the other form’s arm.
“Damn it!” Adele shouted. “Get down!” she screamed. “Drop the knife!”
John aimed and fired, two shots. He hadn’t been aiming through the window, though, on account of possibly hitting the victim. Instead, he shot the glass sliding door.
The shards hung suspended for a moment, displaying all manner of cracks and facets, and then they rained down, collapsing with a mighty crash across the deck and into the house.
Adele was already stumbling through the opening, her own weapon clutched cold and firm in her palms. She pointed the firearm toward the man by the table.
“Jonathan Davis, lower the knife!”
The man still held his blade aloft, staring at her, a crazed look in his eyes. He swallowed, emitting a dry sound so loud that Adele could practically hear it echo. She watched his Adam’s apple bob and he pressed his blade hard into the skin of the other form on the table.
Now in the house, hearing John curse and growl as he maneuvered over scattered glass, she got a good look at the victim.
Mr. Castle, she presumed. An older gentleman, his eyes closed, his face and skin pale, slick. The IV in his arm continued to pump blood into the bag gripped in Mr. Davis’s other hand.
“Drop the knife, now!” Adele shouted, angling for a shot.
But Mr. Davis, still breathing heavily, his eyes still widened, shifted, following her steps and keeping his victim between himself and the agents.
“Back!” Davis spat. He had pulsing blue eyes and features that would have been handsome if not for the crazed sheen over his countenance. “Get back!” he screamed, waving his knife threateningly beneath his victim’s chin.
“Drop it!” John’s voice boomed.
Davis was gasping and spitting now, looking to the window next to him, glancing frantically around the dining room, seemingly in search of some escape route.
“Don’t even try it,” Adele snarled. “Mr. Davis, lower the knife, or I’ll shoot!”
He looked at her now, for a moment seemingly forgetting the blood bag. “Do you really mean it?” he asked, a tinge of hope to his voice. “You would send me south? Would you pay the river fare? Hmm?”
Adele blinked. She didn’t look at John, but could sense his confusion as well as he shifted cautiously along the hall in a half-step, his weapon still pinpointing the murderer.
“Sir, we can talk about it—just lower the knife.”
Mr. Davis licked his lips, a pink tongue darting out and slipping across dry flesh like a lizard.
“You don’t understand,” he said, snorting now as if trying to breathe and swallow at the same time. He gasped. “I need this—I need it. I must—must strengthen my spirit. It’s the code, I’m sure of it now. This is Gabriel’s number—he’ll usher me home. I know he will!”
John made a quiet whistling sound next to Adele’s ear.
“I’m not crazy!” Mr. Davis screamed now, pointing the knife toward John.
For a moment, Adele felt like he’d presented an opportunity, but just as quickly, he ducked behind a chair, cursing, hiding from line of sight.
“Mr. Davis, I’m sure you’re not,” Adele said, scowling. “Now lower that blade and we can all get out of this in one piece.”
“That’s just it!” he howled from behind the table. “Too many pieces—not one. Too many! Fractured and tethered souls, bound to this plane by fear and ailment. I march the sojourner’s path! I march onward!”
Then she heard a deep sucking noise. For a moment, Adele frowned. She glanced at the victim, who still seemed to be breathing, thank goodness, his chest rising in slow, shallow motions. But then her eyes widened as she glanced at the blood bag. It lay discarded on the table, dappling the oak with a smattering of droplets. The tube from the IV, though, was out of sight—no longer attached to the bag.
Adele felt a cold shiver and sidestepped now around the table, moving deeper into the dining room and gesturing for John to do the same. She went still.
Mr. Davis was ducked behind the chair still and had the tube in his lips. He was sucking it, swallowing deeply and giggling as he flooded himself, drinking the victim’s blood like from a straw.
Adele felt sick, but she steeled herself and pointed her weapon at Mr. Davis. Aimed, and fired.
But he was quick. He spotted her, spat the tube out and rolled under the table, avoiding the blast. The blood now pooled on the varnished ground, staining against the Turkish rug beneath the table. The victim on top of the table let out a