish this task.”