by Mae Clair
Several minutes later, he had his SUV in place, the alligator clamps connected. Jillian’s vehicle started on the third try.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said when they’d both exited their vehicles to stand by the cables. “If you hadn’t come along, who knows how long I might have been stuck here.”
“We’ll let it charge for a while. It could be the battery, but it might be the alternator, too. I’ll follow you home in case you have more problems.”
She seemed surprised. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s okay. I want to check on Elliott and Tessa, anyway. I’m supposed to have lunch with them.”
“Oh.” It was odd how uneasy she appeared, her gaze darting away, then back to his face. “All right. Thank you.” She fingered a beaded eyeglass chain around her neck, drawing his attention to the small bits of amber and gold glass. As an artist, he appreciated the way the colored beads complemented the tortoiseshell glasses they secured. Tinted green, the lenses weren’t opaque enough for sunglasses, but solid enough to provide protection.
“Light sensitivity?” he guessed, motioning to the glasses.
She blanched. “N-No. I mean, yes. I mean…”
Laughing, he held up his hands. “It’s okay. I wear contacts, but some days I fall back on glasses. I’ve got an outdated pair that makes me look like a cross between a long-haired Clark Kent and a lab rat. At least that’s what my grandmother says.”
She relaxed noticeably. “Sometimes the light bothers me.”
Dante saw no reason for her to lie, but the furtive glance she cast to the side made him think she wasn’t being truthful. Weird how some people felt the need to cover up a vision impairment.
“I think we’re good to head back now.” Leaning over the Accord’s open hood, he unhooked the alligator clamps. “Give me a minute to get my 4Runner turned around so I can follow you.”
He thought she was going to protest again, but she nodded.
“I wish I could do something to repay you.”
“You can.”
Her eyes widened in shock.
No surprise there. It might be rude to collect on a favor, but he’d spent most of last summer in the spotlight proving exactly how bad-mannered he could be.
“My cousin needs a friend. You can join us for lunch.”
* * * *
Elliott rubbed his thumb over the rough-cut green gem. For some reason it made him feel safe. Downstairs, Jillian and his mom were chatting over coffee. He’d been surprised when Dante showed up and said he’d invited Jillian to lunch. She’d seemed ill at ease, like how he felt when everyone was buddied up with a friend in the school cafeteria.
But his mom hadn’t been flustered at all, and soon she and Jillian were talking about dumb stuff like yoga and some masquerade thing for adults. He’d gotten the impression it had to do with Halloween but tuned it out since he was too old for trick-or-treating.
If he wasn’t secretly freaked out by the thought of going to school on Monday, he might have eaten more of his turkey/Swiss melt and tomato soup. He downed half, then said he was tired and disappeared upstairs to his bedroom where he could wallow in doom.
What if Rodney, Troy, and Finn thought he’d ratted them out? He’d seen Finn by one of the police cars when the cops hauled him from the grave. Finn looked miserable, sick and worried, like he knew he was in trouble. If that was the case, Elliott was dead meat.
Dropping onto the bottom bunk of his bed, he rubbed the stone harder. He slept in the top bunk but used the bottom for thinking and playing video games. Sometimes, he even sprawled there to do his homework. The bunk beds had been a parting gift from his father around the time of his parents’ divorce. “Think of all the fun sleepovers you’ll have with your new friends in Hode’s Hill.” Problem was, he didn’t have any friends, and the bunk beds, no matter how cool, had been a bribe. At least at night, he could lie in the top bunk and gaze at the glow-in-the-dark stars his mom had affixed to the ceiling.
Elliott caressed the gem. He’d seen his grandma buff her thumb over a rose-colored piece of quartz when she got worked up about something. She called it a worry stone. His gem didn’t have an indention like hers, the sides rough and uneven, but it took the edge off the churning in his gut. If only it could work magic. Make the other boys leave him alone. Maybe even help him find a friend.
“Hey, Elliott?” Dante’s voice echoed through the door in unison with a knock. “You in there?”
“Um…yeah.” Elliott tucked the stone into his jeans. “Come on in.”
Dante stepped inside. Parting with a low whistle, he hooked a thumb at the full-wall space mural adjacent to the bunk bed. “When did you add that?”
“Last week.” Elliott loved the colorful array of planets, meteorites, and stars. At night, when the room was dark, the planets glowed, just like the stars on the ceiling. “Grandma hired someone to do it as a surprise for me.” He’d been fixated on the night sky ever since second grade when his class had taken a field trip to a planetarium. Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, he’d drag his telescope to the window and angle it up at the heavens. He’d never tell his mom, but maybe Dante.
“Grandma said you used to watch the stars when you were a kid.”
“She did?” Dante blinked as if surprised. “I guess so. That was a long time ago.” He closed the door with a soft click. “I’m surprised she remembered. Your grandmother and I don’t talk much.”
“How come? She’s your aunt.”
“It’s complicated.” He hunched down and eased onto the bunk beside Elliott. “Ancient history and far too boring to talk about. Besides—that’s not why I came up here. You took a bad tumble yesterday. I bet you’re stiff today, huh?”
“I’m okay.” No sense admitting the truth when it was his own dumb fault. Elliott dropped his gaze, focusing on his thumbs. His fingernails were ragged, rimmed with grime two baths hadn’t been able to wash away. The stain came from trying to claw his way out of the grave. Acting like a coward.
The memory sent a pang through his gut. He didn’t want to talk about the cemetery any more than he wanted to think about Monday.
“Weird place for you to be playing.” Dante’s tone was casual.
“I wasn’t playing.” He wished the emerald was still in his hand. With a little effort he could imagine the hard ridges pressed against his fingers. “I-I was taking a shortcut.”
“Through the cemetery?” Dante frowned. “I thought you were afraid of the monsters.”
Elliott shook his head, the ping of his heart gaining speed.
The cemetery was a bad place, not because he’d fallen, but because everyone said so. What if there’d been a monster in the grave with him, something he couldn’t see? What if it followed him home and he didn’t know it? What if it was in the room right now…invisible, squatting in the corner?
He lurched to his feet, his gaze sweeping the room.
“Elliott, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about the cemetery.” He dug his hand into his pocket—
“What about the other boys you were with?”
—wrapped his fingers around the stone. “They’re just some kids I know from school.” His gut flopped. Stop asking me questions. Please stop asking me questions.
“You’re not in any kind of trouble with those other boys, are you?”
“No.” He shook his head vehemently, but even then guessed Dante saw through the denial. He might be able to trick his mom, but Dante was different. He lowered his gaze, too embarrassed to talk about how Rodney, Troy, and Finn had bullied him.
“Okay.” Dante seemed to sense his mood. “But if anything ever happens—if you are in any kind of trouble—you know you can talk to me, right? And your mom. You should talk to your mom.”
Nodding, Elliott pushed his glasses
higher onto his nose. “Thanks.”
Standing, Dante clapped his shoulder. “Don’t be frightened of the cemetery either. The people who are buried there started this town, and we should be grateful to them. If it weren’t for their perseverance, Hode’s Hill wouldn’t exist. You had a scare, but you’re safe now.”
Safe.
After Dante left, Elliott rolled the word around in his head. There were different degrees of safety. More than likely a monster hadn’t followed him home, wasn’t squatting in the corner waiting to suck his brains out when he fell asleep. But he’d keep the stone close, just in case. It had protected him in the grave. Maybe it could protect him from anything—or anyone.
Like Rodney, Troy, and Finn.
Chapter 6
October 11, 1799
Gabriel tossed another stick on the fire, then bowed over his plate. The temperature had plummeted once the sun set, the air rimmed with cold where it slithered beneath his heavy frock coat. The root stew they’d thrown together in a cast iron pot, along with a cup of hard cider, helped warm his stomach. He sopped up the last of his meal with a chunk of bread, then set his plate aside, hunching deeper into his coat.
Overhead, stars pirouetted in the gap between pillars of hemlocks and ash. A steady breeze carried the scent of pine and toadstools from deeper in the forest and made the flames of the campfire cavort as though possessed. He fed another stick to the blaze, coaxing it higher.
“You fear the darkness.” Hiram’s observation contained no malice. Reclining with his back to the trunk of a tree, he sat with his legs stretched in front, crossed at the ankles. “The wind tends the fire well without your help, Gabriel Vane.” He drew on a clay pipe, exhaled a stream of smoke, then pointed the end at Gabriel. “Even were that not so, there is no need to fear the night.”
“It is not the night that concerns me.” Gabriel glanced over his shoulder, peering into the heavy blackness, but it was impossible to see beyond the ring of light.
“Nor I.” Jasper pulled his musket closer. “We’ve entered the wolf’s preferred hunting hours. How can you remain so relaxed, Hiram?”
The older man gave a short grunt. “I’ve crossed trails with this beast before.”
“Before?” Gabriel exchanged a swift look with Jasper. “You never mentioned that. Don’t you think Atticus and others in the village would have found the information valuable?”
“To what end? Would it make them take up weapons and join the hunt? No.” Hiram drew on his pipe. “It is best the speculation remains with me. Were I to share what I know, there would be far too much dissecting. Men arguing the best approach, none with the gumption to follow through on strategy. Rest assured our predator will seek that which is familiar to fill its gullet—chickens and pigs. Stray dogs and sheep. It has no desire to cross paths with us.”
“How can you be so certain?” Gabriel wanted to believe him, but doubt wormed under his skin. “Is it because you encountered the beast before?”
“Aye.”
Another look exchanged with Jasper.
His friend shifted, tucking into a cross-legged position. “We are not just any members of the village, but your companions on this hunt. We deserve to know.”
“Aye, you do. I thought to broach it eventually.” Hiram sat forward, firelight picking up a gleam of yellow in his eyes. He was quiet for a time, puffing on the pipe as if seeking the right words. “This beast is known in the deep woods from which I hail. Our legends speak of a fell creature that crawled from caverns buried well below the soil. In those days, there were many of the monsters, and the woodsmen were hard pressed to stave them off. It is said one man—stronger and braver than the rest—cornered and slaughtered the alpha beast, but his victory was not without cost. Gravely wounded, he suffered with fever and delirium for the passage of four sunsets. When he awoke on the fourth night, his eyes gleamed the same yellow as the beast. He was able to think like the creature, track the others to their dens. He became the first Hunter among my people, and from his bloodline others followed. Eventually, over time, all the creatures were slaughtered with the exception of one.”
Gabriel’s mouth had gone dry. He was barely conscious of the crackle of the fire or the hiss of wind through the trees. “If we’re tracking that beast, how did it end here, in this land?” He struggled to fit the pieces together.
Hiram’s expression darkened. “Through folly and greed.”
“I don’t understand.”
“But you suspect more than you’re saying.”
“Aye.” Gabriel glanced to the side where Hiram’s odd weapon, his “wind rifle,” lay within easy reach. “You are a Hunter of that same bloodline, aren’t you?”
“How did you know?”
“Your skill in tracking this beast, thinking as it does. I’ve seen your eyes change color, too.”
“I thought I imagined that,” Jasper inserted.
“And then there is your weapon,” Gabriel continued. “I do not understand how it functions, but I suspect it is deadly.”
Hiram nodded. “The balls fire on compressed air. Silent in an ambush. I don’t have the range of your long rifle, but a windbusche is lethal to one hundred fifty yards. And unlike your rifle, or a Brown Bess, it repeats—thirty to forty shots at killing range.”
Jasper’s draw dropped. “How is such a thing possible?”
Hiram rolled his shoulders. “I did not invent the gun, merely saw the advantage in becoming proficient with it.”
“None of that explains how the creature came to this land.” Gabriel was every bit as impressed as Jasper by Hiram’s rifle, but the wolf weighed heavier on his mind. Already they’d wasted a day tracking the creature without results.
“I was not the only Hunter in my family.” Hiram knocked the dregs of tobacco from his pipe. Darkness painted half of his face with shadow, the other sculpted by the frenzied leap of firelight. “My greatest mistake—and greatest failure—was in thinking I had slaughtered the Endling.”
Jasper frowned. “An Endling?”
“The last of a species.” Hiram’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “I thought there was no longer a need for my skills as a Hunter, so I came here to fight for your Colonies. The war was almost over by the time I arrived, my stint with General Washington amounting to little more than a few months. That is why I say you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” He tugged on his bottom lip as if sorting his thoughts. “After that, I drifted from place to place, picking up work wherever I found it. Two years ago, unbeknownst to me, my younger brother, Solomon, cornered the true Endling. He should have killed it, but word had reached him your new country was a land of immense opportunity. Blinded by greed, he crated the beast and boarded a ship, the monster in tow. I’m told he believed someone would pay an extravagant sum for the right to display the creature. His ship was not far from the harbor when the wolf managed to break free. Penned for so long a journey, it was maddened with bloodlust. Solomon and several others were killed. The Endling escaped, flung into the sea by the pitch of the boat and likely drowned—or so the crew thought. Nearly a year passed before I picked up the tale in a tavern, learning of my brother’s death secondhand.”
Gabriel grimaced, imagining the shock of such a ghastly moment. But rather than remorse, Hiram’s eyes burned with anger.
Swearing softly, he stood. “The fool would still be alive had he not let greed overcome him.” Pacing a short distance from the fire, he dragged a hand over the back of his neck. “Soon after, tales began to circulate of a fell beast raiding villages and farms. I heard snippets here and there, enough to convince me the Endling was responsible. I tracked the creature for months before arriving in your village.”
“If it moved on before, why does it linger now?” Jasper challenged.
Hiram rolled his shoulders. “Perhaps because the pickings are plentiful. It hunts, not merely to eat, but for the
thrill of butchering weaker things. This is why it does not willingly choose men as prey. The creature knows nothing of children, but I fear the time will come when it discovers how vulnerable the innocent can be.”
Gabriel blanched. “Let it come.” He shoved to his feet, no longer concerned by the darkness or the pounding of his heart. It was not fear that fed his pulse, but rage that such a monster should exist. “If it fears our firelight, we should tamp it out. Draw it closer.”
“Your anger is warranted, Gabriel, but the beast has gone elsewhere. It will not trouble with us when unguarded prey awaits in the village.”
“If you can think like this creature, then why can’t you find it?”
“I will find it.” Hiram stabbed a thick finger in his direction. “And when I do, you will stand clear. I will have vengeance for Solomon. More importantly, I will fulfill the destiny of my bloodline and eradicate this monster from the Earth.”
* * * *
Present Day
Jillian spent most of Sunday and a good part of Monday working on Eli Yancy’s website. During off moments, she scoured the newspaper and checked her local TV affiliate app for reports of unexplained mishaps. Fortunately, there was nothing of note, leading her to hope the folktales tied to Gabriel Vane’s burial plot were only that—legends passed through her family for generations, fables without merit.
On Monday morning, she took her car to the dealer for a new battery, then phoned Eli and suggested a meeting to go over her work to date. He seemed distracted, almost as if he’d forgotten the project, but agreed to see her later in the week.
Jillian kept herself busy throughout the day. By the time mid-afternoon rolled around, she finished her site design and shut down her computer. Calling for Blizzard, she grabbed his leash, then headed outside. The day was pleasant, barely a cloud in the sky, the sun a bright butterscotch ball overhead. Rather than follow their usual trail along the river, Jillian led the dog across the field where Elliott liked to stargaze and headed toward Hickory Chapel Cemetery.
