All the Rules of Heaven (All That Heaven Will Allow #1) - Amy Lane Page 0,109
laughter as the darkness descended in a rush into Josh Greenaway’s open mouth.
Dark Moon
A DEAFENING silence killed the echoes of Conklin’s laughter, and Tucker stared at Josh Greenaway.
His friend stared back at him through an oily film, sparks of madness zinging through the windows of his possessed soul.
Josh leaped toward Tucker, hands going for his throat, and Tucker fell back, the bruises along his body and the back of his head catching fire again. He raised his hands to push Josh off, and his wrist gave a vicious throb.
Josh’s hard hands were cutting off his air supply, and Tucker’s vision darkened, his windpipe crushed under madness and muscles honed with hard work. He lowered his hands to try to break through the grip around his throat, and Josh/Conklin’s scream of pain echoed through the room.
The pendant burned hot against Tucker’s throat, and the acrid smell of burning flesh sizzled up from Josh’s hands. Conklin let go and jumped up, holding his hands in front of him and shrieking.
“You think you’ve won? You think I can’t get you? Who’s going to keep you safe when I release the prisoners! You think a little bit of silver is going to protect you from hundreds of captive souls?”
Josh went thundering out of the room, and Tucker struggled to stand. He put weight on his wrist and yelped, falling back to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” James Beaufort sobbed, as Angel knelt by Tucker’s side. “I’m sorry. I wanted to keep him far from any of you—”
“Thomas Conklin is not your fault,” Tucker rasped. He struggled up on his elbow, and then used his other hand to sit. Angel was mostly solid, kissing his temple, touching his bruised throat with fluttery fingers, keeping his emotions together by a fragile thread. “James—we need you to go stop him.”
Below them, they heard the sound of Josh’s truck starting up and revving to life. It peeled out of the driveway, followed by knocking sounds that indicated it hadn’t backed up and turned into the street, but had instead gone over the brick border that marked the edge of the parking area.
“Fuck!” Tucker gasped. His bad wrist gave again, but Angel caught him this time, grabbing his elbow and helping him stand. “James, you can move fast enough. He’s going to the graveyard.”
“How do you know?” Angel asked.
“Those have to be the lost souls he was talking about—and that’s exactly where he’s heading. One meatsuit—that’s all he needs to build a bridge between Daisy Place and the adjoining property line. Some spilled human blood to break the spell of the metallurgy and the ghosts are free to get out of Daisy Place and perpetrate havoc. James, you can get to him—get him to drive off course or wreck the truck or something. Angel and I will meet you—he’s going to try to take that fucking vehicle cross-country. He may have used Josh’s brain to figure out how to start it, but if I know Josh Greenaway, he’s going to crash it into a tree when he can. I need you to meet him, harass him, drop shit in his way. Don’t hurt Josh any more than you can help it, but stop Conklin. Do you hear me?”
James nodded, pain evident on his face, and Tucker took a moment to ease his mind.
“James, do this for us. Help us get rid of that spirit once and for all, and I can give you peace. I swear it. You can join your wife and your sons and your sisters. They miss you.”
James Beaufort’s face was plain and square, but the desperate hope that lit it from within gave him a plaintive beauty. “My family?” he begged. “Tell me I might rejoin them.”
“I promise,” Tucker whispered, his throat aching along with most of the rest of his body. He reached down to the floor with his good hand, grabbed the charms, and shoved them back into the pocket of his cargo shorts, where he could grab them when he needed them. He felt the bronze button with the sailing ship in there and took heart from that. “Once we take care of Conklin, any debt you had is completely discharged. Your spirit can rest easy, James, I promise.”
James disappeared then, and so did some of Tucker’s resolve. He sagged against the now-stable desk and tried to think past the pain.
“I need a bandage,” he said. “For my wrist. A sheet—Angel, do you know where the sheets are?”