Weathering Rock
Page 5
The annual summer event was something Lauren had started as a casual get-together for her family and friends, but it had grown to include casual acquaintances and even some people invited at random. This year, she was turning it into a costume bash at Rick’s suggestion. Lauren joked he’d only come up with the idea as a means to get his date into something slinky and revealing. Daphne might be the party girl in their group, but Rick took the prize for a playboy lifestyle and self-centered ego.
“Daphne is going to drop off menus later today,” Arianna said, recalling the change in caterer had been their primary topic of conversation the previous night. Before driving home and becoming sidetracked by Caleb, she’d spent the evening helping Lauren work through the final bumps, the party scheduled for early July. “And I’m dateless as usual, so I’ll be coming solo.”
“You could always bring your blond god,” Lauren teased with a sharp grin.
Arianna arched an eyebrow. “He’s got a brother. A doctor. He’s cute too.”
Lauren eyed her over the top of her iced tea. “So yours is sexy and gorgeous and mine’s only cute?” She set the glass down. “I don’t suppose you want to rethink dinner with this Caleb person?”
“Did I mention he’s interested in the Civil War?”
Lauren rolled her eyes. “A match made in heaven. What did Lucas think of him?”
“You have to ask?”
“You should have told Luke about the dog. The one you saw outside your window.”
“It wasn’t a dog.”
“Then what was it?”
“I don’t know.” Uncomfortable, Arianna looked away. The image of the animal was etched in her mind, silhouetted by a freeze-frame flash of lightning against the sky. She wasn’t crazy. She knew it hadn’t been a dog, but a wolf? She’d been tired, half asleep. Her mind had probably been playing tricks on her, fueled by Caleb’s repeated warnings about danger.
Except she’d felt something unsettling when she’d spied the animal. The memory sent a chill pinging down her spine. She forced a smile, trying to recapture the easy levity of moments before.
“I thought we were talking about your party?”
The animal, and even Caleb, could wait.
* * * *
Caleb studied the book in his lap, trying not to grimace at the ballooning pain in his head. Wyn’s pacing didn’t help, making the parlor floorboards creak every few minutes beneath his shoes. He remembered that same sound from another era, his father striding back and forth before the large front window as they’d waited for news of South Carolina’s secession. Caleb had been a major in the army then, his commission to colonel coming a few short months after the start of the war.
After Crinkeshaw.
He’d been born in the rear bedroom upstairs. It had since been opened up and joined to the room beside it to form what Wyn called a master suite. Much about Weathering Rock had changed since his childhood, but much–like the protesting creak and groan of the floorboards–remained the same.
“Hades, Winston, would you stop that infernal pacing?”
“Am I bothering you, Uncle?”
Uncle again. The name was a clear indication of Wyn’s quarrelsome mood. He’d been sour and argumentative ever since Caleb told him about his plans for Thursday night. Now with the hour creeping close to eleven PM, Wyn stewed, tenacious as a bulldog with a bone.
“Don’t be insolent. It’s impolite to be disrespectful to your elders. I am one hundred forty-five years older.”
“Bullshit. You’re a year younger.” Wyn muttered something unflattering under his breath, the comment picked up by Caleb’s enhanced hearing.
He shook his head and turned his attention outside. The large wing chair he’d dragged close to the window was comfortable, but he was edgy, irked he couldn’t sense Seth’s presence the way he had yesterday. Over the last month there had been two instances of ball lightning, the same bizarre weather phenomena responsible for hurtling him and Seth 149 years into the future.
Reading wasn’t helping his headache, but several of the Civil War reference books he’d taken from the library had small sections on rumored paranormal occurrences. He was determined to skim through them before calling it a night, hoping to find some reference to ball lightning. Given Wyn’s ill-temper, it would be several days before he could coerce him into driving him back to town. Mitch Elroy had provided him with a driver’s license for identification purposes, but he had no desire to operate a noisy, horseless carriage.
Wincing at the headache, he massaged his temple. The injection Wyn had given him that morning had been stronger than usual. While he’d managed most of the day without incident, the pain was starting to take a toll, sapping his energy and concentration.
Wyn sighed in disgust, and vanished into his den. When he returned, he thrust two white pills under Caleb’s nose.
“Here. These will help.”
Caleb lifted his head long enough to catch his glare. So Wyn believed he possessed a few redeeming qualities after all. “Thank you.” He knew the doctor’s belligerence masked concern. Inviting Arianna for dinner hadn’t been the brightest thing he’d ever done.
“I’ll be fine, Winston.” Grimacing, he tossed the pills to the back of his throat. He hated the damn medication and daily injections, but the alternative meant surrendering to the vile thing Seth had made him–a predatory creature with a hunger for human flesh. He massaged the diamond-shaped scar on his neck to ease the passage of the pills.
Wyn paced to the fireplace, his shoulders stiff with tension. “Wednesday night is full moon.”
“I know that.” Caleb set his book aside and leaned back to study his nephew. “It may surprise you, Winston, but I am intimately conscious of the lunar cycle. The moon may look full on Thursday, but it will be waning at ninety-seven percent. I’ll be able to resist changing.”
“Not on Wednesday, you won’t!” Wyn eyes flashed with anger. “I’m going to have to lock you up like I do every month and you’re going to turn into that thing. The next day–Thursday, in case it’s eluded you–you’ll be worthless as shit. How are you going to explain your condition to Arianna? You’ll be lucky if you can walk down the steps without falling on your ass.”
Caleb looked away. “I’ll manage.”
“Great!” Disgusted, Wyn threw his hands in the air. “I spend three years trying to keep your secret, risking my reputation and career to protect you, and you’re ready to blow it because you meet some girl you’re hot for.”
Caleb frowned. The headache spiked against his temples, fueled by Wyn’s anger. “Hot for?”
“You know damn well what I mean. If you need sex, I’ll get you a hooker.”
Caleb shoved from the chair. The movement, too sudden and brisk for the vicious pounding in his head, sent a barb of pain into his neck. “Now you are being disrespectful. If I’m that much of an inconvenience, show me the door. I’ve survived worse.”
“Knock it off, Caleb.” Wyn confronted him face-to-face. “You think I’m arguing to hear my voice? Hell, I need to have my head examined for admitting werewolves and time travel exist. If I stop to think about who you are, or what you are, I’ll end up in a padded room. Given the fallout, I’d like to keep your secret in the family.”
“I have no intention of telling Arianna anything,” Caleb snapped. The throbbing in his head was growing worse, but he’d suffered greater in the past. There’d once been a time when two men held him down in a field hospital while a surgeon dug a musket ball from his leg. What was a little pressure on the inside of his skull by comparison?
Except that it was building, pounding like the roar of a Napoleon howitzer. Even the brassy glow of lamplight stung his eyes. Frustrated by how quickly the pain incapacitated him, he turned away, bracing a hand on the window ledge. If he admitted the weakness to Wyn, his nephew would react by decreasing the potency of his injections.
“It’s only dinner.” He didn’t want to argue. “I’ll be fine.”
&nbs
p; “The hell you will.” Wyn stalked to his side. “Look at you now. I’m cutting back your treatment starting tomorrow.”
“No. I can cope with a headache, and I’ll manage on Thursday. There’s no reason I can’t enjoy occasional female company as long as I’m discreet. As for stopping the treatment, you know what the alternative is. I will not become that creature, Winston.”
Without medication, without the daily injections, the curse would destroy him. His humanity would be obliterated, violated and consumed by the predatory nature of the wolf. Everything that made him human–his conscience, morals, even the ability to judge right from wrong, would no longer hold significance. His existence would revolve around the singular base element of survival. Life would become an endless string of carnal pleasure and dark hunger that was never sated. In essence he would become Seth, the man who’d betrayed him.
“I’m going to bed,” he said, ending the conversation. The closer it drew to the full moon, the more seductive the whisper of night became. He could feel the thrum of temptation pulsing like an undercurrent in his blood. For three years he’d fought the battle, a grueling struggle to retain his humanity. He knew Seth savored his turmoil. It was his rival’s ultimate goal to destroy him.
Caleb grimaced.
Just as he’d once destroyed Seth.
Chapter 7
“I hate this,” Wyn muttered.
Caleb followed his nephew down a rickety staircase, descending to the basement. Strung from the ceiling, a series of bare light bulbs cast elongated shadows over squat limestone walls and an uneven concrete floor. Must and mildew permeated the air, virtually overpowering to Caleb’s werewolf-enhanced sense of smell.
“I’m not overly fond of the situation myself.” He smiled grimly. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who gets locked up in a cell.”
“Caleb–”
“Winston, stop worrying.” He waved his nephew’s protest aside. “After three years of monthly hell, I’ve adapted to the confinement.”
That wasn’t true, but Wyn didn’t need to know how much it bothered him. Rather than dwell on the abysmal night ahead, Caleb focused on his surroundings.
The lower level of Weathering Rock hadn’t changed much over the centuries. There were a few new additions, including a row of metal shelves that had attracted a hodgepodge of items–tools, gardening supplies, paint cans, rope and other oddities. Two large oil tanks, a hot water heater and furnace had been added on the northern wall, the original coal chute long sealed over. The small section under the stairs was empty now, but it had once been his mother’s favorite place to stack jars of homemade relishes and jams, canned peaches and vegetables. He remembered his father hauling sacks of potatoes down the plank steps, his blond hair heavily streaked with silver in his later years.
“What’s wrong?” Misinterpreting his silence, Wyn stopped walking. “I don’t like locking you up any more than you like being locked up.”
“It’s not that. I was thinking of home.” Caleb nudged him forward. “My parents. Did I ever tell you my father ran the local land office?”
“There’s a lot you haven’t told me. You’re not exactly an open book.”
Caleb knew he tended to be closemouthed, but was attempting to change.
“My father was convinced I would be killed in the infantry,” he explained, overlooking Wyn’s comment. “He never wanted me to go to West Point. I sometimes imagine he knew the war was coming. My class graduated a year early because the Union needed officers. After Crinkeshaw, they made me a colonel.” He fingered the scar on his neck thinking of the battle. Of fighting in the saddle with blood streaming down his throat, the anguished groans of injured soldiers in his ears. And Seth…hating him, blaming him. “You won’t find Crinkeshaw listed in your history books, but it’s where Seth was injured.”
“That much I know.”
Caleb continued as if he hadn’t heard. “It was late summer of sixty-one. We thought the war was going to end quickly, the Confederate South no match for our Federal armies. My father insisted it would drag on for years, but everyone scoffed, convinced it would be over by Christmas. We never expected the South to be so dedicated.” He paused. “My father did.”
As far back as he could remember, Richard DeCardian had possessed an uncanny insight about what lay ahead. At times Caleb had found that ability unnerving. How could a man know so much about the future and be deadly accurate with those predictions?
He sent Wyn a speculative glance from the corner of his eye.
“My father used to say this house was a legacy.”
“It’s a solid house. It’s needed updating over the years, but–”
“You’re missing the point.” The closer it drew to full moon, the shorter Caleb’s patience became.
“Okay.” Wyn raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t get huffy, Colonel. Enlighten me.”
Caleb narrowed his eyes. “There was something secretive about the house he wouldn’t discuss. Something he wouldn’t share.”
“Caleb, it’s a house. There are hundreds of old homes from the eighteen hundreds still around.”
“Weathering Rock is different.” They’d reached the rear of the basement and halted by a steel door. Wyn had custom ordered it from a company in Canada, both sides reinforced with bands of sterling silver in the form of a large X. The nearness of the bright metal made Caleb’s skin crawl. No matter how often he allowed himself to be locked in the windowless room, the proximity of silver so close to changing time unnerved him.
“When I was nine years old, a storm rolled over the fields while I was outside,” he said. “It was the first time I’d seen ball lightning. When I told my father, he grew angry and made me swear not to tell my mother. He seemed afraid. He told me never to speak of it, and threatened to take a stick to me if I went anywhere near the field in the future. I’d never seen him act that way.”
“I can’t blame him.” Wyn cracked a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ve been tempted to take a stick to you too. It’s probably the only way the old man had of getting you to listen.”
Caleb brushed off the humor. “My father never laid a hand on me or my brother in our lives. He was…different. He wasn’t like other parents about discipline. He talked to us and explained when we did something wrong. But when I mentioned ball lightning, he changed. He knew something, Winston. I never made the connection before, but he knew something.”
“Okay, so maybe he did.” Wyn flashed an anxious glance at his watch. “We’re going to have to talk about it later. The moon will be up soon.”
Damn it all to hell, Wyn was right. Wednesday night, full moon. In a short while he would lose all memory of anything human. Once the moon climbed the sky, he would be powerless to resist its ancient spell. Already he could feel changes in his body, his normally acute senses heightened to feral awareness. He heard the rustling scuttle of a spider in the corner, the trickle of water from an overhead pipe, the intrusive thump of Wyn’s heart. That one bothered him the most, the allure of human blood, coupled with the instinctive urge to hunt, a seductive narcotic.
“I wish there were another way of doing this.” Wyn glanced at the door. The room behind it was empty, little more than a ten foot by ten foot square. Secured by two deadbolts from the outside and composed of solid limestone walls, it was a virtual prison.
Caleb ducked his head, sucking down an uneven breath. The thump of Wyn’s heart grew louder, dangerously enticing. “Hurry,” he muttered.
The blood-beat of his pulse throbbed against his temples. In a short while he wouldn’t be able to think, every impulse reactionary.
Wyn pushed the door open and a draft of dank air struck him in the face. It carried the sour reek of bondage.
“Let’s get it over with.” Before he could change his mind he shouldered inside, pacing off a small circle in the empty space.
“I hate this,” Wyn said for the second time. “You’re going to go through hell.”
“Get out of here, Winston.”
He didn’t know where the moon was in the sky, not that it mattered. He didn’t have to be touched by its light. Sometimes the change would overtake him when it hung low on the horizon, round and bloated like a lidless eye. Other times the transformation waited until it ascended to a lofty peak in the heavens.
“It’ll be over by dawn,” Wyn promised.
Unable to reply, Caleb braced a hand against the wall, bowing his head as the door scraped closed. He wished he had the strength of character to acknowledge his nephew’s friendship, but Seth had stripped him of that too.
The lock turned, sealing him inside. Restless, he filtered a hand through his long hair. The walls closed in, cramped and heavy. He panted through his mouth, pacing in the confines of the small room, faster and faster. In a short time, his clothing grew restrictive. Unable to withstand the touch against his skin, he clawed the offending articles off and prowled the cell naked.
All that remained was guttural instinct, a flashpot of images and crude sensation. Hunger overpowered him, the pain a hot knife in his gut. He doubled up in agony, stumbling to his hands and knees on the cold concrete floor.
His skin cracked, fragile human flesh splitting apart as his body underwent the punishment of transformation. Witch-fire exploded in his head and he rolled onto his back, caught in the excruciating throes of change.