Destroyer of Worlds Read Free Page B

sorry.
    His sense of Gray shifted, as if a
great tiger curled half around him in the shared room of their
brain, both needing and giving comfort. “The fault is not yours. Or mine. Or even John’s. It
simply…is.” And maybe that was the hardest thing of
all.
    God, they needed something to distract them.
Anything would be better than sitting around feeding angst back and
forth until they started writing emo poetry. Caleb reached blindly
for the sketchpad and a pencil, pulling it to him.
    The sketchpad had an uneven edge.
    Caleb frowned. Sure enough, a piece of paper
stuck just far enough out from the rest of the pad for him to
notice, like someone had ripped it out and stuffed it back in.
    The hell? Damn SPECTR couldn’t even spring
for a sketchbook someone hadn’t already torn a sheet out of?
Half-expecting to find some crude joke at the “vampire’s” expense,
he flipped open the sketchbook.
    Tape held the loose piece of paper very
precisely in place. Someone had written on it …but no crude taunt
or joke. Rather, a penciled letter, the characters so light Caleb
had to lean forward to make out what it said, even with Gray’s
enhanced sight.
    Mr. Jansen,
    You are in grave danger. SPECTR has no means
to exorcise the drakul. We don’t know why they’ve brought you here,
but be assured they will never allow either of you leave these
premises again.
    Caleb bit his lip—there had to be cameras
everywhere, recording everything he did. He reached blindly for a
pencil and began to doodle idly on the paper beneath the note,
hoping the gesture looked casual while giving him a chance to keep
reading.
    We’ve had our suspicions things are not as
they seem, but haven’t been able to gain access to the more
sensitive areas of the facility.
    Do not attempt escape yet. Find out what
SPECTR is hiding. Do this, and we’ll aid your escape on Friday.
Once you’re free, you can contact us via the phone number
previously provided, and we will exorcise you.
    Leave your answer written on this page.
    The stylized symbol of a moth took the place
of a signature.
    “ Well, fuck,” Caleb said.
    * * *
    Caleb drew.
    He didn’t know what else to do, and he needed
to keep his hands busy, so he sketched on page after page, anything
which came to mind. Half the time he barely even paid attention,
ending up with wild, colorful scribbles which meant nothing even to
him.
    The moths. Fucking hell.
    How could they ask this of him? He wasn’t a
SPECTR agent or a cop. He was an artist who worked behind the
counter of a coffee shop to get by. Not a hero. Not John.
    John.
    Gray stirred. “If these moths speak truly, John might be in
danger.”
    What are you talking about? John’s the
original Boy Scout. He’s such a cheerleader for SPECTR, I can’t
believe he doesn’t keep a sweater, mini skirt, and pompoms in his
desk for emergencies. He does whatever they tell him.
    “ No. He does what he
believes to be right.”
    Caleb suppressed a sigh. That was all
he needed, for the cameras to catch him talking to himself. Maybe it’s a human thing, but SPECTR is like
John’s family. Especially after his biological family
turned their backs on him for having paranormal ability. No matter what’s going on here, he’ll find some
way to make it sound like sunshine and roses.
    Instead of responding with a thought, Gray
called up a memory: their first glimpse of John, hunkered down in
front of them in an abandoned house, his eyes the most brilliant
color Gray had yet seen, so blue the shade seemed like some
impossible magic. John had flirted and joked and done everything he
could to put Caleb at ease. Not because SPECTR said he had to, not
because of regulations, but because he operated that way.
    How many other times had he done the same for
others? Plenty, going by what Caleb saw during their brief weeks
together. And maybe John had a blind spot when it came to SPECTR,
but if there really was something going on…even he would have to
see it