The Devil's Teeth (Ravenwood Mysteries #5)

by Sabrina Flynn

  "He's not out of danger yet."

  Tired and ragged, Isobel sat outside Titus Sheel's ward room with Jin. The girl hadn't said much, but then she rarely did when she wasn't cussing up a storm. Doctor Bright and a nurse were inside with the boy.

  "I am sorry I froze," Jin said. The sudden words jerked Isobel out of her daze.

  "You did fine, Jin."

  The girl shook her head. "I should have climbed down there. Not you."

  Isobel gave her arm a squeeze. "I wouldn't have let you go down there. And before you start swearing at me, I wouldn't have let Riot climb down either."

  "I do not think you are his captain."

  Isobel chuckled. "No, I'm not. But his size would have made a difference."

  "He is not very large for a man."

  "The well wasn't large either."

  Jin dug around her pocket, and pulled out a length of twine. "I do not know if this matters, but I found this tied to a bush in the thicket near the edge of the well. It was stuffed under the branches.” Isobel noticed the scratches on Jin's hand for the first time. Not the deliberate nail marks that usually marred her skin, but paper thin, random ones made by thorns.

  Isobel studied the length of twine. It was covered in dirt. One end had been cut by a sharp knife. "Do you remember the knot?"

  "I don't know the name." Jin picked up one end, and after a few attempts, she managed to reproduce the knot. A bowline hitch.

  "You are one of the brightest people I know, Jin." Isobel tucked the length of twine away. "This is very important."

  "What does it mean?" Jin asked.

  A commotion at the end of the corridor brought her around. The Sheels had arrived with Sheriff Nash. Charles Sheel was slick, and rich, and fuming. He had the look of a self-made man. Hard work and grit had earned him his place in the world. He was of average height, but as strapping as a man half his age.

  Isobel climbed to her feet. "Let's see how things play out," she whispered to the girl at her side.

  "You found my boy?" Mr. Sheel asked.

  Isobel nodded. "He was in a dried-up well."

  "Is he—" Mrs. Sheel began, but no parent could finish that sentence.

  John braced himself, and Mr. Sheel finished for his wife. "Is Titus alive?"

  "He is alive," Isobel said, motioning to the door. "Doctor Bright is with him."

  Mrs. Sheel slumped against her husband. And John closed his eyes, nostrils flaring. When he opened them, his bright blue eyes were misty.

  Mr. Sheel placed a firm hand on his younger son's shoulder. "Stay here, John."

  "I want to see him."

  "Not yet."

  Mr. Sheel knocked on the door.

  A nurse poked her head outside, and gave the family a sympathetic smile. "One moment."

  Not long after, Julius stepped outside.

  "I want to see my son," Mrs. Sheel said.

  "You can, but don't disturb him," Julius said. "He's not out of danger."

  Mrs. Sheel paled. She clutched her husband's hand for support. "What's wrong with him?"

  "Fever," Julius said. "He has a fractured leg, cuts, bruises, and dehydration."

  "You said he was in a well." Mr. Sheel looked to Isobel. "Why was he down there?"

  "We don't know," Isobel said.

  "He's currently incoherent," Julius said.

  "Which well?" Sheriff Nash asked.

  "I want to see my brother," John said.

  "I don't want to crowd the room. Your parents first." Julius opened the door for them. Through the brief opening, Isobel glimpsed a pale child lost in blankets and bedding.

  John turned away from the sight.

  "You did everything you could," Julius said, patting John's shoulder. "Miss Amsel found him in time. Now all we can do is wait."

  Sheriff Nash pulled Isobel to the side. "What well was he in?"

  "The same one Gabriella Banker was found in," Isobel said.

  "I personally nailed that shut," Nash growled.

  "I don't doubt it," Isobel said. "Now that we've found him, you need to release Samuel."

  "How do you know Samuel wasn't involved? He could have shoved the boy down there."

  “Because Mr. Holm saw Titus walking towards the mines. Alone, with a bloody nose. Titus seemed cheerful and waved in greeting.”

  “That sighting might have been before Samuel chased those boys.”

  Isobel shook her head. “This fits with Samuel’s story. I’ll wager John gave his brother that bloody nose right before he shot Bebé.”

  "I'm not releasing Samuel until that boy tells me what happened."

  "Why are you so set on Samuel Lopez as a criminal?" Isobel asked.

  "Why are you set on defending him?"

  "Examine the facts, Sheriff Nash, and you'll come to the same conclusion."

  Nash's jaw worked. "I thank you kindly for your assistance. I cannot deny that. But this is my town and my investigation."

  Isobel swept her arm out in invitation, and stepped back.

  Sheriff Nash ran a thumb along his jaw, and shook off her silent sarcasm. He focused on John. "Any idea why your brother would head out that way?"

  "Titus likes snakes. There's a whole lot of them in that well."

  "Did you boys remove those planks?"

  John had his hands in his pockets. He nodded sullenly. "So the snakes could get in and out."

  "John, it's all right if you want to change your story. Did you see Titus after the incident with the dog? After Samuel Lopez chased you both?" Isobel asked.

  John shook his head. "I thought that man had him."

  Mr. Sheel stepped out. "You can go in, John, but don't disturb your brother." Through the open door, Mrs. Sheel dabbed at her eyes.

  "We'd like to thank you, Miss Amsel. And you, Sheriff. I've told those boys not to go near those old homesteads."

  "I'll take some men out that way and fill that hole for good," Nash vowed.

  Mr. Sheel nodded. "The boy is clumsy. He likely slipped down there."

  Isobel looked into the room, to John Sheel's back, and his mother holding the hand of his fever-ridden brother.

  27

  The Door

  Isobel sat on the windowsill in her room, one leg dangling over air. Smoke twined around her fingertips and ash fell from the forgotten cigarette. Titus Sheel was alive, for now. Questions buzzed between her ears. Facts slid into place. And a single nagging detail robbed her of sleep: the magnifying glass.

  A soft whimper drew her gaze. Sao Jin lay on a cot by Isobel's bed. The girl had avoided questions, reassurances, and attempts at conversation. And now she was tangled in her blankets. Jin was an entirely different kind of puzzle.

  Isobel smashed her cigarette into an ashtray, and brushed the ash off her trousers. She glanced at her empty bed, but was too tired to drag herself over there. She closed her eyes, only for a moment, or so she thought.

  A scream jerked her awake. Disoriented, she started to roll out of her bed, only it was open air. At the last moment, she caught herself on the sill. Cursing her exhaustion, Isobel pulled herself back into the room, and crouched, feeling the reassuring rug under her toes. Confused, she searched for the source of the scream. Had it been real? Or had she dreamt it?

  A breeze stirred the curtains. She moved across the room on silent feet, and turned on the gas. The mantle caught and dim light filled the room. Jin's cot was empty.

  Then she heard it—a small, panting breath.

  Isobel looked under the bed. Jin was curled in a tight ball, her face buried against her knees.

  "Jin, what happened?"

  The girl didn't answer.

  Isobel checked the room again. It was empty. Unless someone was hiding in the wardrobe. Ever thorough, she checked. There were no murderers lurking inside.

  "Jin?" she asked again. She reached for the girl, and slowly dragged her out from under the bed. Jin's nightgown was drenched in sweat, and fresh scratches marred her cheeks.

  Without warning,
Jin wrapped trembling arms around Isobel's neck. Stunned, Isobel froze, unsure what to do. She was acutely aware of a bird-like heart fluttering against her own. Of how small she was. For all her fierceness, Jin was a child—frightened and fragile.

  Isobel's first instinct was to hand the child over to a more qualified adult, even her own mother. But no one else was present. The girl's shaking body melted something in Isobel, and she returned the girl's fierce hug, holding her tightly.

  When Jin's trembling lessened, Isobel untangled her arms and set her on the bed. She poured a glass of water from the pitcher, and turned to the little ball huddled under the bedding. She sat down on the edge. "Drink this."

  At her firm order, Jin gulped down the water. As soon as the glass was drained, Jin returned to her fetal-like position. After a moment of hesitation, Isobel placed a soothing hand on her head. Jin's sleeve had fallen back, exposing fresh scratches and a myriad of scars. Purposeful, and very deliberate. Some were from cruel hands, and others clearly self-inflicted. Isobel's heart twisted.

  "I've tried to be strong most my life, too," Isobel whispered. "But strength isn't what I thought it was. We all have our own demons. I have nightmares. So does Riot. Only they're not nightmares. They're memories. And those are the worst kinds of dreams." Isobel's words trailed into a painful rasp. She cleared her throat. "Sometimes it helps to talk."

  Jin rolled away from her touch to face the wall. "You will not want me if I talk."

  "I'll be the judge of that."

  Silence. Long enough that Isobel started to wonder if Jin had fallen asleep. Then the worst kind of whisper broke that quiet. "I killed my parents." The words were torn from some dark place and forced into the light.

  Isobel stifled a question, and waited.

  "I was playing outside with my wooden duck. I saw men coming. Boo how doy. I should have run inside and locked the door, but one of them smiled and patted me on the head. I watched them walk into my father's shop. The men—" Jin cut off, nails digging into her arm.

  Isobel reached over the girl, and took her hand. "This is what strength is. Saying those words stuck in your throat," she whispered.

  "The men used hatchets," Jin gasped, nostrils flaring. "I hid. I did nothing!"

  Hatchets. That word churned in Isobel's overactive mind. The implications sunk deep into her psyche, and burned a haunting image. The screams of the mother. The cries of the father. The smell of blood and terror, and a little girl clutching a wooden duck. Isobel took a shaky breath.

  "I wager you weren't more than five years old."

  Jin said nothing.

  "Did you have a gun in your wooden duck?"

  Jin sat up, eyes furious. "I should have thrown it at them! I should have closed the door and locked it! The men would not have killed my parents!"

  There was no arguing with regret. So Isobel didn't try. When the fury of Jin's words had faded into the room, Isobel held up their intertwined hands. She pointed to the tattered bracelet on her wrist—the bracelet Jin had gifted her during the trial. It had given Isobel strength when she'd needed it most.

  "I hope you don't mind, your bracelet was about to fall apart, so I added a bit of leather to reinforce it. We can't make it new again, but we can give it a second chance."

  Jin stared at the beaded bracelet. And then a sob shook the girl, unleashing a flood of pain. As the choking tears kept coming, Isobel sat and stroked the child's hair until the storm passed.

  When Jin was drained and limp, Isobel leaned closer. "I'm not going anywhere. Death will have to drag me kicking and screaming away from you. I swear it on the Pagan Lady."

  Jin hugged Isobel's hand to her, and curled around it, holding on tight. After a time, her breathing evened, and she relaxed into merciful sleep. As the night deepened, Isobel stayed by Jin, and stared at the door. What was worse… blaming oneself or living with the knowledge that doors don't stop monsters?

  That thought triggered another: that lone chair sitting by the door in Titus Sheel's room… Isobel took a sharp breath, and shot out of the room.

  Titus Sheel lay on a bed surrounded by pillows. A nighttime breeze sneaked through shutters. The door was cracked. A nurse dozed outside his room as the boy's chest rose and fell, shallow but steady. It was the veil between night and morning. The critical hours for the sick, and the desperate hour for murderers.

  A shadow crept towards his window. Quiet. Careful. Cautious. The shadow paused beneath the shuttered window, and cocked an ear. A rustling of leaves, interrupted by a flap of wings. But no voices. The shadow edged forward, and pressed its eye to the crack between shutters. It took out a vial, and squeezed a few drops onto the hinges. Slowly, patiently, like the hunter it was, the shadow opened the shutter. Moonlight touched Titus Sheel's face.

  Titus shifted. The nurse slept. And the shadow slipped inside. It crouched on the sill, gazing down at the prone boy. Carefully, it stepped onto the bed frame and lowered itself to the floor. It picked up a pillow from the bed, and pressed it over Titus Sheel's face. Silent, and deadly.

  A lantern flared in the room. Isobel stepped from behind the wardrobe. She lunged towards the murderer, grabbed his wrist and snatched the pillow from his hand.

  John Sheel screamed in pain.

  "Let me go!" John begged.

  Isobel pushed the large boy into a nearby chair. "So you can finish what you started, and kill your brother?"

  Tears welled in his bright eyes. "I wasn't. I only wanted to visit him." John sniffled, and wiped a sleeve across his freckled nose.

  "I know what happened," she said.

  "You're crazy. Nurse! Nurse!" John called frantically.

  "She won't help you."

  The boy shut his mouth.

  "I knew you'd come. Tonight. You couldn't take the chance that your brother would recover."

  "I don't know what you mean."

  Isobel placed herself between the boys. Without taking her eyes from John, she placed a hand on Titus's chest. It continued to rise and fall. "Shall I tell you what happened?"

  "You're just a stupid girl. You don't know what you're saying."

  "Do you want to tell me yourself?"

  John crossed his arms.

  "Where to begin… I think this has been going on for some time, but for the sake of current events, I'll start with the most recent trigger. You had to share a birthday with your brother. You, the pride and joy of your father—how dare he leave before your real birthday."

  "It's just a dumb birthday."

  "But Titus was so excited about his magnifying glass. And all you got was an inferior rifle. What a sting. A great hunter like you with a peashooter that couldn't even kill a dog properly."

  John curled his fists.

  "You shot that dog on purpose. And Titus, your mother's favorite—sweet and gentle—tried to stop you." Isobel pointed to John's fading bruises from the resulting brawl.

  "So what," John said. "I told you that already. It was a dumb dog. And our father taught us to fight it out like men. You wouldn't understand, but Sheriff Nash will."

  "But during the fight, Titus dropped his magnifying glass. Then Samuel Lopez interrupted the fight, and you ran like a coward."

  "I'm not a coward!" he screamed.

  Titus stirred fitfully.

  "Eventually you returned and picked up the magnifying glass. You knew your brother. You knew he'd help Samuel and Bebé." Isobel brought out the length of twine from her pocket. "You knew he'd be back, and he'd want his magnifying glass. But you were jealous of him. Of your mother's affection. Of your father's attention. You were upset that he got a better present than you, so you tied up his gift, dropped it down a well, and buried the twine. And when he came back, you told him that you'd dropped it down the well." She leaned forward, staring into his eyes, knowing she had the right of it with every word. "You used his treasure as a lure. And when Titus peered down that dark hole, you…" Isobel shoved her hands at the air. "…you pushed him. Just like you pushed Gabriella Banker.
"

  "You don't know anything."

  "What was it about her? Could she hunt better than you? Or were you angry that she could keep up?"

  John smirked.

  "Ah, no. Of course not." Isobel smiled. "It was because she and Titus ignored you. They got along, and you were cast aside."

  "The fall didn't kill her, and she begged me to help," John said. There was no remorse. Only pride. "No one will believe you. You're just a crazy girl in a madhouse who attacked a child. It's your word against mine."

  Isobel pointed to Titus. "And his."

  "Titus is too yellow to say anything."

  "You bully him. That's why he has a chair by his bedroom door. To keep you out."

  John stood up. For a child he was solid and tall.

  Isobel stood, too. There wasn't a hint of fear in the boy's eyes. "Do you bully your mother, too? Is that why she keeps her distance from you?"

  "She's weak. Same as you. No one will care what you say."

  "I know," Isobel said. "That's why I brought a witness. He's been sitting outside this whole time."

  Doctor Bright stepped into the doorway—shocked, appalled, but mostly grieved.

  John Sheel lunged at her with youthful speed and ferocity. For a moment, his hands locked around her throat. He squeezed. There was glee in his eyes, and power. It shocked her.

  The boy was yanked backwards, his hands clawing at her. Julius Bright had the boy by his collar. He swept his leg, and sent John face first to the floor.

  "Don't you dare get up," Julius warned.

  John wiped the blood from his lip, and stared defiantly back at the towering doctor.

  "I think you should come with me now," Julius said softly.

  28

  Love Blinds

  "What's the meaning of this?" Charles Sheel and his wife stood in front of a doorway to a padded room. They gazed through the slat in the door. A single window let in a beam of light, shining on a boy in a chair. His lips were firm, and his arms crossed.