Darkness by John Saul Page A

to focus. But though his expression revealed nothing, Clarey knew exactly what was in his mind.
    George Coulton.
    “It warn’t your fault, Jonas,” she told him. “You didn’t have no choice. You understand that?”
    Jonas’s brow furrowed slightly. “Me and George was friends. I didn’t—”
    “You done what the Dark Man made you do,” the old woman declared. “Ain’t nothin’ anyone can do about that. So you just remember that you didn’t do nothin’! You hear me?”
    Jonas nodded mutely, and Clarey turned to Quint Millard. “You got somethin’ to tell me, too?”
    “Saw someone new last night,” Quint replied.
    Clarey’s body tensed. “New?” she repeated. “Where?”
    “By the canals, where they’s buildin’ all them houses.”
    The old woman’s countenance darkened at the mention of the development. She knew who the developer was—she knew who everyone in Villejeune was—and she didn’t like Carl Anderson. And it wasn’t just for what he was doing to the swamp, chipping away at it, draining a few acres here, a few acres there, ruining it for all thepeople and animals who’d lived in it peacefully for hundreds and hundreds of years. No, she had other reasons for hating Carl Anderson. His name had gone on her list years ago, long before he’d started encroaching on her beloved marshes.
    “Who was the person?” Clarey asked, though after last night, she was almost certain she knew.
    The children had been out last night, prowling through the swamp, guarding their master as the Dark Man went about his punishment of George Coulton. And Clarey, though she’d never left her house, had been there, too, her mind reaching out, sensing their wanderings, tracking their movements. Last night, though, she had felt a new presence in the swamp, felt the vibrations of someone seeking her out.
    Her, and the children.
    And the Dark Man.
    Clarey had been aware of such a presence before, and always known who it was.
    Michael Sheffield.
    She’d followed Michael for years. She’d sensed him often, feeling his way through the swamp, unconsciously searching for something of which he had no understanding. And for years she’d kept him away, refusing to reach out to him, unwilling to guide him to the tiny island at the far edge of the swamp, where the Circle gathered.
    Perhaps if he knew nothing of who he was, if he took no part in the rituals of the Circle, he would be able to escape.
    Escape unscathed, from the evil into which he had been born.
    But last night Clarey had felt another presence, a new presence. It wasn’t nearby, nowhere near close enough to be sensed by anyone but herself, but much closer than she’d ever felt it before.
    “It’s a girl,” Quint said now, and Clarey closed her eyes for a moment, hearing the words she’d been expecting.
    “She’s come back,” she breathed, barely aware she was speaking aloud. “He promised me she wouldn’t. He promised me he’d leave her alone.”
    She stopped speaking, feeling Quint Millard’s eyes upon her.
    “But she’s one of us,” Quint said. “Soon’s I seed her, I knowed.”
    “Did she see you?” Clarey asked.
    Quint hesitated, then nodded, knowing he couldn’t lie to Clarey. “She tried to follow me. But she couldn’t, ‘cause she don’t know how. I kept close to her and didn’t let nothin’ happen to her.”
    A heavy sigh escaped Clarey’s throat. “You done right, Quint. But I reckon the police’ll be snoopin’ around, and I don’t see no good in them talkin’ to either one of you two. So you just lay low, hear?”
    Quint nodded, but Jonas’s empty eyes narrowed. “If’n they find me, what’ll I tell ’em?”
    Clarey’s lips tightened bitterly. “You don’t tell nobody nothin’. Ain’t nobody’s business what goes on out here. An’ if ’n you say anything, I cain’t help you anymore’n I could help George Coulton. So you just lay low an’ keep quiet, just like always.”
    Jonas was silent, staring