“Are you alright, son?” he heard Twitch say in the dark. He thought she smelled a little horsey, this close.
Adrian groaned, lying under Mike.
“You can see?” Mike asked.
Then a light snapped on above Mike, and after he blinked away the sting of it he realized it was a flashlight beam. The beam jogged down the stairs to Mike’s level as he stood up, and then a second beam snapped on near the first, and Eddie materialized in the white beams of light, pressing a crosshatch-gripped Maglite into Mike’s hands.
“I don’t know how far we have to go,” Eddie muttered, “but I know that dawn ain’t nowhere near close enough to save us.”
“What is that, just a bit of random encouragement?” Mike touched the back of his neck—the skin there felt crisp like cooked pastry dough, and stung fiercely at the contact of his fingers. “Just want to make sure my hopes are set at the right level?”
“Exactly,” Eddie agreed. “I’ve got the back, Jim will carry Adrian and Twitch can lead the boy.”
“The boy?” Mike swiveled around with his flashlight and found the kid, staring with big brown eyes at the rock band from out of town that had burned down his synagogue.
“We’re not leaving the boy,” Eddie explained. “Jim wouldn’t have it.”
“The boy’s got the Left Hand on him?” Mike gulped, wondering what the kid could have done to be in such bad spiritual shape.
But Jim shook his head no before he turned and bent over to pick Adrian up and sling the organist over his shoulders.
“Nah,” Eddie chewed out the words while stretching his shoulders and neck. “Jim just likes pissing off anything and anyone associated with the Infernal powers.”
“You mean Hell?”
“I mean Hell,” Eddie agreed. “You take point.”