I was here on a hunch.
Kingsley's hunch, actually. He believed that the entity was primarily focused through Conner Thurman. His theory did make a kind of sense. After all, my body was immortal, impervious to death, pain, or decay. All thanks to the dark entity within me.
Thanks to her.
So why wouldn't Conner Thurman, who originally summoned the entity nearly a century ago, also benefit from the dark presence within him? Yes, the more I thought about it, the more I was certain that he hadn't died.
Conner Thurman had been, of course, in the public eye. Had he been alive today, he would have been, what - I did some quick math, which was, of course, never my strong suit - and figured him to be around 125 years old.
He'd faked his death.
I was suddenly sure of it.
Yes, it felt right. Kingsley's hunch felt right. Long ago, a channeled presence had told me to trust my gut instincts. Trust my feelings. I might be able to do many things, but I could not predict the future.
Not yet, anyway.
Yes, I'd had a few prophetic dreams of late. Dreams where I could, in fact, see the future.
But this wasn't a dream. At least, I didn't think it was.
These days, dreaming and reality often blurred. So much so that I continuously questioned my own reality. The only constant was my love for my kids. They were my rock. My safety net. My love for them was more real than anything. It transcended everything. All the craziness.
If not for them...I would have descended, I was certain, into complete madness.
I held it together for them.
But now, someone was threatening my son.
I clenched my fists and stepped deeper into what was, in fact, my first mausoleum. It was cold, yes. Dark, yes.
No windows. Correction, two stained glass windows situated high above. The floor was a highly polished marble, now made slippery by my soaking-wet Asics.
Hunch or not, one thing was for certain: my inner alarm was ringing loud and clear.
Here be danger.
I was in a sort of long hallway with a high ceiling. On either side were shelves of some sort. The walls and shelves were composed of the same marble as the floor.
Along some of the shelves were vases and flowers. Spaced along the walls were various plaques, all depicting names and dates of births and deaths.
My footsteps squished. Water dripped from me. I wasn't breathing, and so there was no echo of breath.
The tomb was silent.
Or should have been.
I cocked my head, listening in the dead of night.
Yes, there was a sound from somewhere.
Footsteps.
I paused, and verified the footsteps were not my own. Indeed, they continued on, echoing within what sounded like a stairwell. My hearing was good, granted, and the acoustics of the tomb enhanced the sound wonderfully.
Someone, somewhere, was coming up a flight of stairs. I was sure of it.
A flight of stairs that were directly ahead of me.
I remained motionless. I felt my normally sluggish heart pick up its pace.
Directly ahead of me, further down the narrow hall, a shaft of light suddenly appeared as a door opened.
Despite myself, I gasped.
A figure stepped out.
A figure I immediately recognized, at least from the pictures I'd seen. Conner Thurman. He looked remarkably good for being 125 years old.
I was careful to guard my thoughts.
"I see you found my home away from home, Samantha Moon," said a clipped and cultured voice. "Or, rather, my home next to my home." He chuckled lightly.
"You live here?" I asked, finally finding my voice.
"Often, although I get out as well, generally in disguise. But, yes, you could say that this is my sort of home base."
Was I talking to Conner Thurman or the entity within? I didn't know. Perhaps a little of both. Conner was a tall man who appeared to be in his mid-forties - likely the age when he had first been possessed by the entity within.
I noted he was not smiling, not like the others. Also, I couldn't see his aura, nor read his mind. He was completely closed off to me. Like Kingsley, or Detective Hanner, or the other immortals I'd encountered.
Yes, I thought. He is the source.
The source of the curse.
His family's curse.
Also, I was certain that Conner Thurman - the real Conner Thurman - had been overtaken completely by the entity within. Where the real Conner Thurman was, I didn't know, but I suspected he was trapped within, watching helpless within his own body.
Similar to the way the entity within me watched from within my body. Trapped within me - and wanting out. To possess me fully, similar to the way the entity now fully possessed Conner Thurman.
"Who are you?" I asked. I was aware of movement outside the mausoleum. I suspected Allison and perhaps some others had arrived. For now, they stayed outside. Undoubtedly, they were being controlled by the entity before me.
"I am a renegade of sorts, Samantha Moon."
"What do you mean?"
"You could say I don't play by the rules. I create my own rules."
"What rules?"
"The rules of life, death and our immortal souls."
"I don't understand."
"I, and my sister within you, have challenged the powers that be, so to speak. Successfully, I might add. We have effectively removed ourselves from the soul's evolutionary process."
"I don't understand."
"Yes, I'm sure you don't. You see, there are universal laws in place that govern not only this world, but the worlds beyond. Others before you have created these laws, laws that govern your soul's journey through life and death. I happen to not agree with these laws, Sam. I happen to have a rather rebellious streak within me. You see, I like to do things my way.
And so does my sister, and so do many others like me."
He began circling around me, hands clasped behind his back. He went on, "You see, we have figured a way out of this rat trap, Samantha Moon. And you can join us. Forever join us."
"What do you mean?"
"Give my sister the freedom she seeks, and you can share in our eternal journey."
"And if I refuse?"
"There is no refusing, my dear. You will become one of us or nothing."
I found myself backing away. There was the scent of something repugnant wafting off him. An actual smell of decay, perhaps. My inner alarm seemed to be blaring off the hook. Yes, I was in serious danger, I got it. I willed my own alarm to quiet down. Sometimes, the damn thing went off so loud that I couldn't hear myself think.
"You killed George Thurman and Cal Thurman."
"Yes, I kill when my hosts become problematic or useless."
"What will you do with my son?" I asked.
Conner Thurman stopped pacing and faced me. "Unfortunately, Samantha, your son consumed something very important to me. Something very important to the process of releasing my sister. But not all is lost."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm sure you have figured out by now that I will need all four of the medallions to release my sister."
I said nothing, already suspecting where this was leading. I clenched my fists.
"You see, I had a willing host. My host - Conner Thurman - permitted me to take possession of his body. And I gladly did so. Oh, yes. My sister's release requires aid, if you will. That's where the medallions come in."
"But why the medallions? I don't understand."
"The medallions were created to aid those like you, Samantha Moon. The combination of all four together was not foreseen, and not predicted. At least, not by those who created them."
He stepped closer, and I stepped back.
I sensed great strength within him. I suddenly very much wished that Kingsley was by my side again.
"Fortunately, the magicks contained within the particular medallion that your son consumed are not lost."
"I don't understand - "
"Yes, you do, Samantha Moon. You understand all too well."
In a blink of an eye, he was behind me, reaching around my throat, one hand clawing up inside my sweater. I struggled but was shocked by his strength, his speed.
So strong, so fast.
His hand continued up over my stomach, over my breasts, up near my throat.
"You see, your son must now..." he began, whispering harshly in my ear, his fingertips now pressing into the flesh of my upper chest, "be consumed completely and totally. Every inch of him. Every drop of blood. Every hair on his head." He was breathing harder, faster. "And trust me, Samantha Moon - trust me when I tell you that I will enjoy him very, very much. But first - "
I screamed, and not necessarily out of fear or anger, but because his fingers had dug deep into me. He threw me away as an excruciating pain ripped through me.
Stumbling into the hallway wall, I gripped my chest as blood poured between my fingers.
I looked back in horror as Conner Thurman held in one of his hands the medallion that had recently been under my skin, a medallion that was, even now, draped in my own bloodied flesh.
"One medallion down," he said, turning to face me, "and three to go."
