Michael was mesmerized by the transformation. And now the rest of the animals were going through the same process as the bear, skin folding back to reveal terrifying, skinless demons of all shapes and sizes.

“I thought you were here to help us,” Sarah said to Skale, who stood there unmoved by the turn of events. “What’re we supposed to do?”

“Helping you is exactly what I’m doing,” Skale said, his voice now oddly happy. “Facing your demons will change your souls forever. And your VirtNet deaths will send you back to the Wake. You’ll be saved from being trapped in this place like I have been. May your ancestors be with you, my son, my daughter.”

Michael eyed the door and, sure enough, two demons blocked the way. Somehow he and Sarah would just have to barrel through it. He grabbed Sarah’s hand, not willing to wait to see what came next—there was only one thing to do.

Michael lunged and grabbed Skale by the cloak, twisting him around until his arm was wrapped tightly around the man’s neck. Skale choked out a cough. The demons reacted as one—roaring, they stepped forward. Now they were angry.

“Back off!” Michael shouted, hoping the beasts understood him. “Come any closer and I’ll snap his neck.”

CHAPTER 18

THE FEET OF ANCESTORS

1

Michael had to survive the Path to get to Kaine. And he wasn’t going to let these demons kill him and end his only chance.

“You’re insane,” the man said to him through clenched jaws. “You don’t understand what you’re—”

Michael choked off his words with a tighter squeeze. “Shut up.”

The monstrous creatures had stopped their approach. They stood, hunched and twisted, around the room, every one a nightmarish sight, only moments from attack.

“Michael,” Sarah whispered. She seemed to reconsider what she’d been about to say. “Just …” She raised her voice. “Just make sure you kill him quick when you do it. Break his neck nice and clean.”

Michael fought to hold back a grimace. “Will do.”

He backed toward the door, dragging Skale along as the man struggled to stay on his feet.

“Don’t think I won’t do it!” Michael yelled at the demons. “You let us go and I’ll set him free—otherwise he dies!”

It seemed absurd, but just as they had in their animal forms, the creatures seemed to understand him. A low rumble began to fill the room, a deep growl from the terrifying group, and with every step Michael took backward, they stepped forward.

He glanced back at the door and saw that the two demons guarding it had actually moved to allow a path to the exit. The smallest kernel of hope sprang up—so far his plan was working.

“Don’t come after me,” Michael warned when he reached the door. Skale struggled to free himself from Michael’s hold, but Michael squeezed tighter and he stopped.

Michael backed out the door into the dark, perpetual night with Sarah at his side. As they inched away from the building, he turned to her.

“Get him to talk,” he said.

Sarah nodded. “You said you knew how to get to the Hallowed Ravine. How do we do it? Does the Path continue from here?”

“I’ll tell you nothing,” Skale said through struggling breaths. “For your sake, not mine. Nothing.”

2

The demons had gathered at the door, their glistening, bloody bodies packed closely together, staring out at the three humans. Those yellow eyes gleamed with anger, and Michael thought he saw doubt welling up in them as well.

“Talk!” Michael yelled. “Talk or you’re going back to the Wake!” He shook the man as he spoke and heard him gag the slightest bit.

But Skale said nothing. Panic lit up inside Michael. He was bluffing, that was the problem. What good would a dead Skale do them?

Michael didn’t know what else to do. He started dragging Skale farther away from the house. The man was heavy, and Michael’s muscles ached from the strain. Sarah stayed beside him, nervously looking from the demons to Skale and Michael.

“What’re we gonna do?” she whispered.

Michael didn’t answer, searching the area for something, anything, to spark an idea. On the far side of the long, dilapidated building, he noticed a separate entrance and a large sign above it that read, CHAPEL OF OUR FOREBEARERS. He changed direction to head that way, intuition driving him. Skale had said something about kneeling before their ancestors.

The old man kicked and struggled in Michael’s grasp. He stopped, hoping to get a better grip on the man, and looked up to see that just a few dozen feet away the demons had begun to come through the door. One by one they entered the night, the glow of the moon lighting up their raw bodies and their bright eyes. Growls and snarls and shrieks echoed through the air.

“Talk!” Michael yelled at his captive, shaking him again. The man’s pale eyes peered up at him, and there was determination there. He wasn’t going to tell Michael anything, and Michael knew it. The man would rather die.

“Michael,” Sarah whispered.

He looked up, saw the demons heading their way, faster now. One of them screamed, a high-pitched sound that ripped through the air—somewhere nearby Michael heard glass shatter.

He gazed down one last time at Skale, who was staring back. And then Michael gave up. He released him and the man fell to the ground. The great and mighty Gunner Skale.

Choking for air, Skale scrambled away and stood. “Kill them!” he shrieked. “Rip and slay them!”

Sarah grabbed Michael by the arm and they both took off running, heading for the chapel.

The demons roared as one and charged after them.

3

The door was open.

Michael slammed it shut behind them. “Find something to block it!”

Sarah was already dragging a desk. He ran over to help her, pushed it from behind. It made a horrible noise as its feet scraped across the wooden floor, but they didn’t stop until they’d rammed it against the door. Two seconds later the demons hit the other side of the door and started beating on it.

Michael backed away, scanning left and right to see what they had to work with. The chapel was small and ordinary—a dozen or so rows of pews divided by an aisle down the middle, which led to an altar. Beyond that were statues of people of all ages and sizes, carved from white marble, standing on a dais. Their eyes seemed to stare at Michael. Forebearers. Ancestors.




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