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That Which Lies Hidden, a Ghost Adventures fic, chapter 17

This is a long one--hope you can bear with me. I couldn't find a good place to break.

17  We pulled into a Sonic as the sun rose, still talking over the events of the night. Zak wondered aloud why none of the more aggressive entities they usually encountered at Mackey's had emerged to confront us. I didn't particularly care. My first experience meeting a deceased spirit had been absolutely exhilarating. As we munched our tater tots, Nick perused the map he'd found in the rental car's glove box. "I'm trying to trace Aaron's route. Patti saw him a couple of weeks after Claire's friend met him in Kansas…and it's a pretty straight shot from Salina to Lexington." He spread the map out across the steering wheel and traced a line with his finger. I hung over the back seat to watch. "Looks like about 700 miles. Easy two day drive."

Zak matched his friend's grin. "You thinking what I'm thinking? Check out the town, see if we can find out why Aaron was there, and where else he may have been headed. Road trip!" His face suddenly fell as he looked up at me from his shotgun seat. "You'd have to fly back to Vegas alone, though," he said to me.

"Says who?" I retorted. "Nick said two days. Today is Thursday, and I'm not expected back at work till Monday. You do the math. Unless you'd rather I left. Seriously, I came because Patti asked me to, but I've done my job. If you'd be more comfortable without me tagging along, I understand."

"I worry about you," Zak admitted, "but you held your own at Mackey's. We may make an investigator out of you yet."

"And she can hold a camera," Nick put in. "I say we hire her, as a temp."

"Done," Zak agreed. He leaned over to scrutinize the map, and his eyes narrowed. "We'd pass through Stull on the way, wouldn't we?"

His tone was deceptively casual, but Nick caught his drift immediately. "Don't even think about it. Bad enough you went into Mackey's. I am not letting you back in that house where we all nearly got—"

Zak held up his hands, bare except for a half-eaten breakfast burrito. "Dude! Do you see me holding any demonic summoning runes? I was that stupid once, but it's not gonna happen again. Besides, I'm not risking…" His voice trailed off, but he gave a significant tilt of his head toward me. I let it pass. It was irritating that Zak still felt he had to protect me, but I was in accord with Nick: if Zak thinking he had to shield me kept him out of harm's way, so much the better.

We drove back to Lexington to check out of our hotel and say goodbye to Patti, who had already begun a round of phone calls and text messages to the same network of ghost hunters she had earlier warned away from Zak, telling them now that he was safe. She too was baffled by the relative ease of our night at Bobby Mackey's, but was inclined to write it off to chance, or lack of preparedness on the spirits' part. "Y'all didn't even know you were staying when you got there, so maybe they didn't have time to round up a bunch to mess with you."

After I ordered a stop at Target to pick up some clean underwear (for everybody. We'd all only packed for a short trip, and no way was I riding for two days in a car with two stinky men, no matter how much I liked or loved them) we headed off across Kentucky. Fatigue hit me, and while the guys talked and plotted I snoozed away the rest of the morning in the back seat. I was awakened by the stopping of the car, and something cold thrust into my hand. "Um, thanks," I mumbled and focused on the can. Diet Cherry Coke. I took a big swallow—I'd gotten drier than I thought while asleep—and grinned up at Zak in gratitude mingled with puzzlement. "How'd you know this is my favorite?  I don't remember ever telling you."

He shrugged and took a slug from the bottle of Muscle Milk in his hand. "You ever tell the demon? I probably heard it then." That made sense, though it was the first time Zak had mentioned recalling anything from that dark time, and it made me wonder how much else might come back to him later.

After Nick gassed up we all went into the little market, discovered a snack bar in back, and gorged on thick-cut fried bologna sandwiches and homemade potato chips. When we piled back into the car I insisted on spelling Nick, driving in my usual manner, with one hand on the wheel and the other on the radio knob. Zak's ipod earbuds were still planted firmly in his ears, but he took them out occasionally to see what I'd found. "It's more fun than playing roulette," he said dryly after I'd jumped from Emmylou Harris to the Rolling Stones to Usher. "And you don't lose money, just brain cells," he added when I landed on a pop station and stayed to hear Selena Gomez.  I gave him a finger and then sang I Love You like a Love Song loudly straight to his face.

That started a group singalong, with some of the goofiest songs we could find on the stations that faded in and out as we drove. In the middle of an old duet between Jackson Browne and Clarence Clemons, though, Zak's grin turned wistful. "This is where Aaron would play air sax," he said.

Nick nodded quietly. "You both miss him a lot," I said.

"We need him," Zak replied. "Things just won't be the same if we can't get him back. The three of us—we just clicked. I took point, most of the time, but I always knew Nick and Aaron had my back."

I listened as they reminisced, and pondered after they both dozed off. Driving long distances gives you plenty of time to think, and as I did, I made a resolution. I remembered Nick's fierce joy when he and Zak were reunited, and made a promise to myself that I would do all I could to help them complete their triad and find their friend.

We reached St Louis in late afternoon. Nick pulled out this amazing address list and made some calls. I worried secretly about how Patti's update might have been received, but I needn't have. Before I knew it we were met by a welcoming committee of ghost hunters who escorted us to the Italian Hill area of town and stuffed us with rigatoni and red wine at a restaurant in an old house they informed us was even haunted. "We chose it just for you guys," they said proudly. Despite the wine I managed not to giggle. I was, after all, now an official member of the Ghost Adventures Crew, even if only a temp. We were peppered with questions—well, Zak and Nick were, mostly, but I came in for a few too, primarily from the female members of the group. Our story was rehearsed and firmly in place, though, and after all, most of it was true, or close enough.

The local paranormal group had information of their own to offer us—two members had been in touch with Aaron, in the time period between Dean's meeting him and Patti's. In fact, the couple had even asked him to come with them on a ghost hunt to a local mansion, but gotten a strange reply. "He said he appreciated us asking, but he had bigger fish to fry than the ghost of an old dead governor," they said.

"That doesn't sound right," Zak said as we went back to our motel and readied for bed. "When Aaron started out with us he spooked so easily, but later on he was as tough as they came—he pretended to hate going alone into haunted places, but he was a real warrior. The meaner the spirit, the better he liked facing it."

"But that makes even more sense," I argued. "Patti said Aaron was totally focused on helping you—he knew you were possessed and he was searching for a way to free you. In fact, remember Johanna said 'free', and maybe that's what she meant; maybe Aaron is going to haunted places, asking the spirits there for help or information on how to get rid of the demon."

Zak didn't look convinced. "If so he's being really selective about which ghosts he's asking for advice."

The next morning we set out again. Zak persuaded Nick to at least get off the interstate at Stull, just past Kansas City, in the early afternoon. "Hey, look," he said as we drove through the small town, "wasn't that the cop that locked us in, that night?"

"I think so." Despite his earlier concerns, Nick's camera lay close at hand, and he started shooting as he pulled the car up and the guys began to chat with the officer. It started as an exchange of pleasantries and recollections, but moments later took a shocking turn.

"Not all that surprised to see you fellas back here," said the sturdy, graying man in uniform. "Your buddy came back a few months ago, even went back to the old Gamble place. Brave or crazy, not altogether sure which—"

"What??" Zak yelped. "What the fuck was he thinking?" Nick stood with mouth agape as Zak looked around him almost wildly, and then stepped back toward our car. "We need to go over there."

"Zak, no—" Nick began.

"Nick, I've got to go!" Zak almost yelled. "Whatever Aaron's doing, he's trying to help me! If you don't want to, okay, fine. But I can't—I won't let him get fucked because he thinks I'm in trouble. I'll get the cop to take me down there, I'll walk through, do some EVP sessions. It's broad daylight, there's probably nothing there anyway. So you stay here with Claire and I'll be back in a—"

"As if you're going without me," I snapped. Reaching through the open door into Nick's duffel lying on the back seat, my fingers closed on the now familiar shape of the Ovilus and I pulled it out. "Let's roll," I told Zak, locking eyes with him and refusing to back down.

Nick looked from me to Zak to the baffled patrolman, then threw up his hands. "Get in the fuckin' car," he ordered, and took off with a squeal of tires following the police car outside of town and up a narrow graveled road. At its end, with a small cemetery just visible on a nearby hill, sat a lonely house, its shingles torn loose and ragged.

Nick stopped the car and sat gripping the wheel, his knuckles white. Zak stared at the building as though compelled, but when he spoke his voice was calm. "You don't have to go in, bro."

"Like hell," Nick growled and grabbed his camera as he got out. "He's my buddy too." The look that passed between them spoke volumes, and for a moment I felt out of place, until I remembered Patti's words to me: you're wise not to let him go off and leave you. If you separate, I feel like it won't be good. I took a firmer grip on the spirit communication device and moved with them toward the front door.

The police officer had radioed and gotten permission for us to enter and film, but he refused to leave his patrol car. Cautiously we entered and began to walk through. I looked down at my hands. "Oh shit," I said, "this isn't the Ovilus. What is it?"

"The spirit box," Zak said, taking it from me. "It uses radio frequencies to facilitate spirit communication." He fiddled with it for a few moments, and it began to emit static and white noise. "Is anybody here?" he called.  "Do you remember us? Nick and I were here, two years ago. We talked with some spirits here, and you told us you were murdered. Can you talk to us again?" he pulled his tiny digital recorder out of his pocket and activated it as we continued through the house, staying close together. "Our friend was here not long ago—did you talk to him? Did he ask you questions? What did he ask you? Did he ask about a demon that was in this house?"

Suddenly, from the chaotic noise of the spirit box in my hand, a clear voice emerged. "IT BURNS."

"Whoa!" Zak said. We all stopped. "It burns. Yeah, it probably does." My legs went weak, but I forced myself to stiffen. "It's back in hell, and it's angry, so, yeah, it probably does. Did you tell Aaron that?"

No reply came, at least nothing we could hear. After a few minutes, though, we paused, and Zak reviewed the recording. At one point, a faint scratching could be heard. "I hear a voice there," Nick said. "What's it saying—sounds like 'we fear it'. That makes sense, if the demon in the boarder killed the family here."

We moved through the rooms and upward, till the guys halted at the foot of a small, narrow staircase. Zak gazed upward, and shivered. I slipped my arm around his waist. "Enough," I told him gently. "You've made your point. We know Aaron was here; we know he talked to the spirits here, about the demon that was in you. Let's go."

"Wait here, you two," he said, never taking his eyes off the door at the top of the stairs as he slid free of my touch and started walking up toward the garret door. I cried out and ran up after him, but he turned and stopped me. "Don't, Claire. I need to do this. If I leave now, this place is gonna keep haunting me. I need to go in that room. I need to see there's nothing there. Please."

This time when our eyes met, I did back down, literally, stepping backward down several stairs to the landing. "Yell if you need us, or you get anything," Nick said from behind me, in a tone that would not take no for an answer. Zak's eyes left mine to look at him, and he nodded once before he turned away.

I felt Nick's hand on my shoulder. "How do we always end up like this?" I murmured. "You and me, hanging on to each other for support, while he goes and does something crazy."

"Partly, it's because I don't have Aaron here to hang on to," he replied quietly.

I smiled faintly. "So the temp will do?" Zak had thankfully left the door open, and we could see him move around the small room with recorder in hand, and hear him talking to any entity that might be near.

"The temp's not Aaron, but the temp's good."

"Hey guys, look!" Zak's voice, pitched down toward us, was not frantic, but interested. As we started up the steps, though, the door began to swing shut, and I panicked. I dove forward and blocked it with my body, wincing at the bruise I knew I'd have on my butt tomorrow.

Zak was standing from a squat in a corner, holding a wrinkled piece of paper. I recognized it, and it chilled me.  'The summoning sigils," I got out. "Has that lain here all this time?"

"No," Nick sounded certain. "Billy said he cleaned everything up, remember? You don't think Aaron—"

"Fuck, I hope not," Zak said fervently. The chill in my bones deepened; I felt physically dizzy, but didn't realize I'd swayed till Nick's hand steadied me. "Claire? You okay, sweetie?"

"Yeah," I forced out. "Just…nervous, maybe…"

"Dude!" Nick said suddenly. "Feel that cold!"

I shuddered, and Zak pulled me into his arms. "Is something here?" he yelled. "Do we meet again, you demonic sonovabitch? Are you pissed off, because you're such a fuckin' failure? You tried to take me and you failed. And you can't get me again, so you're trying to take it out on her? Well, fuck you! Get away from her!"

The spirit box I still clutched produced a low, long noise like a big cat's growl, and then words: "—FOR HIM—"

"Who?" I demanded through lips gone cold. "For him? For who? Zak? Or Aaron? Who?"

One more word burst forth, clear to all three of us, and emphatic in its delivery. "MINE!"

"No!" I yelled back. "Not yours. You can't have him, motherfucker!" Anger dispelled a little of the cold that gripped me, and I pulled Zak back toward the door. For once he didn't argue, and we quickly retreated through the house and outside.

I collapsed in the back seat shaking unashamedly. Zak dropped beside me and slammed the car door. "Just drive," he told Nick. "I'll stay back here with her."

"Fine." Nick had already regained some of his usual composure. "But if you get carsick back there, you get to explain it to the rental company." Zak flapped a hand at him and we took off, Nick calling thanks to the policeman as we passed.

I held Zak tightly. "It can't have you. I won't let it. I won't."

"It can't," he soothed me, pulling me half into his lap and touching his shoulder, where under his shirt the sigil of protection was etched into his living flesh.  "It can't get me, and that is because of you, sweetheart."

The farther we got from the house, the calmer and clearer my head became, and I knew he was right. In this tug of war, if my demonic foe wanted Zak back, it had already lost. My secret worry, though, was that it hadn't been talking about Zak.

Maybe it wanted new prey.

Maybe it wanted Aaron.

Description
That Which Lies Hidden, a Ghost Adventures fic, chapter 17

This is a long one--hope you can bear with me. I couldn't find a good place to break.

17  We pulled into a Sonic as the sun rose, still talking over the events of the night. Zak wondered aloud why none of the more aggressive entities they usually encountered at Mackey's had emerged to confront us. I didn't particularly care. My first experience meeting a deceased spirit had been absolutely exhilarating. As we munched our tater tots, Nick perused the map he'd found in the rental car's glove box. "I'm trying to trace Aaron's route. Patti saw him a couple of weeks after Claire's friend met him in Kansas…and it's a pretty straight shot from Salina to Lexington." He spread the map out across the steering wheel and traced a line with his finger. I hung over the back seat to watch. "Looks like about 700 miles. Easy two day drive."

Zak matched his friend's grin. "You thinking what I'm thinking? Check out the town, see if we can find out why Aaron was there, and where else he may have been headed. Road trip!" His face suddenly fell as he looked up at me from his shotgun seat. "You'd have to fly back to Vegas alone, though," he said to me.

"Says who?" I retorted. "Nick said two days. Today is Thursday, and I'm not expected back at work till Monday. You do the math. Unless you'd rather I left. Seriously, I came because Patti asked me to, but I've done my job. If you'd be more comfortable without me tagging along, I understand."

"I worry about you," Zak admitted, "but you held your own at Mackey's. We may make an investigator out of you yet."

"And she can hold a camera," Nick put in. "I say we hire her, as a temp."

"Done," Zak agreed. He leaned over to scrutinize the map, and his eyes narrowed. "We'd pass through Stull on the way, wouldn't we?"

His tone was deceptively casual, but Nick caught his drift immediately. "Don't even think about it. Bad enough you went into Mackey's. I am not letting you back in that house where we all nearly got—"

Zak held up his hands, bare except for a half-eaten breakfast burrito. "Dude! Do you see me holding any demonic summoning runes? I was that stupid once, but it's not gonna happen again. Besides, I'm not risking…" His voice trailed off, but he gave a significant tilt of his head toward me. I let it pass. It was irritating that Zak still felt he had to protect me, but I was in accord with Nick: if Zak thinking he had to shield me kept him out of harm's way, so much the better.

We drove back to Lexington to check out of our hotel and say goodbye to Patti, who had already begun a round of phone calls and text messages to the same network of ghost hunters she had earlier warned away from Zak, telling them now that he was safe. She too was baffled by the relative ease of our night at Bobby Mackey's, but was inclined to write it off to chance, or lack of preparedness on the spirits' part. "Y'all didn't even know you were staying when you got there, so maybe they didn't have time to round up a bunch to mess with you."

After I ordered a stop at Target to pick up some clean underwear (for everybody. We'd all only packed for a short trip, and no way was I riding for two days in a car with two stinky men, no matter how much I liked or loved them) we headed off across Kentucky. Fatigue hit me, and while the guys talked and plotted I snoozed away the rest of the morning in the back seat. I was awakened by the stopping of the car, and something cold thrust into my hand. "Um, thanks," I mumbled and focused on the can. Diet Cherry Coke. I took a big swallow—I'd gotten drier than I thought while asleep—and grinned up at Zak in gratitude mingled with puzzlement. "How'd you know this is my favorite?  I don't remember ever telling you."

He shrugged and took a slug from the bottle of Muscle Milk in his hand. "You ever tell the demon? I probably heard it then." That made sense, though it was the first time Zak had mentioned recalling anything from that dark time, and it made me wonder how much else might come back to him later.

After Nick gassed up we all went into the little market, discovered a snack bar in back, and gorged on thick-cut fried bologna sandwiches and homemade potato chips. When we piled back into the car I insisted on spelling Nick, driving in my usual manner, with one hand on the wheel and the other on the radio knob. Zak's ipod earbuds were still planted firmly in his ears, but he took them out occasionally to see what I'd found. "It's more fun than playing roulette," he said dryly after I'd jumped from Emmylou Harris to the Rolling Stones to Usher. "And you don't lose money, just brain cells," he added when I landed on a pop station and stayed to hear Selena Gomez.  I gave him a finger and then sang I Love You like a Love Song loudly straight to his face.

That started a group singalong, with some of the goofiest songs we could find on the stations that faded in and out as we drove. In the middle of an old duet between Jackson Browne and Clarence Clemons, though, Zak's grin turned wistful. "This is where Aaron would play air sax," he said.

Nick nodded quietly. "You both miss him a lot," I said.

"We need him," Zak replied. "Things just won't be the same if we can't get him back. The three of us—we just clicked. I took point, most of the time, but I always knew Nick and Aaron had my back."

I listened as they reminisced, and pondered after they both dozed off. Driving long distances gives you plenty of time to think, and as I did, I made a resolution. I remembered Nick's fierce joy when he and Zak were reunited, and made a promise to myself that I would do all I could to help them complete their triad and find their friend.

We reached St Louis in late afternoon. Nick pulled out this amazing address list and made some calls. I worried secretly about how Patti's update might have been received, but I needn't have. Before I knew it we were met by a welcoming committee of ghost hunters who escorted us to the Italian Hill area of town and stuffed us with rigatoni and red wine at a restaurant in an old house they informed us was even haunted. "We chose it just for you guys," they said proudly. Despite the wine I managed not to giggle. I was, after all, now an official member of the Ghost Adventures Crew, even if only a temp. We were peppered with questions—well, Zak and Nick were, mostly, but I came in for a few too, primarily from the female members of the group. Our story was rehearsed and firmly in place, though, and after all, most of it was true, or close enough.

The local paranormal group had information of their own to offer us—two members had been in touch with Aaron, in the time period between Dean's meeting him and Patti's. In fact, the couple had even asked him to come with them on a ghost hunt to a local mansion, but gotten a strange reply. "He said he appreciated us asking, but he had bigger fish to fry than the ghost of an old dead governor," they said.

"That doesn't sound right," Zak said as we went back to our motel and readied for bed. "When Aaron started out with us he spooked so easily, but later on he was as tough as they came—he pretended to hate going alone into haunted places, but he was a real warrior. The meaner the spirit, the better he liked facing it."

"But that makes even more sense," I argued. "Patti said Aaron was totally focused on helping you—he knew you were possessed and he was searching for a way to free you. In fact, remember Johanna said 'free', and maybe that's what she meant; maybe Aaron is going to haunted places, asking the spirits there for help or information on how to get rid of the demon."

Zak didn't look convinced. "If so he's being really selective about which ghosts he's asking for advice."

The next morning we set out again. Zak persuaded Nick to at least get off the interstate at Stull, just past Kansas City, in the early afternoon. "Hey, look," he said as we drove through the small town, "wasn't that the cop that locked us in, that night?"

"I think so." Despite his earlier concerns, Nick's camera lay close at hand, and he started shooting as he pulled the car up and the guys began to chat with the officer. It started as an exchange of pleasantries and recollections, but moments later took a shocking turn.

"Not all that surprised to see you fellas back here," said the sturdy, graying man in uniform. "Your buddy came back a few months ago, even went back to the old Gamble place. Brave or crazy, not altogether sure which—"

"What??" Zak yelped. "What the fuck was he thinking?" Nick stood with mouth agape as Zak looked around him almost wildly, and then stepped back toward our car. "We need to go over there."

"Zak, no—" Nick began.

"Nick, I've got to go!" Zak almost yelled. "Whatever Aaron's doing, he's trying to help me! If you don't want to, okay, fine. But I can't—I won't let him get fucked because he thinks I'm in trouble. I'll get the cop to take me down there, I'll walk through, do some EVP sessions. It's broad daylight, there's probably nothing there anyway. So you stay here with Claire and I'll be back in a—"

"As if you're going without me," I snapped. Reaching through the open door into Nick's duffel lying on the back seat, my fingers closed on the now familiar shape of the Ovilus and I pulled it out. "Let's roll," I told Zak, locking eyes with him and refusing to back down.

Nick looked from me to Zak to the baffled patrolman, then threw up his hands. "Get in the fuckin' car," he ordered, and took off with a squeal of tires following the police car outside of town and up a narrow graveled road. At its end, with a small cemetery just visible on a nearby hill, sat a lonely house, its shingles torn loose and ragged.

Nick stopped the car and sat gripping the wheel, his knuckles white. Zak stared at the building as though compelled, but when he spoke his voice was calm. "You don't have to go in, bro."

"Like hell," Nick growled and grabbed his camera as he got out. "He's my buddy too." The look that passed between them spoke volumes, and for a moment I felt out of place, until I remembered Patti's words to me: you're wise not to let him go off and leave you. If you separate, I feel like it won't be good. I took a firmer grip on the spirit communication device and moved with them toward the front door.

The police officer had radioed and gotten permission for us to enter and film, but he refused to leave his patrol car. Cautiously we entered and began to walk through. I looked down at my hands. "Oh shit," I said, "this isn't the Ovilus. What is it?"

"The spirit box," Zak said, taking it from me. "It uses radio frequencies to facilitate spirit communication." He fiddled with it for a few moments, and it began to emit static and white noise. "Is anybody here?" he called.  "Do you remember us? Nick and I were here, two years ago. We talked with some spirits here, and you told us you were murdered. Can you talk to us again?" he pulled his tiny digital recorder out of his pocket and activated it as we continued through the house, staying close together. "Our friend was here not long ago—did you talk to him? Did he ask you questions? What did he ask you? Did he ask about a demon that was in this house?"

Suddenly, from the chaotic noise of the spirit box in my hand, a clear voice emerged. "IT BURNS."

"Whoa!" Zak said. We all stopped. "It burns. Yeah, it probably does." My legs went weak, but I forced myself to stiffen. "It's back in hell, and it's angry, so, yeah, it probably does. Did you tell Aaron that?"

No reply came, at least nothing we could hear. After a few minutes, though, we paused, and Zak reviewed the recording. At one point, a faint scratching could be heard. "I hear a voice there," Nick said. "What's it saying—sounds like 'we fear it'. That makes sense, if the demon in the boarder killed the family here."

We moved through the rooms and upward, till the guys halted at the foot of a small, narrow staircase. Zak gazed upward, and shivered. I slipped my arm around his waist. "Enough," I told him gently. "You've made your point. We know Aaron was here; we know he talked to the spirits here, about the demon that was in you. Let's go."

"Wait here, you two," he said, never taking his eyes off the door at the top of the stairs as he slid free of my touch and started walking up toward the garret door. I cried out and ran up after him, but he turned and stopped me. "Don't, Claire. I need to do this. If I leave now, this place is gonna keep haunting me. I need to go in that room. I need to see there's nothing there. Please."

This time when our eyes met, I did back down, literally, stepping backward down several stairs to the landing. "Yell if you need us, or you get anything," Nick said from behind me, in a tone that would not take no for an answer. Zak's eyes left mine to look at him, and he nodded once before he turned away.

I felt Nick's hand on my shoulder. "How do we always end up like this?" I murmured. "You and me, hanging on to each other for support, while he goes and does something crazy."

"Partly, it's because I don't have Aaron here to hang on to," he replied quietly.

I smiled faintly. "So the temp will do?" Zak had thankfully left the door open, and we could see him move around the small room with recorder in hand, and hear him talking to any entity that might be near.

"The temp's not Aaron, but the temp's good."

"Hey guys, look!" Zak's voice, pitched down toward us, was not frantic, but interested. As we started up the steps, though, the door began to swing shut, and I panicked. I dove forward and blocked it with my body, wincing at the bruise I knew I'd have on my butt tomorrow.

Zak was standing from a squat in a corner, holding a wrinkled piece of paper. I recognized it, and it chilled me.  'The summoning sigils," I got out. "Has that lain here all this time?"

"No," Nick sounded certain. "Billy said he cleaned everything up, remember? You don't think Aaron—"

"Fuck, I hope not," Zak said fervently. The chill in my bones deepened; I felt physically dizzy, but didn't realize I'd swayed till Nick's hand steadied me. "Claire? You okay, sweetie?"

"Yeah," I forced out. "Just…nervous, maybe…"

"Dude!" Nick said suddenly. "Feel that cold!"

I shuddered, and Zak pulled me into his arms. "Is something here?" he yelled. "Do we meet again, you demonic sonovabitch? Are you pissed off, because you're such a fuckin' failure? You tried to take me and you failed. And you can't get me again, so you're trying to take it out on her? Well, fuck you! Get away from her!"

The spirit box I still clutched produced a low, long noise like a big cat's growl, and then words: "—FOR HIM—"

"Who?" I demanded through lips gone cold. "For him? For who? Zak? Or Aaron? Who?"

One more word burst forth, clear to all three of us, and emphatic in its delivery. "MINE!"

"No!" I yelled back. "Not yours. You can't have him, motherfucker!" Anger dispelled a little of the cold that gripped me, and I pulled Zak back toward the door. For once he didn't argue, and we quickly retreated through the house and outside.

I collapsed in the back seat shaking unashamedly. Zak dropped beside me and slammed the car door. "Just drive," he told Nick. "I'll stay back here with her."

"Fine." Nick had already regained some of his usual composure. "But if you get carsick back there, you get to explain it to the rental company." Zak flapped a hand at him and we took off, Nick calling thanks to the policeman as we passed.

I held Zak tightly. "It can't have you. I won't let it. I won't."

"It can't," he soothed me, pulling me half into his lap and touching his shoulder, where under his shirt the sigil of protection was etched into his living flesh.  "It can't get me, and that is because of you, sweetheart."

The farther we got from the house, the calmer and clearer my head became, and I knew he was right. In this tug of war, if my demonic foe wanted Zak back, it had already lost. My secret worry, though, was that it hadn't been talking about Zak.

Maybe it wanted new prey.

Maybe it wanted Aaron.