Chapter Thirteen
“Keep calling,” McCoy said to Baracheck. “We have to get her attention. She must know you’re here.”
Baracheck raised the bullhorn and called to his daughter once more. In the road ahead, barely visible in the faint moonlight, the Sluagh horde came into view. As before, they made no move to attack, but their small bodies trembled with unbridled anticipation. McCoy supposed that Cynthia Baracheck must have a very strong will to keep the creatures in check.
“Call again,” he whispered. “We need to bring her out where we can see her.” And where she can see us, he thought.
“Cynthie! Please come out! It’s your father! It’s Daddy!”
The center of the horde suddenly parted and Cynthia stepped out of the darkness. Big John blushed at the sight of her nakedness and looked at his shoes. Unnoticed by everyone but McCoy, Kenner gave a lewd smile of approval.
Baracheck either didn’t notice her lack of clothing or dismissed it. He saw only his daughter, his precious little girl, taken from him so long ago. Tears welled in his eyes. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a weak choking noise.
Cynthia stared at her father, her expression unreadable. McCoy was not close enough to look into her eyes, but he sensed a storm of conflicting emotions raging within her. The Sluagh, perhaps sensing this as well, shifted about nervously.
“Go,” she said, breaking the tense silence. “Go home, Father. I go to avenge us, for what was done to us. Go home. You will not be harmed.”
Slowly, carefully, McCoy edged between Baracheck and Kenner. He nudged John, and when the big man looked at him, McCoy gave a slight flick of his head. Move out of the way, the gesture said. John, thankfully understanding, shuffled slowly to the side.
“Talk to her,” McCoy said to Baracheck. “Try to reason with her.”
Baracheck struggled to find his voice. “Cynthia,” he said. “Please don’t do this. We’ve suffered, you and I, but we can put that behind us now.”
“Can we?” Cynthia asked haughtily. “I was bartered into slavery so the sheriff could keep his job. But I am a slave no more. These people need to be punished for their complacency. I am here to serve justice.”
McCoy slipped his hand into his knapsack and felt around until his fingers settled on the item he was seeking. He eased the item out of the bag, being careful not to let any of the others notice.
“But most of those people are innocent,” Baracheck argued. “If Sheriff Lyle is guilty of what you say, then he should be punished. None of these other people knew what was happening.”
“The greatest crime is to stand and do nothing while injustice is taking place,” Cynthia said. She shook her head like a stubborn girl. “I don’t have time to argue the point. Just go. Go home and forget you even saw me.”
McCoy unscrewed the cap from the bottle he was holding.
“How could I do that, Cynthia?” Baracheck asked. “I’ve been looking for you for seventeen years. Seventeen years. Do you think I could just walk away now?”
For a moment, Cynthia’s stern expression faltered. In that split second, she was a little girl again, lost and alone and longing for her father. “Go home!” she yelled, almost pleading. “I don’t want to see you get hurt!”
Now.
McCoy turned and splashed the holy water in Kenner’s face. The small man howled as the consecrated liquid burned into his flesh, and he dropped to his knees and clawed at the burning skin. Everyone had been focused on the exchange between Baracheck and Cynthia, but now they turned to regard Kenner with puzzled looks.
“Ostendo vestri!” McCoy whispered, loud enough for Kenner to hear but too faint for anyone else to make out.
The demon gave a wail of pain and fury and tore itself from Kenner’s body. As it had before, it assumed the fearsome canine-like visage. Amanda and Deidre gave startled cries. Big John’s eyes grew to the size of soup bowls.
“Subsisto!” McCoy hissed. Remain. The word effectively bound the entity, preventing it from escaping to another plane.
The demon rose to its towering full height and glared at McCoy. It threw back its head and uttered and unearthly howl.
“Enjoying your ringside seat to my demise?” McCoy whispered. Before the demon could respond, McCoy ducked behind Baracheck, who was still holding the shotgun in one hand. “Holy God! Shoot that thing, Dave!”
Baracheck, as stunned as the others over the demon’s sudden appearance, nonetheless raised the firearm and blasted a round at the evil entity. Since demons are not particularly susceptible to iron , this served only to piss the entity off. It swung a massive, clawed hand at Baracheck. McCoy, ready for the move, grabbed the back of Baracheck’s shirt and pulled. The demon’s swipe missed Baracheck by inches, and the startled man tumbled to the ground.
From her vantage point, Cynthia saw the demon materialize. She had never seen such a creature before, but she knew that it was not Fey. She watched as the cowardly Hoodoo man ducked behind her father, saw her father fire at the beast, and looked on in horror as the monster struck her father down.
“Daddy!” she screamed. She looked to her minions and pointed to the demon. “Attack! Kill!”
The Sluagh responded fiercely, partly because their Queen had ordered it, but also because they saw this newcomer as a threat to their newfound position in the Fey hierarchy. They swarmed the surprised demon, literally climbing over each other in an attempt to latch onto a body part and sink their sharp teeth into the fiend’s flesh. The demon, trapped in a corporeal form, was vulnerable to their attacks.
Vulnerable or not, the entity was far from defenseless. While the Sluagh were technically Fey, their grotesque little bodies housed mortal souls, and this made them fair game for the flailing demon. With an otherworldly wail, the fiend released a circle of hellfire. All of the Sluagh within a five foot radius fell to the ground, their fragile souls shattered and their bodies, which had reverted back to their human forms, burnt beyond recognition. Unfortunately for the demon, three dozen more Sluagh surged forth to take the place of their fallen comrades.
As the battle raged, McCoy helped Baracheck to his feet and assayed the man for any damage.
“I’m okay,” Baracheck assured him. He looked in awe at the demon. “What the hell is that thing?”
“Exactly,” McCoy answered. “Hell being the operative word.” He picked up the shotgun and tossed it to John, who barely tore his eyes away from the spectacle before him long enough to catch it.
“Get ready,” McCoy said. “There are hundreds of Sluagh, and only one little demon. We’re still gonna have a fight on our hands.”
Amanda walked over and hit McCoy in the arm. It was not a love lick.
“The next time you come up with some half-baked plan,” she said, “how about a little advance warning? I nearly peed my pants when that thing showed up.”
“Be mad at me later. Right now, help me with those trash bags.”
They each grabbed a bag. Amanda let out a surprised gasp and nearly dropped hers.
“Something’s moving in there!” she hissed at McCoy.
He nodded. “We’re close now. They can sense the Sluagh.”
“What can sense the Sluagh?”
“The poppets. Hold on tight. Don’t let any of them out. Not just yet.”
“Let them out? They’re little dolls made out of grass.”
“Keep telling yourself that. Any minute now Cynthia is going to realize she’s been tricked. When I tell you to, dump the poppets out. Not before. Once that’s done, grab a gun and stay close to me.”
“You’re a hell of a date, Finn McCoy.”
“I bet you tell all the handlers that.”
Amanda looked genuinely surprised.
“There are others?” she asked.