Twenty

Braden experimented with the lock, his hands trembling so badly he almost dropped the toothpick he’d pilfered from the guard’s plate days ago. Uncle Zaire had taught him all about locks, the way they worked and how to disable them. He gingerly probed with the sliver of wood, picturing the device and blindly searching for the right part to press.

With only a toothpick, he’d been too scared to do anything, but he’d woken up while it was still dark and found Zaire’s favorite coffee mug sitting right by his hand. After poking it to make sure it was real, he knew what it meant. It was a big fat signal to pull up his superhero boxers and make a move.

Something inside the lock gave, and he pressed harder, careful not to break his only tool. The odds of getting another were zip. The mechanism made no sound, but the slight give told him all he needed to know. A simple lock, easily disabled, even for a boy with a broken toothpick. The Crows really didn’t give him much credit.

He paused, his breath coming fast. The guard wouldn’t be back for at least another hour. Now that he knew he could unlock the door, the next hurdle felt enormous and terrifying. He had no idea what was beyond. Other than a glimpse of the hallway when the guards came in, he had nothing to go on. If he were caught, he’d lose his one chance of getting away. They’d watch him twice as carefully. Beat him harder. His stomach cramped, and not just from the gnawing emptiness.

But it would be stupid not to try.

He pressed his ear to the door. Nothing made a sound besides his harsh breath and hard-pumping heart. Don’t be a baby. Uncle Zaire would be out by now. Then again, his uncle would have never been caught in the first place.

Braden bit his lip. It was all his fault for opening the front door. Uncle Zaire had run out to get something special at the store. He knew why. He’d been trying not to cry, missing his mom, and Zaire had wanted to make him feel better—another reason he was such a cool uncle. When the doorbell rang, he’d answered it. He’d thought for sure it was Zaire because his forgotten house key lay on the coffee table.

It hadn’t been his uncle, not even close.

They’d taken him to hurt Zaire, to make him do stuff. Braden wiped his nose with his sleeve and lifted his chin. So, now, he had to be brave.

Taking a deep breath, he wiggled the lock free. Slowly, silently, he turned the knob and held it. He pressed his ear to the door again. Still no sound. Before he wimped out, he cracked the portal and peered into the hallway.

A dimly lit corridor stretched in both directions, empty of guards. The silence gave him no clue as to which direction he should go, or which way led to his captors. Braden hesitated at the threshold. He couldn’t make a mistake.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead. The tiny, barred window in his cell opened to the outdoors. All he had to do was figure out which hall took him that way before anyone spotted him. He stepped out of his prison and shut the door behind him. Tiptoeing, he went to the right.

The corridor forked again, and he went right once more. Hope warred with his nerves as he ended at the base of a concrete stairway. Up meant ground level, air, freedom. He gulped for breath, and he hadn’t even been running. His legs trembled, weak and unsteady.

The stairway ended at a door. He tamped down the urge to fling it open and run as far and fast as he could. The next room could be where the guards hung out when they weren’t tormenting him. It made sense. If this were the only way out, then they’d only need one guard here, watching. Waiting.

The knot in his stomach tightened. He couldn’t open the door and be caught. But if the Crows weren’t here, if they lounged below, figuring a stupid, chubby weakling would never escape, and he didn’t open the door, he would waste this chance.

He wouldn’t be a chicken.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Braden gripped the doorknob and gradually turned. It creaked, and he froze, his heart thrashing in his throat, choking. No noise arose beyond. He finished the twist. The door wasn’t locked. Ignoring the sweat rolling down his temple, Braden eased the wood toward him and pressed his eye to the gap.

Only darkness filled the space beyond. He pulled more, unsure of what he was seeing. Were those coffins nestled in neat rows among the shadows? Terror bubbled up, fresh and fierce. What if one of the coffins was for him?

Past the boxes, a strip of gray light beckoned him closer. Leaving the door ajar for extra illumination, he crept between the dead, the cold air adding to the chill in his bones. His breath made temporary clouds, and he wrapped his arms around himself, which didn’t help much.

The light was a space beneath another door, and he fumbled for the latch. He pushed and stepped out into early morning light, squinting against the gray. Weeks of being trapped inside made his eyes water. He blinked away the tears and his heart missed a beat.

They’d kept him under a graveyard. Headstones and marble monuments laced with fog stretched to the horizon in every direction. It reminded him of every scary movie he’d watched without permission. Monsters could be hiding anywhere, and that included the Crows. The fog blocked the sun, offering no sense of direction. Not that it would help since he had no idea where he was.

He drew a shaky breath. What would Uncle Zaire do?

What a stupid question. He’d bail.

Forcing his frozen feet to move, Braden ran as fast as he could across the wet grass. The fog messed with his senses, warping noise and hiding everything more than a few feet away. His steps and gasping breaths sounded loud, trapped in the mist. He slipped around a seven-foot stone cross and pressed against it, praying he’d hear only his own steps. In the graveyard around him, nothing stirred.

At least, nothing that made noise.

The rows of graves went on forever, never-ending hiding places for ghouls to wait, stirring at the smell of his blood, the temptation of fresh meat. There was quite a bit less flesh since being kidnapped, but still enough to tempt any barrow-wight.

Keep going. If the Crows caught him, they’d remind him that there were worse things than movie monsters.

His lungs burning for air, Braden sprinted past statues and iron gates, the cemetery an endless nightmare with no signs of life. How big could one cemetery be, anyway? It was like a gazillion football fields stuck together, and he’d always had trouble running even once around the track. He crouched behind a gravestone to catch his breath.

Past headstones and sculptures, barely discernible through the fog, the spokes of a giant iron gate rose like points of a mighty crown. The graveyard exit, it had to be. Just a bit farther and he’d be free. He’d be home.

Heaving up on his shaking legs, Braden stumbled forward and kept his focus on the gate, each step bringing him closer. There had to be a road nearby, and someone would find him. He’d be safe. Uncle Zaire would find him, and they’d be a family again.

The rumble of an approaching motor spurred him to a hobbling run, each icy breath a painful gasp. His side ached, but he pressed his hand against it and ran on. Headlights fought against the gloom. If he could catch the driver’s attention, they’d be long gone before his guards noticed he was missing.

Safe. Free.

He reached the gate just as the car rolled around the bend. Until now, he’d been as quiet as he could be, but he had to risk making noise, or the driver might not notice him. Tripping through the gap in the iron, he yelled, waving his arms.

The car screeched to a halt, leaving skid marks and the stench of burning rubber.

Braden nearly collapsed in relief as a man in a suit and tie jumped out of the car.

“What are you doing out here, kid?” His cell phone in hand, he stopped a few feet away, his eyes wide and worried. “Do you need help?”

“Yes.” He nodded vehemently to make sure the man understood.

“I’ll call 9-1-1.” He punched the numbers into his phone, ignoring Braden shaking his head and stumbling for the car. The police couldn’t help them, and they didn’t have time for explanations. They had to be far, far away before the Crows came.

Braden fumbled to open the passenger door. It was locked. He turned to beg the man simply to drive and call someone later, and his blood went cold.

The cell phone in the man’s limp fingers, his would-be rescuer stared up at the sky with lifeless eyes, locked in Caius’s killer embrace.

The world went dark at the edges, and Braden fumbled around the fender toward the open driver door, his gaze fixed on the guard’s bloody mouth.

A mouth with pincers. A monster’s mouth.

Dropping his victim to the pavement, Caius prowled forward with the steady, easy pace of a predator that knew his prey was trapped. “Did you really believe you could escape, boy?” He spit a wad of gore on the road. “I watched you the entire time, bumbling your way through the cemetery.” He cocked his head, coming ever closer, his steps crunching on the gravel. “Where were you planning to go? There’s no one who cares whether you live or die.”

“My uncle cares about me, no matter what you say. He’ll come for me, and then you’ll be sorry.” Braden slid his hand along the warm hood as he made for the door. The motor still ran. He’d driven his mom’s car before, with Zaire, when she wasn’t home. Get in and drive. That’s all he had to do.

Caius’s pale eyebrows lifted, a mock imitation of sympathy. “Zaire doesn’t care about anyone.”

Even though he knew the words were lies, tears burned his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“Then why has he not come for you yet?”

“You jerks make him do stuff and use me as leverage.” He moved past the hood to the side of the car, never taking his gaze from the Crow. A few more steps and he’d be in the car. “He doesn’t know where I am.”

“He knows where you are.” Caius leaned on the opposite side of the hood, his cold eyes glittering. “If he wanted to save you, don’t you think he would’ve shown by now?” He pulled something from behind his back. Zaire’s coffee mug. “Instead of leaving you a farewell gift?”

Braden’s heart dropped to his toes. After finding the cup, he’d stuffed it behind a stack of plates. He hadn’t wanted to leave it, but he didn’t have a backpack, and keeping his hands free while escaping had seemed more important. Now, the Crows knew everything. He’d never get away. Never.

The tears he tried so hard to hold back leaked. “If that’s true, then I can go.” He slipped around the driver’s door, lunged inside, and slammed the door. The second he hit the locks, a sob broke out. It couldn’t be true. If uncle Zaire were free, he would’ve come for him. He swiped at his tears and fumbled with the gearshift. He would’ve come. He would’ve.

The passenger-side window exploded in a shower of cutting glass. Shards tore into Braden’s arms and legs as Caius jerked him through the broken window. The guard lifted him off the ground by his shirt and brought him level with his murderous eyes.

“We may not need you to control the Demon Master anymore, but I’m going to enjoy leaving your remains in such a way that will make him regret his choice.” The Crow’s facial features twisted and popped, changing into a creature found only in horror movies and nightmares.

Braden didn’t care what his uncle might’ve done. He screamed.