Chapter 11: A Sibyl in Your Court

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It’s a really weird feeling when you’re both completely infuriated and ready to piss yourself.

Granted, I’m growing used to the sensation, but I digress. I feel my bladder tremble as I stare at the hollow end of the gun’s barrel, and in the same moment I think I risked my life for you, you asshole!

I throw my hands up. “Whoa, whoa, hey now. Let’s just take it easy.”

Dakota’s features don’t change. I’m starting to find his steeliness unnerving, and I’m rapidly reassessing both my first and second impressions of him. Who the hell is this guy?

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he replies. “Nothing about this situation is ‘easy,’ but if you don’t cooperate with me, you don’t give me any choice.”

“I find myself much more cooperative,” the incubus says, his voice low and menacing, “when you are not pointing a gun at my…”

“Your what?” Dakota interrupts him. “You see, here’s my issue. From what I know of Lucas Hallowsworth, he’s not the type to go running straight at an amalgam to save another person. It’s not in his profile. So I assumed that you were the one harboring the entity.”

He pauses, letting that sink in. The dog beside him sinks down to its haunches, letting out a faint whimper.

“But now she can’t enter my house. And from what I saw during that fight, she has some abilities she shouldn’t.” His eyes bore into me, and I feel my insides go cold. I’d been trying to avoid thinking about what happened back there, with the ink-thing. Telling myself it was Lucas that went all FATALITY on it. But if I’m honest with myself, I. I…

I think it was me.

“So here’s my new working theory. That Lucas Hallowsworth, monumental idiot that he is, somehow managed to botch the ritual so badly that now both of you are infested with an entity.” He keeps his eyes fixed on Lucas now, though I can tell he’s angled himself so he can still track me from his peripheral. He’s not taking any chances. “And much as it pains me, I’m afraid that means that neither of you are walking away from this place. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you near that big guy and the old woman again.”

“You appear to be very familiar with Mister Hallowsworth,” Lucas murmurs. It’s weird listening to him, like he’s talking about himself in third person, and I’m struck with the jarring realization that I don’t technically know his name at all. At least, not the name of whatever’s steering his body. “Perhaps you would enlighten us as to why.”

Dakota’s eyes narrow on him. “No,” he says, simply. His dog lets out a little huff, like he’s agreeing with his master’s sentiment.

Lucas’s lips form a tight line. “I recommend you cease pointing that gun at Lydia Grace. I assure you, you do not want her blood on your hands.” For just a moment, I see his eyes flick off to the left, looking at something behind me. It’s so fast I’m not even sure it actually happened. His posture doesn’t change, but his voice dips lower, and I can hear the venom on the edge of it. It makes my heartrate spike. “Besides. I am the larger threat.”

“Are you?” comes Dakota’s reply. “Really? Because from what I saw back there, you’re conserving your energy. I’m not sure what you are yet - though from the insufferable attitude, I’m leaning towards a lure-class demon. An incubus.” He smiles, and the expression has no warmth. “And I’m pretty sure you’re running low on resources. Aren’t you? You need to feed.”

Lucas returns the smile, and I have to admit, he’s much better at making it look chilling. “And you, I suspect, are a Templar.” He runs his tongue over his lips. “A green one. A little sapling thing. I would be careful how much you push me. It will not end well for you.”

Dakota swings the gun away from me, and I get precisely one second of relief before I realize that he’s simply adjusting it so it points at Lucas.

The incubus looks fabulously unruffled by this turn of events. I, on the other hand, am less put together.

“Could we please,” I say, breathless, “stop pointing a gun around?!”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, my dear,” Lucas murmurs. He never takes his eyes off of Dakota’s face, a smug smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “I do believe our dear Templar is out of ammunition.”

Dakota presses his finger against the trigger and smiles.

“Actually,” he replies, “I have one bullet left.”

I hear a high-pitched sound - something whizzing through the air, and for a moment I think Jesus Christ. He actually shot Lucas. Then there’s a sharp metal clang, and Dakota lets out a snarl of pain, the gun dropping to the ground in a spray of blood. Beside the gun, thrust into the ground, I see a glint of metal. The hilt of a small, oddly shaped knife.

A strange voice floats to us on the back of a breeze, light, high, and full of laughter.

“Time starts now, William. I want to see you run.”

William? I think. Who the hell is William?

Lucas springs into action as Dakota scrambles for his gun, shoving him violently to the ground. I can’t see how badly the officer is hurt - he’s tucked his injured fingers in against his chest, holding them upwards to stem the bleeding. Beside him, the dog’s hackles have gone up, and it casts its eyes towards the trees around us, snarling at something I can’t see. I don’t bother trying to look. Really, I don’t even get a chance - Lucas grabs my wrist and we start sprinting.

“Wait!” I say, staggering after him. “We don’t have the book!”

“She does,” he replies.

“Who does?!”

“Stop!” Dakota shouts behind us. I hear him coming after us, his boots crunching in the dead leaves underfoot. “I said stop! I will shoot!”

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“Left!” Lucas barks. We veer left, hard. I see a flash of light on the tree’s trunk - faint, but visible, as if someone scorched a mark into the wood. I don’t get a good look at it - we’re flying too fast for that, though I notice Lucas isn’t moving nearly as quickly as I saw him do when he attacked Mr. Darcy. Was what Dakota said true? Is he running low on resources? And what does that even mean?

“Down!” Lucas shouts. I see another glimmer of light above our heads, carved into an overhanging branch. I drop like a stone, just in time for the dog to go sailing over me, jaws open, snapping at empty air. I feel betrayed by that - I gave him head-pats and everything - but immediately feel a thrill of vindication when its own momentum sends it slamming into another tree. It gets up, dazed, weaving on its feet. Lucas hauls on my arm and pulls me after him as we continue running.

“What,” I pant. God, I’m way too out of shape for this. “Is. Happening.”

“Bank right! Hard!”

I do. And I’m absolutely sure I see it this time, because we run right through it.

There’s a symbol floating in front of us. I’m not familiar with it - three lines crossed over with a fourth - but Lucas seems to know exactly what it means. We’ve reached one of the fields, great stalks of corn swaying gently in the breeze. Crashing into it, the symbol dissolves around us, little lights like cinders cascading to the ground as it does. When they touch me, they give off no heat. I feel no sting.

The corn stalks are a different story, of course. If you’ve ever gotten lost in one of these fields, you know exactly why Children of the Corn is a thing. It’s late in the season, so their leaves are husk-dry and biting. To boot, they’re tall - tall enough that both Lucas and I are immediately concealed within them, and the deeper we go, the more I’m convinced that we’re going to run into a rotting pig head on a scarecrow or something.

Look at me and tell me that wouldn’t be par for the course right now. Go ahead, I’m waiting.

We’re slinking between the stalks, doing our best to keep quiet, when Lucas stops me again. Another symbol hovers like the threads of a spider’s web: three jagged lines, slanted across the open air, with little hooks at the ends to make them look like arrows. Lucas grabs me about the waist and picks me up effortlessly - I, by some miracle of foresight, manage not to squeak - before bringing us both down into a small divot in the ground. It’s not deep, but it’s just enough to give us more cover than the corn itself. We hit the mud, and I immediately get a horrible nose-full of the sickly-sweet smell of rot. Something definitely died here recently.

The image of that pig-head flashes in my mind again. Yes, I can definitely see where this is going.

Lucas places a hand over my mouth. I can breathe out of my nose - barely - but he keeps me from moving, pressing me tight against his chest. In any other situation I would have struggled, but I think just going along with it is the right idea for the time being.

Besides. His hands smell amazing. It almost cancels out that rotting odor. Woodsy with a pleasant musk, like smoke and pine. What did he do, stop by a Bath and Bodyworks when I wasn’t looking? And they’re so soft. So warm…

I hear the crackle of something moving through the corn above us, and the warm feeling vanishes. I hold my breath.

I can see Dakota sifting about above us, catching glimpses of him between the stalks. His face is set with grim determination. The dog seems to have recovered. It’s beside him again, sniffing at the air. When it gets a good whiff of the dead thing nearby, it snorts and lowers its nose to paw at it. Which is strange behavior for a dog, really. Don’t they usually love to roll around in roadkill?

For a few heart-stopping beats, Dakota lingers there. I can almost make out the glint of the gun in his hand. He’s ripped off the hem of his police shirt to wrap up his wound, but from what I can tell he’s not missing any fingers. Hopefully the damage isn’t serious.

Wait. Why do you care? He wanted to kill you, Lydia. Get with the program.

‘Not you,’ Lucas says softly. ‘Just the thing he thought was inside you.’

The dog must catch wind of something more promising, because it turns heel and begins moving further away from us. Dakota hesitates a moment more, and I swear that he sees us for a split second. My heart stops in my chest, and I clench my eyes shut, not wanting to see it when the bullet comes whizzing towards my skull. But when I open them again, I see his back is to us. He’s drifting away, picking up the pace as he does. I only breathe again when I can’t see him anymore.

“Remain still,” Lucas breathes. His lips are right by my ear, and an involuntary shudder runs down that side of my body. “Wait.”

“I wasn’t planning on moving,” I hiss. Though I desperately wish I could put some space between us. Even just a couple inches. I feel too warm all of a sudden, uncomfortably warm. There’s heat in my cheeks, creeping up to my hairline. The air is cool enough that I can see my breath, but I swear I’m in a sauna right now. We sit there for what feels like forever - an hour, at least, though I’ve never been a good judge of time.

At some point, Lucas’s fingers trace over the side of my face. I stiffen, my nostrils flaring, debating the merits of elbowing him. It takes me a moment to realize he’s just brushing some mud off of my cheek.

“Uh,” I say. “…Thanks.”

There’s a pause. Then he releases me, unwinding his arm from my waist and rising to his feet. He offers me his hand, and I accept it. We’re both coated in a fine layer of mud - I suspect that this field recently got a decent sprinkling. The moment he’s no longer touching me, I realize just how cold it is. And I’m suddenly, desperately hungry.

“Ah,” Lucas says. “Here it is.”

I turn to follow his gaze, then blanch as I spy the dead deer, rotting away nearby. Explains the smell. The pounding of my heart was enough to drown out the buzzing of flies before, but now they’re downright cacophonous, and I’m shocked I didn’t notice them. Settled right next to the deer’s eyeless head is the book, ancient cover and all, with a note attached to it. Lucas stoops down and picks it up, plucking it free and reading it. He lets out a low, dry laugh.

“…What is it?” I ask, coming up behind him.

“He was bluffing about the gun. I was right, he was out of ammunition.”

“Soooo…we did all of that for nothing?”

He shakes his head. “A Templar is still dangerous. I don’t know what other weapons he may have had. Best to avoid finding out.”

“Still. It all seemed a bit…much. What with the light show and all.”

“The light show.” He turns his attention to me, fixing me with a scrutiny that makes me want to squirm.

“Well…yeah, sure. You know. The weird floaty lights.” I wriggle my fingers at him. “I mean you were the one following them, right?”

Lucas stares at me blankly, and I decide I’m getting really tired of blank looks from strange men. “What?!”

He recovers, clearing his throat. “Nothing. The light show was precisely what I would expect of her. I told you before: she’s very dramatic.”

“…This is the woman that killed the three stooges.”

He lofts a brow at me, obviously not familiar with the moniker.

“The men that kidnapped me,” I clarify.

“Ah. Yes, correct.” He begins stepping out of the divot we’d hidden in, taking the book with him. “We should get going. You shouldn’t be standing in the cold like this in damp clothing, and I imagine the sun will start setting soon.”

I shiver and follow him. I can’t really argue with that logic. I’m freezing. I’m quick to catch up with him, rubbing my arms with my hands to generate some warmth. Chewing the inside of my cheek, I glance around us for a few minutes, waiting until the question burning in my thoughts is so hot I just can’t hold it in anymore.

“Sooooo,” I begin, waiting for a response.

Lucas doesn’t look back at me, though I see him turn his head ever so slightly. “Yes?”

“Your name’s William?”

He stiffens, his shoulders straightening out into an unnatural line. I frown.

“I mean, if you prefer Will or something…”

“Yes,” he says. “My name is William.”

He’s gotten a few steps ahead of me, and I have to speed up a bit to fall back in stride with him.

“William…?” I prompt. He still doesn’t turn to look at me, but I can see the muscle flexing in his jaw. Grinding his teeth. I’m starting to think it may be a habit. RIP, Lucas’s molars.

“Just William. We should hurry, and keep quiet. I don’t know how far away Dakota is, and our time is up now. There will be no more guides for our path.”

“Well that’s delightfully cryptic,” I say under my breath, but I oblige him. He’s probably right.

I’ll just make it a point to grill him about it later.

“Alright, well,” I whisper. “For what it’s worth, William, it’s nice to meet you.”