“Holy crap,” Katie McGovern said as she studied the specimen through the plastic bag. A creeping unease ran up and down the length of her spine, making her shudder. “No wonder you were freaked out.”
INTERLUDE TWO
Stevie Stanley huddled in a dark corner of his mind, trying with all his might to hold on to the things that made him who he was—those pockets of recollection, moments that had left their indelible marks on his fragile psyche. But the excruciating pain was systematically ripping those memories away. One after another they disappeared: the blue, blue sky filled with birds; the black-and-gray static on the television screen; the yellow dog running in the yard with a red ball in his mouth; Mom and Dad holding him, kissing him. And Aaron—his protector, his playmate—so beautiful.
So beautiful.
Seven Archons surrounded the child’s writhing body and continued the ritual that so often ended with the death of the subject. Stevie fought wildly against his restraints as Archon Jaldabaoth painted the symbols of transfiguration upon his pale, naked skin, muttering sounds and words that a human mouth could never manage. Archon Oraios stabbed a long, gold needle into the child’s stomach and depressed the plunger to implant the magical seeds of change.
The sigils on Stevie’s flesh then began to rise, to smolder—to burn. The boy screamed wildly as his body was racked with the painful changes. Archon Jao placed a delicate hand over the child’s mouth to silence his irksome cries. Things were proceeding nicely, and the Archons waited patiently as the transformation progressed.
Soon there would be nothing left of Stevie. His memory of Aaron burned the brightest, its loving warmth providing some insulation against the agony his tiny, seven-year-old body was forced to endure. Aaron would come for him. Aaron would rescue him from the pain; he need only hold on to what little he still had.
Archon Sabaoth was the first to notice. He tilted his head and listened. Sounds were coming from the child’s body—other than the muffled screams of his discomfort. Cracking, grinding, ripping and tearing sounds: The boy’s body had begun to change—to grow—to mature beyond his seven years. This was the most dangerous part of the ritual, and the Archons studied their subject with unblinking eyes, searching for signs that the magicks might have gone awry.
Archon Katspiel remembered a subject whose bone structure had grown disproportionately, leaving the poor creature hideously deformed. Its mind had been so psychologically damaged by the pain that they’d had no choice but to order Archon Domiel to put it out of its misery. It had been a shame, really, for that subject had shown great potential—almost as much as this latest effort.
Stevie held on as long as he could, clutching at the final memory of his brother, friend, and protector—but it was slipping away, piece by jagged piece. He wanted to hold on to it, to remember the beautiful face of the boy who had promised never to leave him, but the pain—there was so much of it. What was the boy’s name? he wondered as he curled up within himself, no longer knowing the question, no longer caring. It didn’t matter. Now there was only pain. He was the pain—and the pain was he.
Archon Erathaol unlocked the manacles around the subject’s chafed wrists and ankles while the others watched. The ritual appears to have been successful, he mused as they watched the subject curl into a fetal position on the floor of the solarium. What had once been a frail child was now a mature adult, his body altered to physical perfection, and his sensitivity to the preternatural greatly augmented. The Archons had succeeded in their task.
Verchiel would be pleased.
CHAPTER SIX
It was quite possibly the best meat loaf Aaron had ever had. He shoveled the last bit of mashed potatoes and peas into his mouth, leaving a good bite of meat loaf uneaten. Gabriel lay beside his chair looking up pathetically a puddle of drool between his paws.
Aaron looked at Mrs. Provost across the kitchen table. She was sipping a cup of instant coffee—made with the coffee bags, not that granule crap, she had informed him.
“Do you mind?” he asked, pointing at the piece of meat covered in dark brown gravy and motioning toward the dog.
“I don’t care,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Would have given him his own plate if you’d’a let me.”
Aaron picked up the meat and gave it to Gabriel. “He had his supper, and besides, too much people-food isn’t good for him,” he said as the dog greedily gobbled the meat from his fingers, making certain to lick every ounce of grease and gravy from the digits. “Makes him gassy.”
“Are you trying to embarrass me?” Gabriel grunted licking his chops.
Aaron laughed and ruffled the yellow dog’s velvety soft ears.
“That’s something I can relate to,” the old woman said, hauling herself up from her seat. “Somedays I feel like that blimp for the tires, I’m so full a’ gas.”
Aaron stifled a laugh.
She reached across the table for his plate and stacked it atop hers. “Meal couldn’t’a been too bad,” she said, staring at his empty plate. “I don’t even have to wash this one,” she said with a wise smirk.
“Didn’t mean to be a pig,” Aaron said as Mrs. Provost took the dirty dishes to the sink. “It was really good. Thanks again.”
She turned on the water and started washing the dishes. Aaron thought about asking if he could do that for her, but something told him she would probably just say something nasty, so he kept his offer to himself. When she wanted him to do something, he was certain she wouldn’t be shy in asking.
“I was cooking for myself, anyway,” Mrs. Provost said, wiping one of the dinner plates with a sponge shaped like an apple. “And besides, it’s kinda nice to have company to supper every once in a while.”
Aaron wondered if the old woman was lonely since the death of her husband. He hadn’t seen any evidence of children or grandchildren.
“Then again, cooking for somebody else can be a real pain in the ass after a while … makes you remember why you was eatin’ by yourself in the first place.”
Well, maybe she was just fine after all…
She left the dishes in the strainer and hung the damp towel over the metal rack attached to the front of the cabinet below the sink. Then she returned to the table to finish her coffee. Aaron wasn’t sure if he should thank her and go to his room, or stay and chat. The kitchen was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator in the corner and Gabriel’s rhythmic breathing as he drifted off to sleep.
“Where you from, Aaron?” Mrs. Provost abruptly asked as she brought her coffee mug to her mouth.
“I’m from Lynn—Lynn, Massachusetts,” he clarified.
“Didn’t think it was Lynn, North Dakota,” the old woman replied, setting her mug down on the gray speckled tabletop. “The city of sin, huh? Family there?”
His expression must have changed dramatically, because he saw a look of uncertainty in her eyes. He didn’t want her to feel bad, so he responded the best way he knew how. “I did,” he said as he looked at his hands lying flat on the table. “They died in a fire a few weeks back.”
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Provost said, gripping her coffee cup in both hands.
Aaron smiled at her. “It’s all right,” he said. “Really. It’s why I’m in Maine right now. You know, change of scenery to try to clear my head.”