CZM Book Club: The Barrow Will Send What it May, Chapters Eight and Nine
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It's the Cool Zone Media Book Club. Hello, and welcome to Cool Zone Media Book Club. I'm your host, Margaret Kiljoy, and this is the book club where you don't have to do the reading, because I do it for you. And we are on chapter eight of my book, The Barrel Will Send What It May.

I'm enjoying reading this to you, but I'm also enjoying the stuff that we're going to do after this. And this is the second book in the Danielle Cain series. The first one, you can hear me read it to Robert Evans at the very beginning of this book club a couple years ago. And the third book is called The Immortal Choir Holds Every Voice. And it's available for pre-order now. If you pre-order like really soon, you can still get a signed book plate if you order it from Firestorm Books.

which is, you know, it's in Asheville, but you can also buy it through them online. And then it'll get sent to you through the mail and it comes out in June. And so I was like, well, I should read you the first two books so that you're all caught up. And so that's what I'm doing. This is chapter eight, like I already said. And I actually think this is chapter eight and nine. I think this is going to be me reading you the rest of the book. We're going to back up a little bit and read you a couple paragraphs from the end of the last chapter. I wonder what they'll do.

I was back upstairs, back on the panic couch. It didn't hit me so bad this time. Maybe because, whether or not it was me doing something, I knew that someone was doing something. I knew that the current situation would not continue indefinitely. Even without physically moving, every passing minute got me closer to nodding the library, as surely as if I was walking towards the exit. "'Fuck off and leave us here,' Vasilis said. "'That's my guess.'

Thursday and Doomsday sat on the love seat, quietly whispering. Vulture was asleep in a sola's bed. Brynn paced, her boots a rhythmic clomp-clomp on the floor. Every time her circuit took her past the window, she peered out for a second. "Hey," she said, on one of her rounds. She motioned us over. "Check this out." In the distance, from the west edge of town,

A thin trickle of smoke turned into a billowing cloud erupting up towards heaven. Asola's house was on fire. Dun-dun-dun, that would have been a cliffhanger if you weren't listening to the next chapter right now. Chapter 8 They're leaving, Bryn said. All of them? Thursday asked. Yeah. Wait. No. Almost everyone. Mr. Miller's still there. Plus some other guy. Vasilis went down to the window and looked out.

Arthur Dawson, he said. Runs Dawson's. Probably Miller's best friend in town. He armed, I asked? Oh yeah. What now, I asked. Take to the roof, Thursday suggested. Wait, what the fuck is that, Brynn asked. The rest of us stacked up by the window to peer out through the crack to see what she was talking about. Sebastian stood on the street, his face shaded by a baseball cap.

In front of him, a tall, thin man in blue jeans held a pistol in his hand and had another holstered at his hip. Sebastian's rifle, though, was leaning against a parked car, and Sebastian had some stubby black device in his hand. Sebastian stepped up to his friend and jabbed him in the side while simultaneously muffling him with an elbow around the face. Arthur went down, thrashing. "'What the fuck is he doing?' Wrenn asked."

"'Taser,' Vulture said. "'Whatever it is,' I said, heading for the stairs. "'We're gonna stop him. "'Informal decision-making is great. "'When there's time, you bicker about what to do. "'When there isn't, you just go for it.' "'My friends were right behind me. "'The ground floor of the library was empty, "'had been empty for days. "'It already looked abandoned, "'rats gathered on the checkout counter.'

Sunlight cut thin swathes across the floor from where it broke through the edges of the barricade shutters. I reached the front door and carelessly threw the bar to the side. My motives here weren't entirely altruistic. I wanted out. The door swung outward and the day poured in, blinding me for a second. As my eyes adjusted, a rat ran out the door. Well, it tried to run out the door.

No sooner had it crossed the threshold than green fire burst from its body, and it collapsed, lifeless, on the stoop outside. Everyone saw, I think, because I threw out my arm to block the way, but no one tried to leave. "'The window,' Bryn said. I tossed back the shutter from the nearest window and opened the pane. I couldn't see anything, but that meant nothing. I edged my soulless hand out through the window.'

And sure enough, it tingled and glowed pale green. On the street outside, Mr. Dawson lay motionless on the street. Sebastian knelt over him with a hunting knife in an ice pick grip, stabbing the corpse of his friend over and over. It must take a massive amount of pain to raise the barrier. Sebastian saw me looking and raised his head to meet my eyes. "'I can't believe you killed him!' he shouted in a sarcastic tone. Then he switched to menacing."

You'll wait in there until everyone comes back from whatever chaos you tricked my wife into causing. I'll let down the barrier, and you'll see how the town of Pendleton, Montana deals with a bunch of freak murderers like you. Crack. I jumped at the sound of gunfire. I'd never been a particularly jumpy person before all of this. Adrenaline kicked in. Turns out bullets don't have souls, Thursday shouted from the door. More gunfire. He and Doomsday were both shooting. And you know what else doesn't have a soul?

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Get tickets now at LiveNation.com. Hosted by DJ Cho's. Kevin Gates. The Emilio Tour. And we're back. Sebastian reeled, maybe hit. He spun a little and dashed behind the hood of the nearest car. Bullets wouldn't get through the engine block, sadly. Or the days might have still had a chance. If they brought him down, the barrier would drop with him. They stopped firing. "'What now?' Thursday asked. "'Told you we need a drone,' Vulture said."

"Not helping, Vulture," Doomsday said. "I'll check all the windows," I said. I was the only one who could do it safely. I thought doing the rounds would give the adrenaline a chance to clear my system, but I was just too jacked up and nervous for my body to consider calming down. Each time I put my hand through the barrier at a different window, I inched closer and closer to overwhelming nausea. It needed doing, though. The last window, the fifteenth one, was in the living room upstairs.

I put my hand through, felt that green fire, and dry-wretched. I couldn't remember the last time I ate something. There was no way out. The townspeople would come back and see Arthur Dawson stabbed to death on the asphalt. Sebastian would drop the barrier. And dozens of angry, armed, innocent townspeople would storm this place. And what? Citizens arrest us? Lynch us? I could only come up with two sources of hope.

The days might kill Sebastian. Maybe he was already bleeding out. Or maybe he'd stick his head up at just the wrong second. Or maybe a Sola or Gertrude would find their way back and, I guess, kill him themselves. Slim hope either way. Maybe one of us could rush the barrier. The witch's fire took a while to kill Heather. Maybe one of us could rush the barrier and kill Sebastian and the rest of us could make a break for it.

I sat down on that same fucking chair I'd spent way too much of the past couple days sitting on and dropped my head into my hands as my brain and stomach raced. It should be Vasilis. I mean, mostly because he was the odd man out and I'd rather lose him than anyone else. It should be Vasilis because he was the one who didn't do anything for months when he knew there was something evil going on.

He was the one who didn't step up. Hell, he was the one who was too afraid to let Heather heal on her own time and rush the ritual and got her killed. Cold logic became a sort of hate as it coursed through my brain. Vasilis deserved to die, and noble sacrifice was about the best he could do. I could talk him into rushing, Sebastian. No, the fuck I couldn't.

That snapped me out of it. There's only so far our thoughts can wander outside our ethics before something kicks in and brings us back. If Vasilis deserved anything, it was to run a library and drink tea and study magic and maybe fall in love again one day. To get over Heather. Shit. Heather. I looked over. She was still on the table where she'd died. Atop her, the Book of Barrow sat where Doomsday had set it down. She could get through the barrier.

"'Hey!' I shouted down the stairs. "'Hey, guys! I would like the record to state my objection to this plan,' Thursday said. "'So that when it goes horribly wrong, I won't even have to say I told you so.' "'I would like the record to state, I think this is metal as fuck,' Vulture said. "'So that no matter how it goes, I'll be right.' "'Boys!' Doomsday said. "'If this works,' Vasilis said. "'She will be alive so long as Doomsday and I hold the ritual space.'

Our own life energy will hold open the gate. Unless we condemn another soul to death and send it back to Barrow in her place, she will die again as soon as we drop the ritual. We might be able to hold it for an hour without risking our own lives. Once it's over, once Heather has passed through the gate that second time, there's no bringing her back, not even temporarily. Barrow, uh, won't be happy with any of us when he doesn't get his due.

He probably won't seek revenge, but he probably won't heed our call ever again either. We nodded, solemn. I was beyond fear, firmly in the realm of awe. We called them endless spirits, or sometimes demons. But as I thought about what we were going to do, I realized what they were. Gods. We were about to risk pissing off a non-abstract, non-bearded dude in the sky. God. I wasn't in awe of Barrow.

I was in awe of Doomsday, of Vasilis, for that level of courage. Fortunately, none of the rest of us had to participate in the actual spellcasting. We stood in a semicircle, several steps away, outside the line of salt that encircled the table. Vasilis spoke in Greek, then put his hands on one of Heather's shoulders. Doomsday said her part. "We ask you, Barrow, to animate this vessel." She put her hands on Heather's other shoulder.

"We open this space as ritual space," Vasilis said, "in English this time, and hold it so until such time as we close it." Silent, green fire erupted from the salt and encircled our friends. When I was younger, I used to spread that conventional wisdom that magic, real magic, was subtle, not something you could see. Nope. Turns out that magic, real magic, ain't subtle for shit.

We ask you, Barrow, to animate this vessel. Doomsday's voice filled every corner of the room, then faded to nothing. Vasilis released his hands from Heather's shoulder. Then Doomsday did the same. Then Heather screamed. Then she sat up. Doomsday and Vasilis stood statue still. They had no energy to spare on speaking or moving. By their expressions, they were in pain. Brynn's turn.

"'Heather,' she said as loudly as she could while still trying to calm someone down. "'It's okay, Heather.' Heather's scream subsided and she jumped off the table to her feet. She stumbled for a moment, then caught her balance. She was still inside the circle of flames. "'Is it safe?' she asked. "'You can pass through, yes,' Brynn said. Heather came through. The Ouroboros tattoo still looked fresh on her arm. It still looked like it was healing. "'What happened?' she asked.

"'You died,' Brynn said. "'I remember that.' "'Listen,' Brynn said, taking in a deep breath. This was hard on her. "'You're not back for good. How long do I have?' "'Maybe an hour,' Brynn said. She choked up, was barely able to get the words out. "'As long as they can withstand the pain, basically.' "'Okay,' Heather said. It clearly wasn't okay, and tears were forming in Heather's eyes."

Sebastian Miller did this. He did all of this. He killed Damien and Loki and Isola and now Arthur Dawson and who knows who else. And we're trapped inside right now until he drops a barrier of witch's fire. By choice or by lack of consciousness. And that barrier, only the dead can pass. Vulture stepped forward and gave her a ratty black hoodie. She pulled it over her naked body and it was long enough to serve as a dress.

"'Thursday stepped forward and gave her a gun. "'She took it in her hand carefully "'and dropped the magazine to count bullets before seeding it back in. "'Bryn had given her knowledge. "'Doomsday and Vasilis had given her this brief respite from death. "'Thursday and Vulture had both offered her gifts. "'I had nothing. "'I felt wrong somehow. "'The whole scene was so goddamned biblical "'that it felt like I probably should have something to give her.'

I've got nothing to give you, I said, feeling a bit silly as I did. I'm dead and nothing's going to stop that, so basically anything I say right now, I can't really be held responsible for, she asked. I nodded. Brynn is a big old fat crush on you, she said, and then laughed. She's falling in love with you, she told me herself. Heather, Brynn said. It turns out, Brynn is capable of blushing. Okay, I'm going to go kill this fucking guy for you losers.

She ran out the front door, gun blazing. I mean, I couldn't see the actual muzzle blasts or whatever in the daylight, but she just ran straight for that sedan with the pistol firing, over and over. She wasn't saving ammo. That wasn't good. It flushed him out, though. He must have seen her coming, and he ran. Thursday took a shot from the door and hit him in the leg. He dropped like he was a bike with a stick in his spokes and face-planted.

Heather had a wild smile on her face as she dropped the gun and leapt onto his chest. She'd never meant to shoot him. Her hands went over his throat, choking off his screams. I put my hand into the barrier over the door, watching the green light flicker over the gray, mottled wound, and I tried my hardest to disassociate from the nausea that rose again in the pit of my stomach. After a short moment, the green light disappeared.

I reached farther, cautiously, letting my wrist pass through the threshold. Nothing. My whole arm. Nothing. "Go," I said. And we ran out the door. The plan was to get Heather inside for a final goodbye while we packed up the bookmobile for as quick an exit as we could manage. As soon as I got near Heather, she stood up. Sebastian rolled over and threw up. He wasn't dead. He'd just been unconscious. "Why isn't he dead?" I asked. "I've got a better idea," Heather said.

What's that? We make him fucking confess to the whole goddamn town. Bring everyone back to his place. Let them see his basement. Then he doesn't die, I said, surprising myself. I didn't realize just how deeply invested in the death of that man I'd become. He'll just go to jail. Death's not a punishment, she said. So don't seek it as one. You don't argue what death is like with a dead woman.

Brynn pinned Sebastian and Vulture, picking up on what was going on, ran inside and came back with duct tape. We hogtied the man there in the street. Brynn searched him for weapons and found a stun grenade. It wasn't magic he'd used to get away from us behind the graveyard. Just a damn flashbang. Thursday grabbed the rifle, but left Mr. Dawson's guns on his body. Brynn threw the man over her shoulder, crouching a little with the weight, and jogged east toward the gift shop.

That woman. She knew how to get things done. Fuck just having a crush on Brynn. I really was in love. Gertrude was shaking, holding herself up against the tyrannosaur. I ran ahead to greet her. She opened her arms, and I let her fall against me. She held me tight. I saw the basement, she said. Oh God. I saw what he's done. We're gonna make him confess.

"'No one will believe you about the magic. Not really. They stare at me because they think I came back from the dead, but they don't really believe it. I think they actually stare at me because they don't approve of me leaving my husband after a near-death experience. When they see the basement, though,' I said, "'he'll go to prison for a long, long time, and you kids will be off the hook.' She sighed, then pulled a phone out of her purse and dialed a number. It rang for a long time, then someone picked up. "'Hey,' she said.'

"'It's Ms. Miller. Yeah. Yeah. I'm okay. No. Listen. No, you've got it backwards. I wouldn't have believed it either. The library people. Yeah. It was my husband all along.' A little pause. "'Look, just come to the shop and don't threaten anyone until you've looked in the basement. Come see for yourself.' Everyone else trudged inside. I wanted to go with them because, as terrible as I assumed it would be, I really wanted to know what was in that basement.'

Someone needed to stay with Gertrude, though, and for some unknowable reason, she'd taken a liking to me. So I was standing with her when the posse, what else could I call it, rolled up. Two dozen men, all armed. No one leveled a weapon at me, but neither did anyone give me any impression that I was in any way free to go. Well, one man said, stepping forward and lifting his baseball cap. He was the spitting image of that corpse we'd left in the street, and he had an assault rifle with a hunting scope.

My father's dead, and the only reason I'm not shooting this stranger right here and now is because she's a woman. Fuck you, shoot me. I said it without thinking. There were at least three reasons why that was the wrong thing to say. But fuck, I hate that shit so much. What? I didn't kill your father. I saw Sebastian Miller do it. Bullshit. Come inside, Trent, Gertrude said, shaking her head, tears in her eyes. We went inside.

Whatever blood there had been at any point was washed off the furniture and the cement floor. There were three large dog cages, reinforced with welded rebar. There was a shelf filled with glass jars of salts and herbs. The tranquilizer gun sat on a workbench, with darts and vials of toxin next to it. Most damning of all, a third of the floor had been ripped up to reveal three grave-length mounds of dirt in parallel lines.

Next to them, two empty graves. Besides that, a pickaxe, shovel, and the hill of exhumed dirt and rubble. A dentist's chair stood in the center of the room. There were no restraints cobbled on, nothing like that. The chair alone was terrifying enough. Thursday, Vulture, Brynn, and Heather stood over Sebastian, who was still gagged and bound with tape. Trent Dawson took off his ball cap and held it over his chest. I would never...

"'Not in a million years,' he said before trailing off. "'A few of the others came down with him, "'and one ran back upstairs immediately, "'presumably to tell everyone what was down there. "'Trent strode over to Mr. Miller and ripped the tape off his mouth. "'Say something,' Trent said. "'There was gravel in his voice, barely concealing rage. "'I stared at our captive, trying to guess what lies he would tell "'and how we might have to counter them. "'Sebastian staggered up to his knees.'

No, he said simply. I said say something, Trent roared. No. You killed my father, you son of a bitch. I would like to speak to a lawyer. I ain't the cops. I would like to speak to a lawyer. Trent raised the barrel of his gun level with her prisoner's face. No one moved to stop him. The vulture got out of the way, in case the bullet kept going. Ricochet, one of the townspeople mentioned,

That was, apparently, the only objection to putting Sebastian down right then and there. To hell with you, Sebastian Miller, Trent spit. He said hell like he believed in the place, which is frankly a different kind of curse than when I use it. Gertrude, in respect for you, for everything you've been through, I'm going to walk away. You come and find me. Let me know whether or not you need me to call the cops or fill in one of those graves.

They left us, simple as that, tromping heavily back up the stairs. "'Well?' I asked Gertrude. "'Gertie,' Miller said. "'I did it for you, Gertie.' "'Gag him,' Gertrude said. Brynn obliged. "'Anyone know how this thing works?' Gertrude lifted up the dart gun. Sebastian whimpered. Vulture stepped over. "'You have to know your target's weight in order to use it safely,' he said. "'It's probably loaded for you or a Sola, so probably not strong enough to guarantee it'll knock him out.'

Two shots almost certainly would, but there's a chance it'll kill him. She turned, aimed, and fired. The dart went into his lower ribs. He looked up more surprised than afraid. Lord forgive me, she said, but I cannot let this man walk upon your earth another day. She fired again. The second dart pierced his belly. Either the toxins were fast, or he fainted. Hey, Vulture said, we've, uh, we've got kind of a choice right now.

"'We've got a guy who's about to be dead soon anyway. In case we wanted to... you know.'" "'It's never too late to start over,' Brynn said, looking at Heather. Heather shook her head. "'I've been dead before. I'm not afraid to be dead again.' "'Fuck that,' I said. Heather turned to me, surprised. "'It's up to you. I get that. But really and truly, this man is about to die. Let him not have killed you, too.'"

"'Um, the apocalypse,' Thursday said. "'Remember how every resurrected person brings us one step closer to the apocalypse?' "'A million to one,' Vulture said. "'A million to one odds in our favor that we don't destroy the gates between heaven and earth.' "'Nothing ventured, nothing gained,' I added. "'Okay,' Heather said. "'Hope broke across her face like dawn, brightening faster and faster. "'I can't fucking believe,' Thursday said. "'Gertrude, you've got to be against this, right?'

"'I don't want another living soul on this earth to have to go through what I went through,' Gertrude said, "'knowing that an innocent person died so that you might live. But he's dying anyway.'" "'Apocalypse!' Thursday shouted. "'If Heather's the second coming, then she's the second coming,' Gertrude said. "'And that's God's will. I can't—I don't—' Thursday took a deep breath and calmed down. "'Heather, you okay with this?' "'O-okay,' she said."

She had tears in her eyes and a smile quivering on her lips, coming in and out of existence. "'Then we better hurry,' I said. A bullet hole in his leg and two doses of God knows what. Thursday threw Sebastian over his shoulders and walked sideways up the steps like he was moving an awkward piece of furniture. Trent and his friends stared at us as we trooped past them through the gift shop. "'Gertrude put two of those darts into him before having a change of heart,' I explained. "'We're getting him to the library. Vasilis knows about this stuff.'

I have a feeling, though, that we'll be right back here to bury him. None of it was technically a lie, even. Trent nodded. On the way out the door, I swiped Pendleton's shot glass. Dun-dun-dun. This is where there would be a cliffhanger, but instead it's not, because I'm just going to read you the sort of epilogue, which is chapter nine. But you know what? Before I read you the epilogue, which is chapter nine, I'm going to subject you to, I mean, give you the opportunity to

to peruse some of the finest goods and services available to anyone, which are available to you. And here they are. And we're back. Chapter 9. There aren't so many glaciers in Glacier National Park anymore. But the vistas are still something special. Clouds sat heavy on the horizon, threatening rain. But the lake below us shone a heavenly blue. And earlier that day, I'd seen a mountain goat and its kid. My left arm was in a sling.

I'd ripped a stitch after all, and while Vulture had been happy enough to sew me back up, he insisted that I try harder not to mess up his handiwork this time. Brynn lay on her stomach next to me, stick and poke tattooing my leg, the Ouroboros. It's never too late to start again. The bookmobile was parked nearby. Vasilis and Heather had given it to us, and I have to admit it's a step up from the Honda Civic, at least for traveling with five people.

The ritual had gone without a hitch and Heather got to stay living again. Despite what Vasilis had figured, she decided to stick around Pendleton. She told us that new beginnings don't have to involve new places or even new people. Which is obviously wrong. New places are the only thing worth living for. But I suppose not everyone is a traveler. Demon crew, Vulture said, sitting in the open door of the van. No, Thursday said. An arco team.

"No, you're not even trying anymore." "The children of the road!" "Now you're just saying random things." These two had been at it all afternoon. Brynn had mentioned us needing a crew name, and Vulture couldn't seem to get the idea out of his head. "The A-Team," Vulture said. "That's taken," Thursday said. "Twice over." "I changed my mind," Brynn said. "I don't think we need a name." "Is that actually true, or do you just want me to stop brainstorming?" Vulture asked.

"'I honestly don't know the answer to that,' Brynn said, her voice low enough that only I could hear her. "'Cain's children,' Vulture said. "'No,' Thursday said. "'Wait, I don't know. That's pretty metal.' "'No!' I shouted. "'Grumble, grumble, grumble,' Vulture said, like he actually said the word grumble three times. "'I thought you all were going down to the lake,' Brynn said. "'To leave us alone?' "'We were,' Thursday said, but then Vulture and I agreed. It was more fun to argue where we had a peanut gallery.'

I looked around for something to throw and saw an empty soda can left by some other picnicker before us. It didn't fly well, but it made my point. They left. Should we do this then? I asked. While they're gone? Totally. You're sure? You're not worried they might come back and catch us at it? Absolutely. I reached into the top pouch of my travel pack for the book I'd hidden there. A Lustful Bride for the Horseman Prince, I read. Chapter One. Brynn smiled.

I first came to these lands in search of fame and glory, because I believed those things mattered. Instead, I found her. Brynn giggled as she stabbed my leg repeatedly with an inked needle, and I read to her. I didn't tell her anything about love. Not yet. There would be time enough for that. Hey guys, time to go. We gotta go. Let's go now. Vulture was out of breath.

I woke up, my head curled in the nook of Brynn's arm. The book lay across my hip, folded open on its spine. Which is a terrible thing to do to a library book. What? I was groggy and mostly thinking about the book and whether or not Vulture had noticed it and read the title. Magic Feds, gotta go! Magic Feds, more this time! Go, go, go! I staggered to my feet and Vulture handed me a pair of binoculars. There, on the road, a string of three identical black SUVs threw up dust.

Those could be any three identical black SUVs with tinted windows, I argued. But I handed Bryn the binoculars and grabbed my pack. Thursday had the engine running by the time we climbed into the back of the bookmobile. Bryn slammed the door shut, and we were off. No specific destination, not yet. But I had a feeling one would find us soon enough. Dun dun dun! And that's the rude cliffhanger I left everyone on for like...

Seven years? I don't know. Whatever. How long it took between that book and the next book. But the next book is coming. It's coming so soon. It's called The Immortal Choir Holds Every Voice. And I don't really have any specific notes or thoughts here at the end of the book. I hope you liked it. I'm proud of it. And we'll be back next week with more Cool Zone Media Book Club.

It Could Happen Here is a production of Cool Zone Media. For more podcasts from Cool Zone Media, visit our website, coolzonemedia.com, or check us out on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to podcasts. You can find sources for It Could Happen Here updated monthly at coolzonemedia.com slash sources. Thanks for listening. You're listening to an iHeart Podcast. ♪