Witch Lights by Michael M. Hughes Page B

over.”
    “Why did you stay with it, then? For so long?”
    Mantu laughed. “What do most people do, Ray? They go to school, get some job they don’t give a shit about, marry somebody they pretend they love, have a couple kids, go into debt putting their kids through college, retire from their shit job, and die without ever thinking about any alternative. I always felt like I was here for something bigger. Even when I was circling the drain. When Micah invited me to be part of it, I realized I’d found my calling. A higher purpose, if you want to call it that. My true purpose.”
    “What purpose?” Ray asked.
    Mantu had to think about it. “Doing the right thing. Fighting on the right side. Helping teachers who are helping other people evolve. And stopping the psychopathic bastards who are working against that evolution.”
    Ray smiled. “You sound like Micah.”
    Mantu shook his head. “Actually, I’m just in it for the pussy.”
    Ray laughed, but it felt hollow. “You are a comedian.”
    “Was.
Was
a comedian.”
    The
was
hung in the dank, sour air.
    Ray eventually broke the silence. His guilt was gnawing away at his guts. “But you’re throwing it all away now? All that time with the Brotherhood? Just to help me?”
    Mantu shot him a glance. “It’s been brewing for a while. I was starting to wonder about them. About Jeremy in particular. With Micah and our operation in Blackwater, it was all clear. Officially, Micah took his orders from Jeremy, sure, but we were left on our own. Micah called the shots, and I never had reason to doubt him. Everything made sense. Straight up black and white. Now?” He shook his head. “Just shitty shades of gray.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Just what I said. Things I used to believe in…I’m not so certain of anymore. It’s all changed. I’m not sure what it is, but there’s been stuff going on behind the scenes. Seriously weird shit.”
    “Like what?”
    The muscles in Mantu’s jaw flexed. “I heard there was some kind of breakthrough in the magical workings. All Jeremy has been concentrating on for the past year are the contact rituals. That’s his thing; it’s always been his thing. And one morning all of the Nine—”
    “Nine?”
    “The core. The inner circle. They all left in a hurry. Headed to some archaeological dig. They were gone for six days, all hush-hush, to some buried site in the jungle. And then, when they came back, everything was different. Whatever they did out there changed them.”
    Ray thought back to the robed, hooded cultists at the Hand and shivered. He’d avoided thinking about magic and rituals and the craziness that happened there. He still wasn’t ready to think about the implications of it, so he didn’t.
    “And they got fixated on rounding up people like you. People who have had contact experiences. Bringing them to Eleusis. We started getting UFO contactees, psychics, witches, shamans, spirit mediums from all over the world. It was a recruiting drive. But the details of what they were working on was hush-hush. And me? I’m just a soldier. Following orders, not asking questions. They never told me jack, so I just listened to what I could overhear and tried to read between the lines.”
    “Why do you think they need all those people?” Ray asked.
    “Hell if I know. But all the other projects got pushed to the side. You’re a big deal to Jeremy, Ray. You made contact as a kid, and then again in Blackwater—that puts you at the top of the list. And whatever came through those lights was deeply interesting to Crawford
and
to Jeremy. If that thing had gone feral, or brought along some of its friends…I can’t even think about that.”
    “And I never want to have anything to do with that shit again.” The nightmares still regularly tore him from sleep, and just thinking about it made his mouth dry. Having something alien inside his head and trying out his body like a cheap suit was something he swore he would never