by Mae Clair
“I feared you would never awaken.” Worry colored her voice. “Father had you brought to Enoch’s room when you passed out. We have been tending you while Enoch and others from the village look after your farm. Everyone is so grateful for what you, Jasper, and Hiram did in killing that dreadful beast. Hiram told Father how you went into its lair and confronted the creature alone. He called it an Endling.”
Gabriel’s head was spinning. Four days had passed? He was in the bedroom of Dinah’s oldest brother? He barely remembered riding into town—the crowd pressing around him, men slapping his back in boisterous greeting, the stench of the Endling clotted thick in his nostrils.
“Dinah.” He lifted his hand to her cheek. “You look flush.”
“’Tis nothing.” She lowered her eyes. “A mild fever.”
“From tending me?” His stomach roiled. He’d assumed his illness had been caused by infection in the wound, not any malady he could pass to others.
“Surely not. It is the autumn chill, nothing more.” She swiped a stray tendril of hair from her face with the back of her hand. “I brought you hot broth, hoping you’d be able to stomach a little food.” She indicted the bowl.
He should be hungry after four days, but the paleness of Dinah’s skin had unsettled his stomach. “Perhaps water instead.”
“I’ll fetch you some.” She crossed to the pitcher and bowl, then poured a glass. Her normal grace was absent, weariness seeming to hang on her delicate frame. Four days of tending to his health had taken a toll.
He swallowed half the water when she passed him the glass, the splash of cool liquid blissful against his parched throat. He reached for her hand as she resettled on the mattress. “The emerald brought me back to you, as you said it would. I have kept it safe all this time.”
The hint of a smile touched her lips. “I told you it had bonded us together. It could do naught but bring you back as I commanded.”
“You commanded?”
“That is the magic of the stone. To protect—or destroy, should it be used for ill. As long as I live, the gem will answer to no one but me.”
He set the glass aside and rubbed his temple. What she said smacked of witchcraft, but he had no understanding of the Old Powers. All he knew was that the emerald had returned him safely to the village. To her arms. He longed to hold her close but feared the impropriety of the bedroom setting.
“I would ask your father for your hand.”
She averted her gaze. He had thought to see joy on her face, but she looked stricken.
“Dinah, what is it?”
“Now is not a good time, Gabriel.” She wet her lips as though fumbling for words. “Jasper…for the last day, I have tended him as well as you. He has taken ill with a high fever.”
“How can that be?” Gabriel’s gut plummeted. “I remember him at my bedside. Something is surely wrong.” He moved to fling the sheets away, then realized he was clothed only in a nightshirt. “Dinah, see to your brother.” He gripped her hand, willing his urgency onto her. “I must get dressed and investigate how this happened. Jasper did not suffer the slash of the Endling. My wound likely became infected on the journey home, but that is no cause for him to be ill as well.”
Once she left, he located his clothes on a rocker and dressed quickly. He flung open the curtains, then paused at the mirror to secure his hair in a loose pigtail. The light of the setting sun caught his eyes and reflected off the surface.
Yellow, like Hiram’s. Yellow, like the Endling.
He stilled, recalling what Hiram had said about the first Hunter among his family. The man who’d been savaged by the alpha wolf.
“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.”
Whirling, he plunged his hands into his hair and stalked across the room. Such depravity could not exist! Had the foul beast tainted his blood the same as the alpha had tainted the original Hunter? He paced back to the mirror, then angled his head, studying his reflection. The faint flare of yellow was unmistakable.
“Hiram.” He said the name aloud. “I must see Hiram.”
Gabriel dashed from the room. Before he looked for Hiram, he would check on Jasper. No wonder Dinah was exhausted, tending to them both. After he spoke with Hiram, he would return and take up Jasper’s care. Dinah needed to rest and recoup her strength.
He found her in the doorway of Jasper’s room, wilted against the frame as if she lacked the strength to stand on her own. All color had fled her face. Her cheeks gleamed wetly with tears, and her eyes were unfocused, staring straight ahead.
“Dinah. Dearest.” He took both of her hands in his. “What is wrong? Please speak to me.”
Her gaze shifted, aligning with his. Her mouth moved, and a single tear fell on her lips, gone white with shock. “It’s Jasper. He’s dead, Gabriel. Jasper is dead.”
* * * *
Present Day
When Jillian arrived at his house, Dante had her park her Accord in his driveway. Blizzard was more than happy to bound into the back of his 4Runner. Because the husky was so friendly, it was sometimes difficult remembering he was a trained therapy dog.
Jillian explained how Blizzard was schooled to sense her moods plus act as a buffer between herself and others. People naturally tended to focus on Blizzard, shutting down any stray emotions that might otherwise brim over into her head.
“I guess he’s used to this trip, huh?” Dante tossed a glance to his passenger as he drove toward Palmer Point. For the time being, he put the piece his father had penned about Wickham and someone named “Blue” out of his head. He’d promised Jillian he’d do everything he could to help her sister. It was important to stay focused on Madison and her needs. “Does your sister ever respond to Blizzard when you visit?” Sometimes people, especially those who’d been crippled emotionally, felt safer interacting with animals.
Jillian shook her head. “Rarely. I’ve tried placing her hand on his fur. Sometimes she moves her fingers, but most times she sits there unmoving. She doesn’t react to much of anything.” She adjusted her seatbelt, shifting to face him. “Thank you for driving. I didn’t expect that.”
“No problem.” The forty-minute trek wasn’t exceptionally long, but the roominess of his vehicle made the time pass more comfortably. “Blizzard seems to like the extra space in the back.” He shot a glance to the rearview mirror, noting the husky lying comfortably on the rear seat.
Jillian smiled. Since their discussion last night, she was more relaxed with him, as if she’d found a kindred spirit. He knew what it meant to be burdened with an unusual gift. Not everyone accepted the uncommon and the strange. His own gift was the sole reason he and Tessa’s mother didn’t speak.
Jillian smoothed back her hair. She’d left it loose today, a cascade of blond that tumbled to her waist. She wore a black pea coat over faded jeans and a white blouse. Her tinted glasses were looped around her neck within easy reach. He guessed she was rarely without them, a shield to hide behind when needed.
The drive was scenic, mostly two-lane back roads. They passed Wickham then continued east, the sun blazing yolk-yellow in a turquoise sky. Pastures, meadows, and fields dotted the countryside, offset by a hodgepodge of scattered rural homes. Farther along, they passed a pumpkin patch, the fat orange gourds a reminder Halloween was less than a week away.
Dante made a right turn when Jillian prompted, the road every bit as winding as the one they left behind. “Did Tessa say anything to you about the masquerade event that’s going on next Saturday night?”
“You mean the Halloween pub crawl?” She bobbed her head. “I saw it advertised in the newspaper. She told me she was thinking of going.”
“She’s going, and she’s dragging me with her.” The things he wouldn’t do for his cousin. Even with the years they’d spent
living apart, she was still like a sister. “Why don’t you go with us?”
She flinched slightly, the recoil barely perceptible. One hand curved around the chain holding her glasses. “I don’t know…all those people. I don’t do well in crowds.”
“I don’t, either. We can hang out together, and if you get uncomfortable, we’ll leave.”
Jillian cast him a questioning look. “What about Tessa?”
“She’ll be fine. Maya is going, too. Her boyfriend’s out of town on business.”
“Collin Hode?”
“You know him?” Most everyone in Hode’s Hill knew of the Hodes, but whether they knew the family personally was another matter. Dante had been a thorn in Collin’s side last summer as he waged a public campaign against Collin and his father, Leland, to preserve Pin Oaks Senior Center. Weird the difference a few months could make. Now he and Collin were friends.
“Maya introduced me to Collin shortly after they started going out together.” Jillian shifted her purse from her lap to the floor as if attempting to get more comfortable. “Do you remember all that stuff last June after the Fiend Fest? Leland Hode was attacked, and there were rumors about a blue monster running around town.”
Dante palmed the wheel through a bend in the road. The Fiend Fest was an annual event Hode’s Hill threw every June to commemorate an old urban legend about a nineteenth-century creature who’d terrorized the town. It was good fun, but last year the event had taken a bizarre turn.
“The guy who jumped off the Old Orchard Truss Bridge…” He tried to remember how the pieces fit together. “The drifter they think attacked Leland. Wasn’t his skin blue?”
“That’s what I heard.” Jillian shifted her gaze out the window as a bank barn and silo rolled past. “The reports said he had a rare skin disease. It’s a shame they never found his body.”
“Yeah.”
Blue.
Dante jostled the thought aside. He’d examine it later when he could put the drifter in better context with the notes his father had penned. “You didn’t answer my original question.”
Jillian lobbed him a surprised glance. She wasn’t getting off the hook that easy.
“Do you want to go to the Masquerade Pub Crawl with me and Tessa?”
She hedged. “I don’t have a costume.”
“There’s still time to get one if you want, but I think a lot of people are just showing up in masks.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I haven’t decided.”
She bit her lip. “Can I think about it?”
“Sure.” The artistic side of him liked the idea of a masquerade, but he understood her hesitancy. Shutting down her empathic nature was only one hurdle. Jillian possessed a semi-psychic gift that worked in conjunction with her empathy. Flipping that switch off would be harder to do.
They talked companionably for the rest of the drive. He told her about his artwork and gallery, and she talked about her web design business, including a recent client who’d set up a life-coaching practice at Wickham. He’d seen the sign for Eli Yancy and had thought the location odd, but he’d been biased toward the spot ever since his father had died there.
No good will ever come from this place.
The voice he’d heard at Wickham flitted through his head, reciting the exact words his father had written. He shuttled the oddity aside, locking it in the same chamber where he kept “Blue” and his father’s reference to someone he’d labeled “L.”
When they arrived in Palmer Point, Jillian directed him to Rest Haven. The lot was mostly empty, so he parked near the entrance. Once inside, they signed in at the front desk then took the elevator to the third floor.
Dante’s first impression of Madison was one of damage. He didn’t have to touch her to know she was broken inside. They found her sitting in a chair by the window, a spot Jillian said she favored. She looked tiny and frail, shrunken in on herself, as if she would crumble under the slightest pressure.
“Madison, this is Dante DeLuca. He’s a friend of mine.” Jillian’s introduction brought no response. Pressing her lips together, she pitched him a resigned glance.
“May I?” Dante indicated the chair in front of Madison. With a nod, Jillian perched on the foot of Madison’s bed, keeping Blizzard at her side.
Dante eased into the chair, his eyes never leaving the frail woman across from him. He could see hints of Jillian in the curve of her cheek, the blue-green spruce of her eyes. At one time she would have been stunning, but her face had grown too thin, her cheeks sunken and slack. Her red hair was cut short, cropped close to her head, her arms skinny like matchsticks. He picked up one limp hand and gazed into her eyes.
It was like looking into a cloud. Milky and opaque, as if she kept a cloak held tightly about her. “Jillian.” He kept his gaze on Madison’s, staring into those empty, vacuous eyes. “Have you ever tried to use your empathic abilities on Madison? To feel what she’s feeling?”
“There’s nothing inside her to reach.” Jillian sounded tired. She shifted on the bed, crossing one leg over the other. “Other times all she does is scream. When she’s like that, her mind is too chaotic. It’s like being plunged into a maelstrom.”
“She’s caught in the past when that happens.” He didn’t want to reawaken her trauma, but there had to be a way to reach her. To peel back the cocoon she’d sealed herself in.
It was easier with places, where he could pick up vibrations of spirits. Graze the memories that still lingered. When impressions were strong enough, they became folk memories, imprinted on a place for anyone perceptive enough to read them. Murder left a taint unlike any other. Given the savageness of Boyd’s death and the short length of time that had passed, the folk memory of his killing would still be strong.
“What happened to the house on Mill Street?” The question was for Jillian, but he kept his gaze on Madison. Staring into her eyes was like looking into a well with no bottom. Is that what she saw inside her head? An infinite blackness from which there was no escape?
He felt himself sinking deeper. Jillian’s voice came from far away.
“I hold power of attorney for Madison and sold it. The money has gone for her care, but it wasn’t much. After the murder, no one wanted to touch the house.”
“A stigmatized property.” He’d heard of such things happening. He sensed Jillian nodding.
“An investor bought it. Now it’s a rental.”
“Mill Street.” This time his words were solely for Madison. She cocked her head. Something flitted through her gaze as if a lock had tumbled open in an unseen place. He felt himself sliding into a prism where thoughts and images fragmented like pieces of a kaleidoscope.
A broken lamp…an overturned chair…a man’s body sprawled on the floor…clothing drenched in blood…a black lizard…a butcher knife dripping red…
Madison moaned low in her throat.
He tightened his grip on her hand, felt sweat bead at the back of his neck.
Blood pooled on the floor, oozing from the man’s body…a black lizard…the knife sweeping downward…blood spraying onto the walls…a bloody hand gripping the knife…
If only he could see the killer’s face. But the impressions were disjointed, shattered like panes of cracked glass. Pain rooted in his temples, splintered behind his eyes.
…a black lizard…
Madison’s voice climbed in a sudden, keening wail.
Releasing his grip, Dante jerked backward.
“No! No, no, no!” Clutching her head, Madison bobbed forward in her chair. “Make it stop! Please make it stop!” She rocked in place. Back and forth, back and forth.
“Madison!” Jillian bolted from the bed and hit the nurse call button. In the next instant, she was crouched at her sister’s side, one arm looped over her back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, Maddy. You’re safe. Nothin
g can hurt you.” Tears streamed down her face. “Can you look at me? Please, Maddy?”
Dante grabbed Blizzard’s collar and pulled the husky out of the way. His head felt like it was going to roll from his shoulders, the throbbing in his temples intense enough to reduce his eyes to slits. A fist slammed into his gut, and he fought the urge to puke. Somewhere in the back of his head, he was aware of Jillian babbling through her tears. Of Madison’s ceaseless rocking, her face wet and shiny.
When a nurse sauntered into the room, probably expecting no more than a routine request for aid, all chaos broke loose.
“She talked!” Jillian was still hunched over Madison, her eyes wild with a mix of desperation and excitement. “Get a doctor! Get someone! Hurry up, damn it. My sister talked!”
* * * *
Jillian wanted to spend the night, but Dante insisted she go home. He stayed with her at Rest Haven until almost midnight. After the few brief words she’d said, Madison fell back into stony silence. Doctors were summoned, and soon medical personnel began trooping in and out of Madison’s room. Dante waited outside with Blizzard while specialists, nurses, and aides arrived in various groups, some pushing medical equipment, others conferring in hushed whispers. Jillian stayed glued to her sister’s side through the long hours of exams and a barrage of medical tests. At one point, there was talk of moving Madison to the hospital for more conclusive tests, but the idea was eventually vetoed for fear it would cause her to relapse.
Doctors agreed she’d had a breakthrough and more were likely to follow. In the same breath, Jillian was cautioned her sister’s next words might come in days, weeks, or even months. All signs indicated she would speak again, but patience was the key.
Dante took Blizzard outside at various times to walk the husky and let him do his business. He ate in the cafeteria, then brought food up for Jillian when she refused to budge from her sister’s bedside. Madison had fallen into what appeared to be an exhausted sleep, something he was sure he’d triggered. He’d reawakened the horror of her husband’s murder but had also found a way to blunder through her shell where no one else had. A little more time and he might have seen the killer’s face.
