Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles, Book Two) (2 page)

Janus shook his head, but Kate stood up on the stone railing and offered her hand to Quinn. The railing was barely the width of his shoe.

“We might fall,” Quinn said, but he took Kate’s outstretched hand and stepped onto the railing.

“I don’t plan to fall,” Kate said.

The crowd remained motionless, but Quinn had the impression they might surge forward at any moment.

“Who are they?” Kate asked. “Who’s controlling them?”

“I’m sorry,” Janus said. “He just gives me hints and whispers.”

 “Come up here too,” Kate said.

“No can do,” Janus replied. “I have to make sure they don’t get to you. Besides, I was never a fan of heights.”

“What are you going to do?” Quinn asked. “Yell at them loudly? We’re really outnumbered.”

Janus shrugged.

“I can’t beat ‘em, but I might slow them for a second,” he replied.

Janus stubbornly remained on the balcony floor. The music Quinn heard was getting louder. Behind them, the lone figure that had chased Quinn emerged through the door. Quinn only caught a glimpse of him behind the crowd, but he saw his red hands.

“If you have anything else to share, now would be the time,” Kate said.

Janus looked nervously at the crowd behind them.

“Just this: they are hunting you—in your dreams and in reality,” he said. “They don’t know who you are, but they know you exist.”

“What will happen if they find us?” Quinn asked.

The music was growing steadily louder. Quinn heard the music stop and he thought he heard a low growling noise coming from the crowd. Their faces were filled with a dark purpose.

“It’s not a question of if, mate,” Janus said. “It’s a question of when. Don’t make it easier for them to find you, okay? When they do come, they will have a siren song—don’t listen to it. Don’t trust them. Listen to me: don’t trust
any
of them. Sanheim doesn’t think I know this, but it’s not just the two….”

The figure behind the crowd held out his arm and pointed at Quinn and Kate. On cue, the crowd suddenly moved forward as one toward the balcony. Janus didn’t hesitate, but rushed to meet them. Quinn watched as he tried to hold them back.

“Janus!” Quinn shouted.

He watched Janus struggle against them. He turned and looked back at Quinn.

“Go!” he screamed.

Janus was swallowed up in the crowd. Quinn’s last view of him was of throwing frantic punches as he disappeared under them. The crowd kept coming.

Just as the mob was about to reach them—and Quinn was sure they would rip the two of them apart—Kate grabbed his hand.

“You trust me?” she asked him and he looked into her eyes.

His answer was instant and unequivocal.

“With my life,” he said.

The crowd reached the railing and Quinn felt a hundred hands starting to grab his legs and pull him back.

“Then jump,” Kate said.

They didn’t hesitate. They jumped off the balcony and plunged into the darkness below.

*****

Quinn and Kate woke with a start. He looked at the clock, which showed it was only 5:13 in the morning.

“Jesus,” he said.

“That was fun,” Kate said, and it took Quinn a moment to realize she was kidding.

He sat up in bed and looked down at her.

Sometimes—hell, usually—he couldn’t believe he was actually with a woman like this. Or that she loved him back so completely. Unlike other couples, he knew with absolute certainty what she felt for him. They had been inside each other’s thoughts and memories, sharing a consciousness. It had been an amazing experience, one that changed both of them in ways they had yet to fully understand. But when it was over—and it ended last November 1 as suddenly as it had started—it left them feeling emptier.

Quinn wished he could hear her thoughts now. He could ask, but talking was so… limiting. You can’t really describe a feeling, no matter how much you try. When they were the Prince of Sanheim, it had been easy just to share the emotion.

“What the hell was that?”

“A warning,” she replied.

 “From Sanheim?” he asked.

Kate nodded. They didn’t know exactly who Sanheim was. In Quinn’s dreams six months ago, he was a mysterious figure who urged Quinn to become the Prince of Sanheim. Although Quinn and Kate knew he must have an agenda, they were unclear exactly what it was. Since that October, however, Quinn and Kate had never dreamt of him again.

Quinn got up and headed into the bathroom, nearly bumping into the bed as he did so. He still wasn’t used to the new apartment they had moved into two months ago.

He turned on the light and began washing his face. Kate followed him in.

“You’re upset,” she said.

Quinn looked at her image in the mirror.

“You saw how the crowd attacked Janus,” Quinn said. “It was hard enough to watch him die once. That was like losing him all over again. What if that was a real place? What if that wasn’t just a dream? What did they do to him?”

“You heard him: Sanheim gave him a mission—and Janus completed it,” she said. “My guess is Sanheim won’t want him harmed.”

“Maybe, but it raises another problem,” Quinn asked. “Clearly, Sanheim is using Janus to get to me.”

“Yes,” she said. “But that’s another good reason that he’ll keep Janus safe. It’s the best leverage he has against you. Don’t forget he used my mother last year. He’s the Celtic God of the Dead—I guess he can use anyone who has died.”

“And this is a guy who is supposed to be our ally,” Quinn said. “He wanted us to become the Prince of Sanheim, remember? He kept urging me on. Why? What game is he playing?”

“I don’t know,” Kate said. “But he clearly knows how to punch our buttons—and wants us to recognize that. But he’s not the real problem here. Janus mentioned that ‘they’ were hunting us. That’s not Sanheim. We can worry about what he’s up to later—we have to focus on the more immediate threat.”

Quinn turned around to face her.

“Why does it feel like we’re always being hunted?” Quinn asked. “First Lord Halloween and now this…”

“Well, look at what happened to the last person who came after us, Quinn,” Kate said and smiled. She was still beautiful, but the smile was without warmth. It seemed downright chilly. “And we are a lot less defenseless now than we were then.”

They walked out of the bathroom and sat back on the bed.

“So you aren’t worried?” he asked.

“Of course I’m worried,” she responded. “But I’m just saying it’s different this time. I’m not going to lose my cool over some dream…”

There was a soft thump at the apartment’s front door. Both of them jumped slightly when they heard it before recognizing the sound: the morning paper delivery.

“I’ll get it,” Quinn said.

He padded over to the door still thinking about the dream. Who was coming for them, he wondered. And what did Janus mean about a “siren song”?

He opened the door and scooped up the two papers outside. He glanced briefly at the
Loudoun Chronicle
, knowing full well what was in it. Kate and Quinn had left the paper late last night after the first editions were printed.

Instead, he browsed
The Washington Post
to see if there was any news he needed to worry about. Nine times out of ten, it had to do with politics or some scandal. But Quinn only cared if the story was set in Loudoun County. Usually he had to flip through the paper pretty far before he got to those articles—Loudoun wasn’t exactly a hotbed of news lately—but not today.

Today he saw it as soon as he opened the paper. Quinn’s mouth hung open in shock. Of all the stories he had expected, this wasn’t it. He kept reading the headline over and over to make sure he was seeing it right.

“Quinn?” Kate called. “Are you all right?”

He walked back into the bedroom and stood staring at her.

“What?” she said. “What happened?”

“Forget Sanheim,” he said. “We have a bigger problem.”

He held the paper out for her and watched in silence as she read it.

When Kate looked up, she looked angry.

“I swear to God,” she said, “I’m going to kill her.”

It took only a few minutes for them to shower, get their clothes on and get out the door. They left the apartment seething.

Chapter 2

April 3, 2007

It was just past 6 a.m. when they arrived at the
Loudoun Chronicle
office. Quinn wasn’t sure what good they could do by arriving this early, but didn’t know what alternative they had.
The Washington Post
had just effectively declared war on their little paper, and this was their headquarters. They would just have to wait until others arrived.

But both he and Kate were surprised when they walked in the door. Instead of a dark, empty building, the lights were on in the editorial section. Rebecca was even sitting at her desk. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw them.

“What’s wrong?” she said immediately.

“Have you seen the
Post
yet?” Kate asked.

“No,” Rebecca answered. “I’ve been focused on other issues this morning.”

Kate tossed the paper to Rebecca and it landed soundly on her desk. The managing editor of the
Loudoun Chronicle
opened the
Post
to the front page and then issued a slow whistle.

“Ethan’s not going to be happy about this,” Rebecca said.

“Ethan?” Kate said. “We’re not happy about this either. Who cares about Ethan?”

“Me, for starters,” Rebecca said. “And as he also signs your paycheck, I would think you should too. More importantly, is this true?”

 “The story?” Quinn asked.

“You can’t seriously be asking that question,” Kate said.

Rebecca gave them a cold look.

“Look, let’s get a few things straight,” she said. “I’m taking this entire situation seriously. I haven’t read the actual story, but this is going to get us a lot of attention at a… delicate time. I need to know all the facts.”

“Just because we don’t have an editor doesn’t mean we…” Kate started.

“I agree, Kate,” Rebecca said firmly. “I didn’t say we weren’t going to respond. What I said was it’s a delicate situation.”

She glanced behind her toward the conference room.

“In point of fact, it’s a good deal more fragile than you know,” she said. “Laurence’s successor is in the back room talking to Ethan right now. That’s why I’m here so early. Ethan thought it best if we had a chance to meet before the entire staff comes in.”

Laurence had been gone for two months, after taking a job with some financial paper in downtown D.C. Ostensibly, it had been a better job opportunity. Kate knew it was more than that—Rebecca and Laurence were now officially involved and apparently had been unofficially so for at least a year. They had both concluded their relationship would be better if they no longer worked together.

Laurence’s departure had been a shock—he had been editor for 15 years, with no signs he would ever leave. But Ethan Holden, the publisher, had seized on it as an opportunity. He wanted to pick a successor with some cachet, a nearly impossible task given the meager pay scale. In many ways, Quinn thought, Ethan lived in the distant past. Traditional print journalism was dying, replaced bit by bit by news websites and a horde of opinionated bloggers. But Ethan didn’t see it. He thought if he just picked a better editor, the paper could be saved.

“Who is he?” Kate asked.

“I don’t know, Kate,” Rebecca said. “I only just got here before you arrived and Ethan’s had him or her holed up in a meeting ever since.”

“Well, I hope he’s good,” Quinn said. “We’re going to need someone good today. We can’t let this stand and you know it. We have to hit her hard and fast.”

“Her?” Rebecca asked. “Surely you meant the
Post
? I’d hate to think this is just a grudge against a single reporter.”

“Yes, of course,” Quinn said uneasily. “I meant ‘it,’ not her.”

“Which brings me back to my first question: is the article true?” Rebecca said.

“No,” Kate and Quinn said in unison.

“You’re sure?” Rebecca said. “One hundred percent? No doubts?”

“None,” Kate responded.

“Then that’s a start,” Rebecca said. “If we know the story is false, it’s just a matter of making that clear.”

“How?” Quinn asked. “We already published what we know.”

“We’ll have to figure it out,” Rebecca said, “with the new editor’s help.”

As if on cue, Ethan emerged from the conference room.

“Rebecca?” he called, and then noticed who else was in the room. “Oh, Kate and Quinn. Glad to see you’re already on the job.”

Ethan had never really noticed Quinn during his first few years at the paper and had only noticed Kate because she publicly challenged him at their first meeting. But their stock had risen ever since the articles on Lord Halloween, including exclusive details on his identity and killing spree. Those articles had won the
Chronicle
national fame and were now prominently framed and displayed on the wall near the paper’s entrance. As a result, Ethan now considered the two of them his star reporters and seemed almost entirely oblivious to Kate’s asides questioning his competence.

“We have a problem, sir,” Quinn said.

“Good, good,” Ethan said, apparently unaware of what Quinn had actually said. “Why don’t you come on back as well to meet your new boss?”

Quinn gave Kate a look and shrugged. Rebecca stood up and the three of them walked into the conference room.

It wasn’t until Quinn was fully in the room that he realized who the new editor was. His jaw was practically on the floor in surprise. Kate arched an eyebrow but otherwise appeared nonchalant.

“Allow me to introduce the three of you to your new editor-in-chief: Tim Anderson,” Ethan said.

Quinn stared. Somewhere in the back of his brain he knew it was important not to act surprised—to pretend he didn’t know Tim at all—but that part of his mind appeared slow on the uptake. He was floored.

“Tim,” he said, knowing immediately it was a mistake.

“You know each other?” Rebecca asked.

That was something of an understatement. Last year, when Quinn and Kate had been on the trail of Lord Halloween, Tim’s name kept popping up. The former crime reporter for the
Loudoun Chronicle
, Tim had received several letters from the serial killer during his initial killing spree in 1994. Shortly after Lord Halloween vanished, so did Tim, making him either a presumed victim or a likely suspect.

But Quinn and Kate had eventually tracked him down not far away in Bluemont, West Virginia. He had been serving as editor of the
Gazette
under an assumed name. Lord Halloween hadn’t killed him, but he had broken him. The man they found out there was paranoid and deeply scarred by the murders.

Quinn didn’t know how the death of Lord Halloween had affected Tim. If he had ever stopped to think about it, he might have assumed that maybe now he felt free to live his life. But it had never occurred to him that Tim would head back here.

 “Quinn?” Rebecca said again, and he realized he had been lost in his memories.

“I knew his parents,” Tim said after a moment. “It’s been a long time, Quinn. You’ve grown into quite a reporter.”

“Not unlike another star we used to have here,” Ethan said, and patted Tim on the shoulder. “Rebecca, Tim Anderson was the best reporter and writer this paper ever had. When I saw he applied for the job, well, there really was no question. Tim, this is Rebecca Alsbury, our managing editor, and Kate Tassel, our business editor and general assignment reporter.”

There was a polite round of greetings and shaking of hands. Quinn noticed that Tim looked much healthier than he had a year ago. He looked trim and fit and wore a crisp blue blazer. He might have even looked younger, except his brown hair was now heavily streaked with gray. 

“Where have you been recently, Mr. Anderson?” Kate said, and Quinn flinched at her use of the name. In his letters, Lord Halloween had often referred to the reporter as “Mr. Anderson,” especially when he was angry with him.

But if Tim took any umbrage at the question—to which Kate knew the answer—or the tone, he didn’t show it.

“It’s a long story, Kate,” Tim said. “For the past decade, I’ve been the editor of the
Bluemont Gazette
, a paper I founded.”

“I’ve heard of that paper,” Rebecca said. “It won several West Virginia press awards, right?”

“Yes,” Tim said, sounding somewhat pleased. “I should tell you before you pick it up, however, that I didn’t edit under my own name. When I left Loudoun, I had reason to believe I might not be safe, so I used a pseudonym.”

It was Ethan who jumped in to explain the rest, sounding almost jovial about it.

“Can’t blame you for that, Tim,” Ethan said. “Given your help to the police during that time, I’m sure you would have been a prime target.”

“And what made you decide to come back?” Kate said.

“This was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up,” Tim responded. “Thanks to you two, Lord Halloween’s identity is now exposed and someone has taken the liberty of killing him. I thought it was time to reclaim my life.”

“It’s funny you bring up Lord Halloween,” Rebecca said.

Until then, Quinn had almost forgotten about the
Post
story, or at least succeeded in pushing it to the back of his mind.

“I’m afraid you are going to face your first challenge as editor a bit earlier than planned,” she continued, and handed him the copy of the
Post
.

“What is it?” Ethan asked.

Anderson opened the paper and read the headline out loud: “Is Lord Halloween Really Dead?”

He kept reading: “‘The Loudoun County police and local media claim the infamous serial killer was murdered, but many residents—and outside experts—have their doubts.’ Who is this by-line? Summer Mandaville?”

Both Kate and Quinn groaned, but didn’t have time to respond.

“I assume since you’re interested in the case, that you know what this means,” Rebecca said.

Ethan weighed in first.

“It’s an attack on our paper,” he responded. “We were the ones to tell the world who Lord Halloween was and that he was dead. We have to respond in force.”

Quinn didn’t usually like Ethan much, but he was definitely in favor of the militaristic tone. It was not unusual for newspapers to disagree with each other, at least somewhat. Send two different people to the same event and they would likely have differing perspectives. This article, however, was something entirely different.

Mandaville’s piece suggested that the man identified by police as the killer—Kyle Thompson—may have been merely an accessory. The real killer might remain at large.  In addition to potentially sowing more panic among a populace that had twice been terrorized by the serial killer, the story claimed the
Loudoun Chronicle
had been wrong about the most important details in their extensive reporting on the subject. It was an assault on the paper’s integrity.

“Hmmm,” was all Tim said. “Of course I agree with you, Ethan. It is an attack on this paper. No doubt. But let’s make sure we have our ducks in a row before responding. Anything less and we’ll only undermine our own credibility. If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Kate and Quinn more about the story in-depth today, and we’ll get a sense of our next move.”

“We can’t afford to wait,” Ethan said. “Other media will be calling today.”

“I agree that time is of the essence,” Tim said. “Like I said, give me some time to huddle with Kate, Quinn and Rebecca, and we’ll plot our strategy.”

“I’ll leave it to you, then,” Ethan said.

For the second time that morning, Quinn’s jaw practically dropped to the floor. Ethan was the publisher, but he always liked to be as involved as possible on the biggest stories. This was a prime opportunity. But he noticed a look pass between Tim and Ethan. Obviously some deal had been cut—and part of it seemed to be for Ethan to back off.

Kate and Quinn watched as Ethan left the room. Quinn kept expecting him to turn around, having rethought his quiet acceptance of the new power structure at the paper. But he left without any fuss.

Quinn wished Rebecca had left too, but there was no way to politely get rid of her. He wasn’t prepared to tell the whole truth to Tim—but he would be freer than he was now.

“What’s your plan?” Tim said, looking directly at Kate.

The man had good instincts. While Quinn had been quietly mulling over the situation, Kate had undoubtedly been working on a counter-strategy. She paused for a moment before responding.

“Our story had a hole,” she acknowledged.

“Yes, it did,” Tim said. “Don’t get me wrong, you two did outstanding work. The fact that you’re even alive is a testament to your journalistic skills. Had I gotten that close, Lord Halloween would have finished me off.”

“He did try,” Kate said flatly.

“What’s the hole?” Quinn said. He hated feeling like he was missing something.

It was Rebecca who answered him.

“Who killed Lord Halloween?” she said.

Quinn almost gave her the answer then and there
. I did
, he wanted to stay
. I slid my blade across his neck and took his head clean off.
He opened his mouth to say it—he was proud of what he had done—but Kate flashed him a warning look. The truth wouldn’t work here.