Page 10 of Signs and Wonders

He had been to the modern-day equivalent of Camp Morning Glory and knew that all of the good stuff—music, games, food, and camaraderie—came with a heaping helping of guilt and manipulation. The kind of preachers who drew crowds were gifted speakers who knew how to stir emotions and sway an audience, and in Evan’s experience used those talents cynically to line their pockets and enhance their power. Swain would have been even worse given his magic.

“Swain had a good con set up,” Seth agreed. “He’d probably do the speaking himself for a while, then take a decade off to reinvent and have his underlings sub for him before returning as a hot new attraction once people had forgotten his face.”

Inside one of the decrepit bunkhouses, something crashed, making them jump.

They exchanged a look. “If a tree falls in the forest…” Evan said.

“Yeah. This place has been decaying for years. No reason for it to stop on our account,” Seth replied, but Evan heard a note of uncertainty in his voice.

Seth took a folded paper from his pack and spread it out, orienting it by his compass. Evan looked over his shoulder. They had found a map of the camp as it had been not long before it closed, and while changes and additions had been made over the decades of operation, Evan hoped it would provide enough of a guide for their purposes.

The girls’ cabins lined the left side of the compound, with the boys’ on the right. Larger cabins for families dotted the back. A stone archway straddled the entrance, leading to a fountain with water pouring from an ancient-looking vase. The arch survived, but the fountain lay in cracked ruins.

Off to one side was the main building, which also held the staff offices. Behind it was a pool, which Evan shuddered to think of investigating. Behind the cabins on the boys’ side was a basketball court and tetherball, with a tennis court and a playground beyond the girls’ lodging. An outdoor gathering place with amphitheater-style seating had been cut into the hillside beyond the family lodging.

An expansive open space ran up the middle on the other side of the fountain. From the map, Evan noted that it once held a firepit and a tall brick belltower. Tucked into a space in the back corner was a contemplation labyrinth made from cut stone set into the ground. Walking trails had once rambled through the woods, leading to a small shrine, and the old map showed a pond, dock, and picnic shelter just a short walk from the main facilities.

“I know they built onto the camp over the years, but this must have been a nice place back in the day,” Seth mused. “Probably as fancy a ‘vacation’ as a lot of the folks who came here ever had.”

“Swain never had a church of his own,” Evan recalled. “He was a traveling guest speaker, and he put on revival events in the towns all around here. If his magic involves charisma, maybe he was able to draw energy off the crowds he gathered in addition to the power boost from his sacrifices.”

They had learned that while the sacrifice of the posse descendants fueled the continued link to Rhyfel Gremory’s trapped spirit, other ritual murders provided a lesser—but still potent—source of energy.

For a long while, they believed that killing the descendants of the sheriff and his deputies was a form of tribute from the witch disciples to their master. Only recently had they discovered that the truth was even more sinister. Gremory’s soul remained trapped between life and death. When the disciples sacrificed a descendant, the energy opened a portal to Gremory’s prison, drawing from his magic and perpetuating his suffering.

The reality was ghoulish. Evan felt torn between satisfaction that Gremory had indeed been punished for all the pain he inflicted on so many others and queasy at the thought of any creature being tortured for eternity.

He’d had enough of that sort of thinking before he left the church.

“You’re right about Swain,” Evan continued their earlier conversation. “All the money he collected was tax-free, and the authorities would have been afraid to touch him even if they heard about disappearances. They wouldn’t want to go against a man of the cloth.” He didn’t bother to hide the bitterness in his tone.

Seth seemed to pick up on his mood. “Hey.” He jostled Evan’s arm. “Leave the past in the past. You’re out. Parker’s out. We’re together. Don’t let what happened back then tangle up your thinking about what’s going on with Swain now.”

Evan gave a curt nod. “I know. I’m trying. But it’s hard. The past feels closer here.”

“From what I could find, he’s moved up in the world with his retreat center in the NRQZ,” Evan said as they tromped around the old campgrounds. “Took over an old resort hotel. It’s not far away, but definitely classier. He’s good at funneling money through non-profits to keep his fingerprints off the cashflow.”

“Guess he got tired of roughing it.” Seth kicked a branch out of his way. “You see anywhere around here that might be where he stashes his anchor?”

Each witch disciple had a relic that helped them store and boost their magic, as well as an amulet that enabled them to focus and control that power. While they tended to keep the amulet on them, the warlocks often stored the anchor in a safe but accessible place between rituals.

“If it’s here, I’d start with the bell tower and move on to the buildings. But before we search those, we need to have better gear. Hard hats, safety lines, the works,” Evan noted. “And that doesn’t account for any magical traps he might have set.”

“Hmm. Both the camp and the retreat center are still within the NRQZ here. The new lodge might be more convenient, but I doubt anyone comes here much, so I could make a case either way for where he might stash the anchor.” Seth turned, looking at the grounds around them. “Lots of people full of belief and hope came through here for decades. It’s the sort of thing that the ground remembers.”

“Isn’t it a little too quiet here?” Evan realized that the normal birdsongs and underbrush rustlings had gone silent.

“That’s never a good sign.” Seth scanned the treeline.

The darkened cabin windows, most without their panes, reminded Evan of skulls with empty sockets. Evan wasn’t a medium, but he’d learned long ago to trust his intuition. The longer they stayed at the campground, the more oppressive the feel of the place became. It didn’t escape his notice that the place was named after something beautiful but deadly.

Was Swain toying with everyone, even back then? Hiding in plain sight?

He was always a con man, taking advantage of easy marks. How many other ways did he abuse their trust? He stole their money, took advantage of their faith and goodwill, and carried out ritual sacrifices. Did he take other liberties? Plenty of men in those positions did.

Evan had heard rumors back in Oklahoma. Those who spoke up about such things found themselves as unwelcome as Evan had been when he told his own truth.

“I don’t think we’re wanted here.” Evan watched the shadows, expecting ghosts to make themselves seen at any moment.

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