Kiss of Fate

by Deirdre Dore

  Ninny began painting a pattern with the ash on Jane’s face, covering up her relative youth. “If anybody asks, tell them it’s part of the ritual, and try to sound like me, for God’s sake. Don’t whine, or everyone will know it’s you,” she told Jane.

  Circe sneered at the jibe.

  “Better,” her great-aunt commented, and stepped back. “I think that will do.”

  Jane didn’t have a mirror in her room; they weren’t allowed. But Ninny seemed satisfied. “Remember, Jane, you’re an old woman performing a ceremony. That’s all you are. You got it?”

  Jane nodded. Ninny wanted her to pretend deep, pretend to the point that it was true. Normal people were easy to fool. If you pretended deep enough, they saw what they wanted to see.

  “Good.” Ninny climbed onto Jane’s bed and pulled her hair back behind her head. She curled herself in a ball in a corner so that the shadows fell on her, and bent her head. Jane watched with critical eyes, sure that this would not work, sure that anyone who looked would know that it was an old woman and not beautiful Circe, beautiful Jane.

  But the longer she looked, the more Ninny seemed like Jane, seemed younger, Or perhaps, Jane realized with a distant but terrible horror, I am old.

  “Come on.” Raquel tugged on her sleeve. “If we’re going to do this, let’s get it done.”

  IN THE END it was easy to get past the guards. Raquel chatted with them briefly and was given back her weapon. They didn’t notice anything else amiss; they’d seen an old woman in a white robe come in and now an old woman was walking out. They were also distracted. Based on what she heard, someone had set something off, a small bomb, in the parking lot of the building. Raquel had wondered what Ninny was doing when she’d had Raquel drop her off briefly at the corner on the other side of the lot.

  Still, they kept up appearances, turning their heads curiously, asking the occasional person rushing by what was wrong, but still slowly, inevitably, making their way toward the exit. Raquel wanted to urge Jane to get her ass in gear, but that would defeat the purpose of pretending to be an old woman.

  When they reached the parking lot, Jane began moving faster.

  “How dangerous is George?” Raquel asked Jane, wondering if it wouldn’t be better just to inform the police now, send them to his house.

  “Less than any of Jessop’s men,” Jane snapped. “They aren’t interested in keeping anyone alive. George wants to find Summer more than he wants to hide any drug deals.”

  “How do you know that?” Raquel unlocked the doors to the Escape using the key fob and Jane scurried in on the passenger side.

  “I’ve been helping him for years,” Jane confirmed. “He is obsessed with Summer—or ‘the girl in the woods,’ as he calls her. He swears there have been sightings of her, that she’s killed some of his men in revenge.” Jane shrugged. “Circe believed he was right. I’m not so sure, but then she wouldn’t let me out. I couldn’t say.”

  Raquel wasn’t used to hearing Jane sound calm, almost consistent, even though nothing she said made much sense. Usually talking to Jane was like talking to a machine that recognized human voices. The machine might understand the words, but the meaning became lost most of the time.

  “I need to know if Brent’s okay.” Raquel took out her phone and dialed Chris’s number.

  “Chris,” she said as soon as she heard the click of the phone.

  “Raquel? What’s wrong?”

  “I figured out the connection between Summer and the drugs and Gloria Belle. His name is George Jones, but we know him as George Mills, our favorite local blogger.”

  “George Mills?” Chris sounded doubtful. “You’re shitting me.”

  “No. And Brent went over to his house this morning. He’s not answering his phone. I need you to call Ryan, and the police, and get them over there. I don’t care how.”

  “Okay, but where—?”

  “You’re not going to like this,” Raquel cut her off. “But I have Jane. I broke her out of the psych ward with Ninny’s help.”

  “But?”

  “She knows what George wants, and she knows where Summer is, but she says we have to go now, or we won’t find her.” Raquel looked out the window at the storm clouds that were gathering on the horizon. Of course. Perfect. Rain.

  “Raquel, that’s crazy. Have you lost your mind?”

  “No. I need you to take care of this part, Chris. I’m sorry I didn’t include you, but I knew that if I didn’t get the truth from Jane, they would put her in protective custody. I thought that if I took her out, brought her to the woods, I could get her to admit the truth.”

  “Okay,” Chris agreed, “I’ll call, but I’m calling you right back and you better answer the phone.”

  “I will,” Raquel promised, even though she had no intention of answering.

  She hung up, looking in her rearview mirror to see if they were being followed. Nothing.

  “Okay, Jane.” She looked at the other woman. “Where are we going?”

  28

  GEORGE HAD MADE a mistake, he realized, in trying to clean up the mess left by Bob’s body. He should have left this morning and taken Jane. Now he would have to change his plans. He wouldn’t make it to the woods by the time the sun set if he didn’t hurry.

  He drove carefully away from his house and into Fate, trying to avoid any big bumps. It had been difficult to convince Brent to drink the drug he’d given him, but now his nephew was unconscious in the back of the Subaru, a blanket thrown over him to hide him from curious eyes.

  Still, George was sweating profusely as he drove the short distance along the county road into Fate proper and down Main Street until it intersected the circle in the center of town. George drove past the circle like he didn’t have a care in the world and pulled into the alley behind the building that faced the town circle: Tavey Collins’s dog shop and Jane’s store, Aspect.

  He parked next to Raquel’s motorcycle and got out of the car calmly. He kept the gun in his pocket, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it again. He hadn’t liked the blood and the death, not one bit. Never had. He should never have volunteered for the war in Vietnam, but he’d wanted to be like his brother, Abraham, the only person who had ever been kind to him.

  He had a key to the back door of Aspect, given to him by Jane years ago, and he used it now, sliding it gently in the lock and turning. The door opened, and he walked into the storeroom that smelled to him like magic, potions, herbs, and death.

  He heard voices, high girlish voices. He was surprised. He’d come to Aspect for drugs and the items that belonged to Summer, but he hadn’t expected the shop to be open.

  He walked through the storeroom and peeked through the door. The three girls were helping customers with their purchases. He watched them for a moment, wondering if it was smart to take one of them, or whether it would be stronger, more powerful magic with all three. He wasn’t sure he could handle the three with just one gun.

  He thought about it as he removed several boxes from a low shelf, trying to be quiet, but not so quiet that he didn’t attract a little attention. He was hoping one of the girls would come back to see what was wrong.

  Behind the boxes and a hidden panel was a large safe. He knew the combination—he had set it—and he spun the little dial with the date in 1986 when everything had gone wrong. When the thick metal door swung open, he carefully reached his fat white hand inside and removed a small cigar box. He ignored the bags of white powder that were stacked and taped neatly in bricks. He had no need of that.

  Inside the box was a lock of hair, a tiny toy doll, and another hair ribbon, this one deep yellow. He’d seen Jane perform the ritual; he could certainly do it, but he thought he would need someone with more magic.

  The door to the storeroom opened and one of the girls, Ro, he thought, stepped into the room, her face already pale.

  He
pointed the gun at her. “You’re going to come with me, or I am going to kill your sisters when they come through that door. Do you understand?” he asked quietly.

  She nodded, letting the door slip shut behind her so that they were alone in the storeroom.

  “Where are we going?”

  He looked at her clothes. She was wearing cotton shorts that made her short legs seem chubby, and a white blouse with lace at the throat. She didn’t look very powerful, but her eyes were bright blue, like his, like the girl’s in the woods. He’d heard stories about these sisters.

  They played tricks on people, he’d heard, and they knew things before they were supposed to.

  “To find the girl in the woods. Come on.” He gestured with the gun. “Let’s go.”

  He directed her to precede him out the door while he followed, gun in one hand, box tucked under his arm.

  She walked ahead of him, casting a look back only once. “This car?”

  “Yes. Get behind the wheel.”

  She hesitated. “I don’t drive well yet.”

  George pointed the gun insistently, stomping his foot. “Do it.”

  She did, opening the driver’s-side door and gingerly sitting behind the wheel. George took the passenger seat and handed her the keys.

  “Drive to Abraham’s house.”

  “Abraham’s?” the girl asked, blinking. “Why?”

  “Stop asking questions. Just drive.”

  She did, both hands clutched white-knuckled on the wheel while George sat beside her with the gun in his lap.

  “What are you going to do to me?” the girl asked, her voice low and scared.

  “Nothing. You’re going to help me, and then I’m going to let you go. Drive a little faster.”

  She bit her lip, pressing gently down on the gas, and the car moved faster. George heard sirens in the distance and, somewhere farther off, thunder. George thought that was a good sign. It had been foggy the day that he encountered the two girls in the woods. Jane had been busy lying to him, telling him she didn’t know what happened, when he knew the truth from Gloria Belle. One had seen him—Chris, Robert’s daughter—holding a gun to Jane’s head, and had screamed, while Summer had looked blank, but when George had started toward them, Summer had turned to her friend and yelled, “Run,” and Chris, her curly brown hair bouncing, had run like a doe, dashing away through the trees.

  Summer had run as well, but he’d caught her by her hair, by the ribbons tangled there.

  “Jane, grab her,” he’d ordered the stupid woman, but she’d curled into a ball and was weeping, saying it wasn’t her fault, not her fault.

  The girl in the woods had twisted in his hands, tearing out the ribbons and some hair, and then she’d run as well, straight toward a small valley between the ridges, where fog had settled like a boiling stew, and she’d vanished.

  The storm hit when they were only a mile or so from Abraham’s house, and the girl grew even tenser, her small chubby fingers leaving sweaty prints on his steering wheel.

  “Keep going,” he told her when they reached the drive that wound up the hill.

  She did, driving carefully around the curves as thunder shook the car and the smell of ozone made George sneeze repeatedly.

  He directed her to park behind the house, so anyone who took a quick look wouldn’t notice the car right away. In the back of the SUV, Brent groaned as the Subaru bounced over the uneven ground behind Abraham’s house.

  “Who’s that?” the girl whispered.

  “My nephew,” he explained. He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do with Brent exactly. He didn’t want to kill him, but he didn’t really see how he could let him live. If this worked, then George wouldn’t have to worry. He could live forever like the girl in the woods, moving between worlds. But if it didn’t work, George would have to disappear because the cops and Jessop would know the truth about him. Either way, George was prepared. If it didn’t work, he would either kill Brent or knock him unconscious, whichever seemed easier at the time.

  “Are we bringing him into the woods?” she asked. “I don’t see how.”

  George held up a syringe. “I’m going to wake him up.”

  29

  JUST A FEW moments earlier, as Raquel headed toward Aspect at Jane’s direction, where Jane said they could find the things that had belonged to Summer, Raquel heard sirens and knew that nothing good had just happened.

  Chris called back just as Raquel decided to turn around, quickly wheeling the Escape so that they were headed in the opposite direction.

  “Raquel, George Mills broke into Aspect. He took Ro. The other girls are safe, but they found the drugs.”

  “Did the girls say where he took her? What about Brent? Hang on,” Raquel said in the same breath.

  She looked at Jane, who shrugged. “If he has Summer’s things, then he’s gone to the place in the woods. Head toward the Havens’ house, or to Abraham’s.”

  Raquel stepped on the gas and headed northwest, toward the valleys and ridges where Tavey, Abraham, and the Havens lived, before picking up the phone again.

  “I’m sorry, Chris. Tell me.”

  Chris sounded terrified, which wasn’t like her. “Raquel, George’s house is full of blood. They found a body, but they haven’t identified it. Ryan is on the way there now, but I think George has Brent and Ro, or he’s killed Brent. I’m not sure which.”

  Raquel froze. No. Just no, she thought, weirdly calm, even inside her own head. That didn’t happen. Not Brent.

  The small confines of the car suddenly seemed hot, and there wasn’t enough air. “What about you and Tavey?” Raquel asked, her voice strained.

  “I don’t think he killed Brent. Just so you know. Tavey’s fine. She’s with Tyler. She’s going to kill you.”

  Raquel ignored that. “Did the girls say if George mentioned where he was going?”

  “I haven’t talked to them, but I don’t think they saw him at all. He took Ro out the back while they were helping customers.”

  “Okay, thanks, Chris. I’ll call and tell you where we are once we get there. You can send the cavalry.”

  “Tell me now!” Chris shrieked, but Raquel had hung up.

  “We better hurry,” she told Jane. “They’re already looking for us.”

  “Well,” Jane said, pointing at a car ahead of them, a blue Subaru, “we’ve found who we’re looking for. That’s George’s SUV.”

  Raquel slowed down abruptly, not wanting the other car to see them just yet, and followed at a careful distance. She could see a blond head driving and the shape of someone big in the passenger seat. She didn’t see Brent.

  “I think Ro is driving,” Raquel told Jane. “He must be forcing her.”

  “He’ll go to Abraham’s,” Jane said. “He prefers it to the Havens’.”

  “What’s he planning?” Raquel glanced at the clock. It was nearly four o’clock. Rain was starting to fall in sharp, splattering drops on the windshield.

  “He said he’d found a new place in the woods for me to perform the ceremony. He said he had an idea of where Summer could be found.”

  “Where?”

  “I’m not sure.” She chewed her lip. “Somewhere close to where we’ve been before, not far from the Collinses’ house or Abraham’s.”

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I have my weapon. We’re going to follow behind them, and I’m going to get him to release Ro and Brent if he’s got them.” She refused to believe that Brent was dead. Not Brent. He can’t be dead.

  “What if he refuses?”

  “Why would he? He knows people are after him. He really wants you to help him with this ceremony. This way, he gets the best of both worlds. We’ll voluntarily go with him to the woods.”

  “He may not like that.”

  “It’s going to work, Jane,
shut up.”

  Jane fell silent, and the rain, which had been spitting fitfully from the clouds above, suddenly opened and it was like someone had placed wavy glass from a carnival in front of Raquel’s windshield.

  “Shit,” she muttered, “I can’t see.” She turned on the wiper blades as fast as they would go, but it was a true Georgia downpour, complete with lightning and ear-ringing claps of thunder.

  “Just head for Abraham’s. He won’t be able to see you in this mess, either.”

  “It’s not far.” Raquel drove faster in spite of the rain. She handed Jane the phone, unable to drive and dial at the same time. “Call Chris. Tell her where we’re going.”

  30

  GEORGE DIDN’T HEAR the car pull into the drive behind them; the beat of the heavy droplets of rain on the car had prevented him from hearing anything, but as he opened the back of the Subaru and prepared to stick Brent with the amphetamine he’d brought with him, he saw a flash of color out of the corner of his eye, and saw another small SUV approaching.

  There were two women inside, he could see that much through the rain, but he wasn’t certain who until the driver turned off the car and stepped out with her hands raised, her gun in the holster at her hip. She was still wearing a police uniform.

  “Raquel.” George brought out his gun and pointed it at Brent’s unconscious body. “Stop moving, or I’ll shoot him. You’re a cop. You care about him.”

  She stopped, rain dripping down her face and plastering her dark hair to her head. “I’m stopped,” she said. “Ro, are you okay, honey?”

  “I’m okay,” the girl called.

  “Okay, good. That’s good. Is Brent okay?”

  “He’s alive. Who’s with you?” George waved the gun in the direction of the passenger. “Get out of the car,” he shouted.

  An old woman stepped out, but she wasn’t old, George realized when the rain began to darken her hair. “Jane.” He nodded, relieved. “You came. Good. We have to hurry.”