The Veritas Conflict (68 page)

“What, Stefan?” Claire said. “Get what off you?”

“These claws!
His
claws!” he wailed. “I don’t want him! I don’t want him!”

Ian swallowed hard. “Stefan, you’re seeing something in the spirit that we can’t see. What is it?”

Stefan closed his eyes, quivering in place. “There are arms coming over my shoulders from the back and claws digging into my chest. He’s on my head and shoulders!” Stefan began to bat his head, hard. “I don’t want him!”

Ian could hear Claire praying under her breath.

O Lord, help us…

“Stefan, you have a demon on you,” Ian said “We’ll pray for you, but you must renounce him.”

Stefan’s eyes were wild. “I renounce him! I don’t want him!”

Ian stepped forward, speaking under his breath. “God, help me do this.” He laid his hands on Stefan’s shoulders, and his voice grew strong. “Evil spirit, the Lord rebuke you! We bind you in the name of Jesus and proclaim that you must go from this man’s life.”

Stefan whimpered, his head hanging, his voice a whisper. “I don’t want you.”

“He has renounced you, and we tell you to go in the name of Jesus!”

Stefan raised his head, and Ian looked into his eyes. They glazed over, and his body began to sway. Ian caught his arm, and Claire leaped to open the car door just as Stefan collapsed. Ian maneuvered him into the backseat and closed the door.

“What do we do now?” Claire said.

Ian cleared his throat. “I think God told me what to do. We need to take him to the Grindley house. This is all part of the plan.”

Claire ran around to the passenger side. “We need to go by my dorm on the way.”

“No way.”

“I left the printouts of the other pages in my room this morning. They’re hidden in my philosophy book, but I don’t want to leave them there.”

They got into the car, and Ian pulled out of the side street and onto a main road, scowling. “Why’d you leave them?”

A series of emergency vehicles—ambulances, police cars, a truck and crane—sped past them sirens blaring.

“How was I to know all this was going to happen!” She gestured toward another side street. “If you pull in here, you’re really close to my dorm. You can’t park—they’ll tow you in two seconds flat—but you can wait for me.”

“I’m not letting you go up to your room alone!”

“I have to, Ian. I’ll only be a second. If I’m not back in five minutes, come get me.”

“This is ridiculous.” Ian pulled down the street she indicated and stopped the car
with a jerk. “Someone just tried to kill you—and probably
did
succeed in killing Mansfield—” His voice choked, and he yelled at her. “There is
no way
you’re going up there alone!”

“I’ll go.” Stefan spoke quietly from the backseat. He pushed himself into a sitting position. “I’ll watch her back.”

Ian turned around in his seat. “What?” Stefan’s fece was pale, but his eyes were clear.

“Look, I’ve got a lot I need to tell you guys. A lot you need to know. Let me walk her up and back.” He paused, looking at Ian. “Unless you want me to stay with the car?

Ian wavered. Stefan was watching him with earnest eyes. He sighed. “Claire, are you okay with this?”

Claire looked back at Stefan. She hesitated, then smiled. “Yeah, I’m okay. Let’s go.”

The phone rang in Anton’s den, and he snatched it up, a tight smile on his face. “Yes.”

“Do you have your television on?” Victor said.

“You know I do.” Anton looked over at the flat screen on his wall—scenes of emergency crews, crying students, a truck being lifted by a crane. He gave a momentary grimace as the camera panned to three students kneeling in anguished prayer.

“The professor is dead.”

“Ah, as I thought.” Anton closed his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. He grasped for the familiar surge of power. His eyelids flickered when it did not come. After a moment he cleared his throat. “Our path is clear, then?”

“Not quite. I just received the report from my men. The girl got away.”

“Of all the stupid, incompetent… !” Anton jumped up and stomped around the den. “What sort of—”

“It was an Enemy ruse, brother.” Victor’s voice was deadly calm. “Even more than the one that snatched her from your grasp on Thursday.”

“Explain.” Anton stood still in the middle of the room, his eyes narrowing as Victor relayed the story told by his men. “An Enemy ruse, as you said.”

“Yes. And more than that.” Victor paused, and for the first time his voice was tense. “The Masters now say she is a chosen one in the Enemy line.”

“
Now
say! Where was this knowledge before?”

“Carefully hidden by the Enemy. But to steal her away, they could hide it no longer.”

There was silence; then Victor spoke again, his tone careful. “And there is another problem. Stefan did not stand. He must commit, must be brought in before it is too
late. He still does not hold the key to the organization, correct?”

“You know he doesn’t. Not until he commits.”

“Good. We must stop this now.”

Anton paced again, and as he stalked the room he seemed to stretch, to grow more agile. He closed his eyes and his face contorted, his body writhing as the familiar surge finally came.

His eyes opened, staring outside the room, and a smile of great satisfaction spread over his face. “Ah, yes.” His voice came out on a soft hiss. “The young one is heading for her dorm. We must take her. I see it now. Merely eliminating her would have been wrong. But a sacrifice to our Master—a sacrifice of the chosen offspring in that lineage—will ensure our hold. And we will deal a deathblow to the Enemy’s pitiful attempts to reestablish His. Our mandate will again be secured.”

Krolech stopped pacing and turned to Katoth, who was standing at rigid attention.

“Go. Now. She must be brought in, unharmed for the moment. Kill the man. The evidence must not get out. And do not fail this time to reestablish your hold on the heir. Your ineffectiveness is disturbing. This weakness in him, this frailty, must stop.”

“My liege—”

“And I don’t want to hear any more about the ancestress!” Krolech jabbed his finger in the direction Katoth had come. “It is
your
charge. Now go!”

Claire and Stefan hurried the short distance to her dorm. Stefan began rubbing his temples, his forehead wrinkling.

“What’s wrong?” Claire asked.

“Sherry.” He muttered something unintelligible. “Can I tell Sherry?”

Claire looked at him anxiously as he continued talking under his breath. He seemed disoriented, confused. As they approached the back door to her dorm, Claire’s skin prickled, and she looked behind them. Nothing.

She used her card key, flung open the door, and came face-to-face with Sherry, who was walking out.

“Claire!” Sherry hugged her roommate. “Thank God you’re okay! Did you hear about Mansfield? Everyone’s gone up to Mem Hall!”

Claire swallowed and tried to push inside the entryway, to get out of public view. Stefan was close behind her. “Yes, I—”

“What are
you
doing here?” Sherry’s hands were on her hips as she stared at Stefan.

“Sherry, I have to talk to you.” He put a hand on her arm, but she wrenched it away.

“I have no interest in speaking with you after—”

Claire cleared her throat. “Ah, listen, I have to get something from my room. Is anyone else there?”

“Yes. Mercedes is home.”

Claire wavered, looking at Stefan, then forced herself to start up the stairs.

Stefan looked up at her, then back at Sherry. A new entreaty was in his voice. “Can you wait a minute? I’m supposed to go with her, and—”

“You’re supposed to go with
her?
What sort of fool do you take me for?”

Claire ran up the stairs to her floor and started down the empty hall. She heard a television playing in the lounge but no other voices.

“Again, in our top story, grief and shock on the Harvard University campus today as the trend of senseless student killings graduates to the college level …”

The door to the lounge was half open. She peered through the crack. The television was playing to an empty room, the floor littered with boxes of tissues and other scrunched-up talismans of collective grief.

A photo of Mansfield appeared on the screen. Claire pulled back in shock. He was wearing a formal faculty robe, standing on a stage and waving to a clapping crowd of students.

“The venerable Harvard professor Dr. William Mansfield, appears to be among those killed or injured by a student known to be angry over …”

Claire stepped back, quivering, her hands to her face. She forced aside the thoughts that screamed for retreat. She couldn’t break down now.

She turned and ran for her room.

Mercedes rose from the couch as Claire rushed in and closed the door behind her. She leaned against the door, her skin prickling again. The very air seemed dark.

Her suitemate’s eyes stared into hers as the door to Claire’s bedroom opened, and two men stepped through the door.

“NO!” Claire twisted, fumbling for the doorknob. Rough hands grabbed her from behind, turning her around, reaching for her face.

She fought them, scratching and kicking, as they pinned her against the wall. One grabbed for her hair, a white cloth in his hand. She smelled something sweet.

Through terror-filled eyes she saw Mercedes standing in the middle of the room, just watching.

“Help me!” Claire screamed at her as she ducked her head and tried to kick away from their grasp. Mercedes stood, unmoved, as Claire was wrestled to the floor. She had a strange, eager smile on her face.

Claire gasped in pain as the men shoved her to her stomach, one fumbling with the white cloth, the other tying her hands behind her back. Out of breath, Claire raised her head and looked up at Mercedes, her voice weak.

“How could you?” she gasped. “How could you?”

The white cloth found her face, and Mercedes disappeared into black.

Gael cried out as another sword found his side. There were too many of them!

At his back he heard Etán and several others clashing with dozens of dark, eager figures. The enemy troops had been terribly invigorated by the pain and grief filling the campus.

Gael’s face was set as he fought off yet another determined attack. There would come an hour, soon, when the tide would turn, when the prayers of the nation would pierce the dark wave. But during this period of fresh anguish, raw despair, the enemy troops were at their strength.

And now the dark ones had learned that Claire Rivers was one chosen by the Lord of hosts for His purposes! Of course they would seek to drive a blow to the Father’s heart of their great Enemy.

Gael and the others were beaten back, slowly, slowly. Just like at the tent, when wave upon wave had come from nowhere! God’s voice had boomed loud with their orders then, and every anguished member of the heavenly host had bowed a knee, trusting in His purposes.

But what was God’s purpose here? Through the thronging mass, he could see his unconscious charge being searched, the men arguing over their next steps.

She hadn’t listened!

Gael felt a pain greater than the ripping blows of his foes. He had failed to keep her from this headstrong mission. He hadn’t known of the waiting ambush, but he had been sure that the enemy would grow desperate, and he had been right.

He felt the strengthening touch of the Spirit of God. There would be more desperate battles ahead, but the Lord of hosts would continue to transform what the enemy meant for evil.

Gael sought assurance from his king as to Claire’s fate and heard only silence. He stood straighter, wielding his sword with renewed strength. His task was set before him. He did not need to know.

FIFTY-SEVEN

T
HE
S
ATURDAY CROWD WAS THICK AS
T
OM AND
B
ARBARA
R
IVERS
walked arm in arm through the enormous Michigan shopping mall. Barbara looked through the many display windows, her thoughts as rambling as their leisurely lunchtime conversation. This blouse would be a perfect Christmas present for Grandma, that game for her youngest son.

She shook her head. They needed to pray about their finances first, before they made their gift-buying decisions. She perused a sparkling housewares display, her mind vaguely reaching for that of the Father.

A second later, Tom turned to say something to her and stopped cold when he saw her face. “Honey, what’s wrong?” He gripped her shoulders.
“What’s wrong!”

Her face was pale, her body trembling. “Claire … Claire … O Lord.” She stared at her husband’s white face and pressed a shaking hand to her lips. “We need to pray.
Right now.”

Tom dropped his few packages, and without a further word, the husband and wife hugged each other, their prayers fervent. People flowed all around them as they cried out to the Lord. Several shoppers stared and gave them a wide berth. But others watched, their gazes sympathetic.

They pulled apart slightly, and a woman came up to them, shaking her head. “You heard, huh?”

“Heard what?” Barbara asked.

The woman bit her lip, then pointed at an electronics shop across the walkway. Dozens of people stood, staring at a bank of television sets all showing the same scene. Several people were walking away, clearly upset.

Within minutes, Barbara and Tom were in their car, speeding away from the mall, praying aloud. Over and over, Barbara used her cell phone to punch in the numbers for Claire’s room. No answer.

Ian drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, looking at the campus gate right by the car. Three minutes. If they weren’t back in
one
, he was going after them.

He could hear more emergency vehicles passing on the nearby road. He flicked on
the radio. Jazz music. Mansfield’s favorite. He choked, tears again prickling his eyes, as he turned the tuner, looking for a news station. He heard the word
Harvard
and stopped, his finger hovering over the dial.

“… 
comment by college authorities on the deaths and injuries
. “There was a pause, and then a different voice, starting midsentence.