Chapter 17: The House of Dust

The amulet continued to smolder cold in Elias's hand, even with the warmth of the night. For an instant, he considered tossing it off the nearest cliff and watching it fall into oblivion. But he didn't. He couldn't. The blasted thing had kept him alive more times than he could even remember, and at the moment, it was the only thing between him and whatever hellish horror had just attempted to pull his soul down into the ground.

Selene leaned back against the trunk of an ancient oak, one arm across her chest, the other holding her knife. Blood still smeared her chin from where Hexley's boot had clipped her a few moments before. Otherwise, her voice was even.

"So," she grumbled, wiping her mouth. "House of Dust. What the devil is that?"

Elias let out a slow breath. "I wish I knew."

"You sure?" she retorted. "Because they sure as hell recognized you. Recognized what you'd got. That means something."

Elias locked his jaw. She wasn't mistaken.

The bell still was ringing in his head—not actually, but deep inside his brain, the reverberation of something he wasn't supposed to live. The masked one's words still gnawed at him:

"You can't escape the House of Dust."

And underneath that:

"You bear the mark of the Collector, but you walk free. Unacceptable."

Elias traced the Hollow Mark on his wrist with a thumb, tracing the ridged scars. He could recall the Collector's icy claw of a touch, the way it had seared through his flesh when he'd signed that devilish bargain, a bargain that should have sent his soul tumbling with it.

But he was here. Alive.

And something worse than the Collector was after him now.

Selene regarded him warily. She didn't press, not yet, but the silence hung thick with unasked questions. At last, she broke it.

"That man," she said. "Hexley. What the devil was he?"

Elias took a breath. "Not a man. Not anymore."

Selene sneered bitterly. "Yeah, I realized that much when he shrugged off a bullet to the chest. Want to tell me, or are you going to continue letting me have my ass handed to me blindfolded?"

Elias gritted his teeth. Almost laughed. Almost. Instead, he simply looked forward. "Hexley said he recognized me. But I could've sworn I'd never heard his name before."

"That doesn't mean he's lying," she growled.

"No," Elias acknowledged. "It doesn't."

Selene's forehead creased. "So what was he, then? Another blasted thing the Collector sent to kill you?"

"No," Elias replied softly.

And it wasn't.

The collector collected debts. Souls. Shards of men who had made poor bargains in the dark. But Hexley. Hexley was something worse. Personal. There was malice in his gaze and something else that Elias couldn't put his finger on. Something ancient.

Selene winced a little, changing positions. "And those creeps in robes?"

Elias flinched. "I think they're worse."

Selene shot him a dry stare. "Great. I was hoping we were going to deal with only one terrible horror today."

Elias gasped behind gritted teeth, his side sore. "We have to move. If they followed this far."

"They did," Selene broke in.

Elias's eyes snapped open in shock. "What?"

She nodded her head very slightly. "Listen."

For an eternity of a moment, Elias listened for nothing but the breath of wind through the forest. His heartbeat pounded. Hush. Silence. Perhaps they'd lost them.

Then far and faint came the bell, ringing again.

Elias was immobilized.

Selene's tone was icy. "They're still approaching."

The Ashen Trail

Both of them paced swiftly.

Selene maintained the lead, knife flashing in her palm, with Elias holding his revolver at the ready and his gaze pinned on the blackness behind them. The hills were now desolate, parched earth and dead scrub at their feet. The railway line, rusted long ago, lay before them like a moribund vein to the far-off town of Ashen Hill.

"We make it to the train depot," Selene gasped. "Find a horse. Escape from here."

"And where's that?" Elias demanded.

"Nowhere else."

Another clang of the bell. Louder. Nearer.

Elias whipped his head in a direction opposite from where his friend had taken.

His blood locked.

The figures were picking up speed now.

Their cloaks didn't flutter in the breeze, nor did their feet raise clouds of dust as they moved, but they were closing the gap, and it was fast.

At least a dozen of them, now, their bone-white masks set in unblinking silence. And at their head, striding like a king among the dead, was Hexley.

His hat still covered most of his face, but Elias could see the smile.

"Move!" Elias snapped.

Selene didn't delay. She ran ahead, and Elias followed, the thunder of his pulse a deafening roar.

They ran for the railway, feet pounding shattered wood, when Hexley's voice echoed behind them slow, unhurried, like a man talking to old acquaintances.

"You can't outrun death, Thorne!"

Elias clenched his teeth and refused to glance back.

The Station

They topped a low ridge, and the old Ashen Hill station appeared in sight, a gaunt, crumbling hulk of rusting iron and rotting wood. It had once been a place of bustle for railmen and travelers coming through Hollow's Bend. Now it was a memorial.

The bell rang again. Elias suppressed a curse.

Selene did not slow. She leaped the station's fence, coming down hard on the platform.

"There's gotta be a horse tied up somewhere"

"No time." Elias whirled, his gun drawn. "They're already here."

Selene's breath caught.

The figures were stepping out of the hills now, their feet silent, their movements impossible to follow.

They fanned out like a plague, surrounding the station.

And at the heart of it all, Hexley.

He didn't hurry. Didn't have to. His grin was broader now, his teeth lupine.

"End of the line, Thorne," Hexley drawled.

Elias clenched his teeth. "Come take it, then."

Hexley grinned. "Oh, I don't have to."

The second peal of the bell severed the air.

Elias's knees weakened. Agony lanced through his chest, his Hollow Mark burning like untempered iron.

He gasped, eyes blurring, as Hexley moved forward.

"I didn't come here for your soul, Thorne," Hexley whispered. "I came here for the amulet."

Elias's fingers closed over the chill of metal in his pocket. "Go to hell."

Hexley smiled. "I already have."

And with a flick of his fingers, the hooded men charged.

A Fire in the Dark

Gunfire boomed.

Elias had fired twice; the first shot had broken one of the masks, and the figure crumpled like boneless flesh.

The second shot was useless. The bullet struck, but the figure just staggered before it straightened again.

Selene rushed forward, knife flashing. She stabbed deep into the gut of a figure and stood, appalled, as black ichor welled out before the figure just continued on.

"Run!" Elias bellowed.

They leaped from the station platform, thudding onto the ground, and ran for the treeline.

Elias shot behind him, his heart pounding.

Hexley's shout pursued them like rot on the wind.

"You can't keep it for yourself, Thorne!"

Selene tripped. "We can't outpace them."

Elias swore. "We're not trying to outpace them."

Selene whipped her head in his direction.

"Then what the hell are we doing?"

Elias's teeth bared in something that was half a snarl, half a grin.

"Buying time."

And in his mind, he prayed.

Prayed that the amulet still had one last trick left in it.

Because if it didn't, they were already dead.