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3 Cult Status-1

3

Cult StatusPatience hadn't lied. He and Jonah walked out of the sheriff's department with nary a peep from anyone. Deputy Dümhass glared, but he knew he had no legs to stand on. Jonah wondered whether or not the deputy's blunder would cost him his job. Dumbass.

Jonah was just about to mention that he needed to get back to his car and pick up his stuff, but Patience beat him to it.

“It would not be in your best interest to be seen around that diner again,” he said, “so we took care of your car. It's been towed.”

“What?!”

“Pipe down, boy,” said Patience shortly. “It was in appearance only. I had it taken to the Decessio home. Arn and Connie had no issue with that. It will probably be there before we get there ourselves. But I wanted to make it look like it had been towed, so as to please the patrons once they got so bloodthirsty.”

Jonah looked away, feeling foolish. “Thanks. But hang on a second. You said that my car will be there before we get there? How can that be? Aren't we using the Astralimes?”

“No.” Patience pointed to a black Trans Am. “It will behoove us to travel sans ethereal means as much as humanly possible. Trust me on that.”

Jonah frowned. Did that have to do with these oh-so-major world changes as well? What had Creyton done that was so bad that it subjected Jonah to a ride in a Trans Am older than he was?

Patience raised an eyebrow at his expression. “Do you have a problem with my car?” he asked quietly.

“No,” lied Jonah. “It's just that—”

“It's been fully restored,” interrupted Patience, with just the faintest trace of annoyance in his voice. “I've been restoring it for the past several years, and I change the oil every month. Like Arn Decessio, cars are my hobby as well. My engine is probably more solvent than your own.”

“I'm sure it is,” said Jonah sycophantically. “Let's just please get out of this town.”

Patience lowered himself into the car, and Jonah followed suit. Upon entering, he was never more thankful to have lost weight over the summer than he was now. If he'd been heavier, this tight ride would have been even more unpleasant.

Jonah was happy to see the You Are Now Leaving Coastal Shores sign. It was just so odd, because just that morning, he'd viewed the town as one of the nicest places he'd ever visited. Now he couldn't get out of the place fast enough. He wondered if he should blame India Drew or the townies for that.

Patience made very little small talk for a long while, and did much of the driving in silence. When they were within fifty or sixty miles of the Decessio house, however, he broke the quiet. “How many places had you gone?” he asked Jonah.

“Mainly places up the coast,” responded Jonah. “Not the tourist traps or anything, but just the quiet places where I could relax.”

“Did you grow up in the Outer Banks?” asked Patience.

“No, the Inner Banks,” answered Jonah. “Nana didn't really care for beaches because she didn't really like leaving her garden. So when I got my driver's license, I started frequenting the places myself.”

Patience nodded. “And had no incidences with dark ethereality?”

“Not until today,” sighed Jonah.

For some reason, Patience looked guilty for a moment. “I'm sorry, son,” he said.

“For what?” asked Jonah.

Patience sort of shrugged. “You were, at least until today, having a good time of things,” he said. “Now, I'm pulling you back into the thick of things, and I just felt the need to apologize. Especially after that less than delightful dream—”

He froze. Jonah, who'd been paying attention to Patience's words the whole time, widened his eyes at that.

“How did you know I'd had a bad dream?”

“I didn't,” said Patience.

“Don't lie to me, sir,” said Jonah. “I never mentioned having a dream, not even when I told you what happened at the diner.”

Patience said nothing. Jonah's eyes narrowed.

“Are you an informant?” he questioned.

“No, boy!” Patience's eyes widened. “If I were in league with Creyton, would I have saved you from the Yokel Patrol back there?”

Jonah deflated, realizing just how idiotic his accusation was. “My mistake. It's just that in the past several months, I've put trust in a lot of wrong people—”

“I know what you've been through, Jonah,” said Patience. “Jonathan has kept us up to speed. But I am not on the side of the Deadfallen disciples. Just the mere thought of being on the dark side makes my stomach turn.”

“Apologies,” muttered Jonah. “But I want to know how you knew about the dream.”

Patience switched lanes so as to get close to the highway exit. “Because I had the dream, too.”

“That so?”

“Everyone had it, Jonah,” said Patience. “Every Eleventh Percenter we're aware of had that dream. Even the sazers had it. Felix and Prodigal told us.”

Jonah turned his attention back to the highway and let that sink in. He thought that knowing that he hadn't been alone would bring him some relief, but he felt just the opposite. It felt like isolation. Like the entire ethereal world was in danger together and sequestered from the rest of the population, who would never understand what they, the Eleventh Percenters, dealt with.

So that was why Terrence and Reena sounded so strange—

No. That odd thing had been in Terrence's and Reena's voices before that dream; the dream had only occurred the previous night.

So what else was going on?

“Patience,” Jonah said it slowly and clearly, “what else has been happening? Why can't we just go to the estate? Going to the Decessio house feels like a—a pit stop. It's like I need to be mentally fortified for something.”

Patience took Exit 81. “Let's just get to the house, son,” he said quietly. “Your morning was crazy enough.”

Jonah hadn't been to the Decessio house since the opening game of Bobby's last football season. He also remembered that at that time, they'd received information about a resurgence of Eighth Chapter crimes, which denoted crimes perpetrated by Creyton's followers. That had been bad enough. But he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever he was about to learn would make last year's revelations downright tame.

He exited the car, hurried to the door, and knocked. He was so eager for information that he didn't even check to see if his car had sustained any damages during the towing. The door swung open, and Mrs. Decessio wrapped her arms around Jonah seconds later.

“Jonah!” There was relief in her voice. “It's so great to see you! Everybody is waiting, so come on in. And Patience! How are you?”

She greeted Patience with kiss on his cheek, and he got a hug of his own. Jonah made it three feet before Terrence and Reena were there with him.

Terrence gave him a half-smile and a mock salute. Reena wrapped him in a one-armed hug, and then stepped back to take him in.

“Look at you,” she said approvingly, taking in his frame.

“Love the beard!” laughed Terrence. “Keeping it?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Jonah ran a finger over his facial hair. “I've already gotten past the barbs-on-my-face phase. Wouldn't make much sense to shear it off now.”

Reena didn't say anything, which led Jonah to believe that she had mixed emotions about his new feature. Whatever.

“Vera might like it,” added Terrence. “Makes you look more dangerous.”

Jonah rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and out-of-work accountant with writing aspirations,” he said. “I'm quite a bad boy.”

“You're more bad to the bone than you think, man!” said Terrence.

“Uh-huh.” Jonah turned serious. “Now are you going to tell me why you guys sounded so funny on the phone these past few weeks?”

Terrence and Reena looked at each other. Jonah impatiently tapped his fingers on his pants pocket. But Jonah's informal siblings were spared by Mr. Decessio, who came into the hall and greeted Jonah.

“Glad to see you safe and sound, son.” He shook Jonah's hand with both of his own. “I've been ordered to collect the three of you. Connie's got food ready.”

“Score!” Terrence clapped his hands together and headed that way. Reena gave Jonah another look of apprehension, and followed Terrence. Jonah frowned behind them.

All of that was a clear red flag to him. Since when had Terrence allowed his mom to cook on her own? Whenever she was in the kitchen, Terrence was on her like a shadow. Mrs. Decessio couldn't even make yeast rolls without Terrence checking and re-checking whether they rose properly, or were sufficiently buttered. She never made complaints about it, because Terrence was almost a better cook than she was. So why had she cooked alone?

What was going on here?

He reached the dining room, and was caught by surprise once again. He expected the only occupants to Mr. and Mrs. Decessio, Terrence, Reena, Alvin, Bobby, and Patience. Liz was also a possibility. While those people were all present, there were other people he hadn't expected to see there: Raymond, the oldest Decessio child, and June Mylteer. Ray wasn't a huge surprise, because he could have easily dropped in on his parents just to say hi, or something. But this was Friday afternoon. Shouldn't he have been at work?

But June Mylteer, on the other hand, had no reason to be in the Decessio household that Jonah could think of.

He'd only met the man once, and that was a few months ago, when Mylteer functioned as a consigliere for Sanctum Arcist once they'd gotten it into their minds that they were going to besiege the estate. He'd acquitted himself as a halfway decent guy, however, and Jonathan had even said later on that he was on board with them against Creyton. That was all well and good. But his presence amongst people that he'd recently been strategizing against in a near-war?

Red flag number two.

“Hey man!” crooned Bobby, who high-fived Jonah. Liz, ever his de facto baby sister, gave him her trademark beam and embrace. Ray acknowledged Jonah's presence with a nod, but he couldn't do further than that because he wielded two pitchers of water and lemonade. June approached him slowly, extending his hand as he did so. Jonah took it, but eyed him warily. Mylteer snickered.

“Surprised to see me, eh?”

“Very,” admitted Jonah. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in Florida? At Sanctum?”

“I haven't resided at Sanctum for over eight years,” said June. “And besides, I'm keeping a cordial distance from them, especially right now.”

“Huh?” said Jonah. “Why is th—?”

“Please, boys.” Mrs. Decessio's voice was stern. “No shop talk until after the meal. Now sit and eat.”

As everyone complied with Mrs. Decessio's wishes, Jonah realized that the spread was majestic: Oven-fried chicken (Reena would love that), rolls, vegetables, mashed potatoes, salad, cheese slices, rice bread, and Mrs. Decessio's world-famous bacon macaroni and cheese. It all looked flawless. Wonderful.

And it made Jonah more suspicious than ever.

The fact that Mrs. Decessio made such a hearty meal wasn't shocking. She was entertaining guests, and always went above and beyond. But these dishes contained the holiday fanfare. It also seemed the glorious cuisine had a “last supper” vibe to it.

Red flag number three.

But Jonah's suspicions weren't enough to prevent him from piling his plate high, though. Everyone else did the same, except for Reena. And if he thought that June Mylteer would be discreet, he was very wrong.

“This is amazing, Mrs. D!” He dropped two rolls on his plate despite the fact that he didn't really have the room for them. “I hope that you weren't expecting me to eat like a canary.”

Mrs. Decessio raised her eyebrows. “Doesn't Emily feed you, June? Ever?”

“My mother hasn't cooked like this since she found out about her hypertension and cholesterol issues,” said June. “Dad and I have been in a dietary abyss ever since.”

“Surely, you aren't complaining about that, June?” said Reena in a voice that was a step above chiding. “One would think that you and your father would be supportive of your mother's valuing her physical life, and amassing healthful gains.”