CnC 4 A Harvest of Bones

by Yasmine Galenorn

  His arms slid around me and he held me for a moment, not speaking, not moving, pressed against me. I could feel his desire, rock solid against me, gentle and yet insistent. Then he let go and, without another word, took off down the porch steps. I watched him leave, then quietly went to the phone and put in a call to Randa and Kip’s teachers to let them know that Joe would be picking them up.

  White Deer and I glanced out the window just in time to see Murray pull into the driveway, with Harlow right behind her. The light was fading and I could feel the shift as the veils began to open. After they trooped inside, I showed Harlow where I kept the Halloween candy, should any children come trick-or-treating, and then Murray, White Deer, and I took off for the lot. I glanced at them. “White Deer was right—the timing has shifted. I can feel it.”

  Murray nodded. “Yep … the wind’s picked up and the spirits are walking.”

  As we cautiously entered the lot in the growing dusk, a flicker of apprehension tickled my stomach. The entire area felt like it had torn itself asunder from the rest of the world. Old spirits lived here, and very few of them human. They had slumbered throughout the years until Joe and I decided to expose their secrets to the light. Now, we had to put them to rest for good.

  White Deer pulled out her rattle. “Follow me. We’ll work our way from the outskirts of the lot this time, down to the basement.” I could feel her center, grounding her energy into the soil, letting it run deep into the roots. After a moment, she began to encircle the lot, praying softly in her native tongue as she shook her rattle with every step.

  Murray and I followed, shoring up the energy, amplifying it. This was it, the big one. Now or never. A wave of protection began to emanate from our hands, and we pushed it out to roll across the lot, to encompass the shadows and crevices and niches left untouched by time for so many years. Striding as tall as the treetops, we forged our path, mist rising from our steps to swirl around our feet. Onward, we drove the clearing force through the lot, purifying and purging.

  As we approached the yew tree, the conflicting forces began to play push-pull, a battle of pain against clarity. Over the years, all the trauma and secrets the land had seen had grown into a cohesive entity—without consciousness, and yet with a will to survive. And I knew, without a doubt, that this entity would act as a beacon for malign spirits, especially tonight. By waking up the lot, we’d opened a portal and now we had to close it.

  White Deer continued her prayer as we moved forward. Every step was harder. For every inch we gained, the remaining energy grew more resistant, and yet we pressed on.

  I caught my breath as we approached the stairs. There, in the basement, rested the heart and core of whatever had happened to Brigit. We might never know who’d killed her, but maybe we could put the past to rest, and she and Mab to rest along with it.

  White Deer glanced at me. “It’s time to go down. Time to build the bridge and return everyone to their proper places.”

  I nodded and started down the stairs. On the bottom step, I almost tripped, and splashed into the muck. One of the mildewing leaves flew into my mouth and the sour tang of decay hit my tongue. Spitting it out, I headed toward Brigit’s bedroom, Murray and White Deer behind me. There, inside the room, we could see Brigit, Mab, and Samantha, waiting for us.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  As we entered the room, the sound of a car door topside alerted us. “Who the fuck is that?” Frustration swept over me.

  Murray patted me on the shoulder. “I’ll take a quick look,” she said, dashing up the stairs.

  White Deer and I waited, poised on the brink between two worlds. Murray’s voice came drifting down on the wind. “You’d better come up here, Em … I’m not sure what’s going down.”

  I shook my head, glancing back at Brigit. “Damn it. I’ll be right back. White Deer, stay here and keep an eye on things, please.” I raced up the stairs to Murray’s side. “This better be good—” I started to say, then fell silent.

  A car had parked by the curb, and wandering through the lot, in our direction, were Brent and Irena. Irena looked nervous, and she was holding a flashlight. I rushed over to her side.

  “What are you doing here? What’s Brent doing here?”

  She flinched a little and I backed away. As irritated as I was, I didn’t want to scare her.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to come, but my brother begged me to. Dr. Ziegler called me today and said Brent was acting strangely, that he wanted to talk to me. I drove out there, and Brent begged me to bring him here. He was crying, saying he had to come home, and that it had to be tonight.”

  I glanced at Brent. A luminous glow echoed softly in his eyes and his gaze was darting around the lot, looking for something. Or someone. And then, he saw the yew and broke away from Irena’s side as he began to stride toward it, his eyes focused on the tree. As if the present had embraced the past, I could simultaneously see both the Brent who had been a virile young man, and the Brent who was the broken old man I’d met in the institution. Like a double exposure on film.

  He began to move forward again and Irena suddenly came to life, her voice stronger than I expected it to be. “Brent, you have to stop. There’s nothing left of her—she’s gone.”

  Brent turned, a look of hatred splashed across his face. “Get out of here. I know where you put her! Nobody’s stopping me from going to her—do you understand? Nobody.”

  He stumbled a little and Irena jumped forward to help him, but tripped over a root. She gave a little cry of pain as she fell. Murray raced over to Irena’s side and helped her up as I started toward Brent.

  “Calm down,” I said in the gentlest voice I could muster. “Brigit’s not there anymore, Brent. We found her.”

  He held up his hands, as if to ward me off. “Get out—leave us alone! I don’t need you, I don’t need any of you. We don’t need you.”

  “Brent, that’s not true! I’m your sister,” Irena called out.

  “My sister? Do you think I care? You’re just as guilty as Father was. You left me in that hospital all these years, hoping to keep us apart, but there’s nothing you can do now. I won’t go back, do you hear me? I’ll die before I let you take me back.”

  Irena turned to me. “I have to get him out of here. This was a huge mistake. The doctor told me it might be, but I thought it would make him happy. But the doctor was right—he’s not in his right mind—”

  The strength of Brent’s laughter echoed through the lot, and I knew, right then, that he had nothing to lose. “You’re right,” he said. “I wasn’t in my right mind, but now I am. So all of you get out of here and leave us alone.”

  Irena straightened her shoulders and began to walk toward him. “Brent, listen to me. You need help. Let me take you back to my house—”

  “No. Brigit’s here, I know she is. I can’t leave her again.” He drooped, wearing his anguish like a cloak of feathers. A sparkle of light glistened—a few of the corpse candles had gathered by the yew, but I seemed to be the only one who noticed them.

  Irena grimaced. “Stop! Just stop. You know what happened, but you refuse to believe it now, just like you refused to believe it fifty years ago. Why can’t you let the past go? Don’t dig up ancient history. Brent. Quit blaming me. Quit blaming our parents. Brigit’s dead. Mother’s dead. Father’s dead. It’s been half a century. Can’t you let her go?”

  Brent straightened his shoulders and began a slow march toward Irena. “You want me to let her go? Fifty years or a day, it doesn’t matter when you’ve lost the woman you love! You wouldn’t know how that feels, would you? You married your husband for his money. You married prestige and power, but you didn’t marry into love. And I paid the price for that, thanks to our beloved parents.” He spat out the words, one by one.

  “You want to bury what Father did, just like he buried Brigit. Just like he buried all his sins with her body,” he continued. Irena began to back away, fear clouding her face. “Why not just sweep
it under the rug, sanitize everything and pretend we’re still the social elite of the town? Can’t let anything soil our reputation, can we? Can’t let her blood stain our name. Can’t let anybody know what Father’s done. Well, it’s over!”

  I glanced at Murray. Brent thought his father had murdered Brigit? Did that mean he had nothing to do with her death? Absorbed in what was going on, it suddenly occurred to me that he might try to hurt Irena. I jabbed Murray in the side. “We have to do something!”

  She shook her head. “I want to hear what he has to say. I’ll jump in if he makes any move to harm her, but we’re finally getting some answers to a whole lot of questions about Brigit’s disappearance and death.”

  Irena’s face crumpled. “Brent, it was an accident. You know that. She wasn’t supposed to die, but there wasn’t anything we could do back then, and there’s nothing that you can do now. She’s gone, Brent. She died a long time ago. Sometimes, people leave us. Sometimes, all our plans go crashing to the floor and we’re left with nothing but crumbs.” She held out her hands to him.

  “What would you know about it? You got what you wanted! Queen bee, married to Mr. Moneybags. Cock of the walk, and you the prize peahen. And you begrudged my happiness with Brigit because you were such a god-damned snob. You told him not to let her have the baby,” he sobbed. “You’re the reason he killed her. You’re the reason Brigit died along with my child!”

  Baby? I glanced at Murray. Brigit had been pregnant? By Brent? And then I remembered the journal. The entries about a shameful secret, one she couldn’t let the Brunswicks find out about. It was all falling into place. Brent hadn’t killed Brigit. He’d been in love with her, and he was the father of her unborn child. And then, either Edward Brunswick had killed her in a fit of rage, or she died in some sort of accident for which Brent blamed his father. Either way, Brigit had been stripped out of his life and her death sent him over the edge.

  Irena fell to her knees, crying. “You’re right—I didn’t love Thomas. He was a good catch and Mother said I should be grateful, so I married him. But none of that matters anymore. Brent, you loved Brigit in a way I can never understand. I’ve never felt that kind of love. Do you understand? Even for a short time, you had something I’ll never have.”

  I felt someone by my side and jumped, but it was just White Deer. She leaned close to me. “Brigit’s awfully stirred up down there. I wasn’t feeling altogether safe. And Samantha disappeared.”

  My heart sank as Brent spoke again, his voice cracking. “Why did you do it? Why did you let Father get away with murder?”

  Frustrated, Irena lost her temper. “Damn it, Brent, you know perfectly well that our father didn’t murder Brigit. Her death was an accident! You know that. She fell down the stairs and hit her head—you were there! You were the first to reach her side.”

  “You’re lying! He shoved her!” And then, Brent whirled sharply as a voice echoed from the basement.

  “Brent? Brent? Brent! Where are you?”

  Everyone froze, and then slowly turned toward the stairs. There, clad in a nimbus of pale ivory light, stood Brigit. A living statue, and yet vibrant and beautiful and so terribly aware. She was gazing at Brent, and the look on her face was the happiest I’d ever seen.

  “Brigit!” Brent backed away from Irena as the yew tree sighed and the heaviness in the lot began to expand. The Will o’ the Wisps went into a dance, darting through the air over to Brigit’s side, faerie sparkles against the velvet night.

  “Brigit,” whispered Irena as she stared with horror at the ghostly image of the red-haired spirit.

  And Brigit, she had eyes only for Brent, a look of utter devotion filling her face. The power of their love was tangible, still alive through fifty years of separation, through the veil of death itself. Brent stumbled forward, his longing echoing through the air, through the waves of energy that pulsed like breakers on the shore.

  Overwhelmed, I could hear the beating of his heart, the ache of her desire. A terrifyingly fragile link had remained between them despite her long years among the dead, and it shimmered—a thin cord glowing in the night. I understood then that they’d never been truly separated. They’d been bound to one another since the day they met. With a love so strong, how could anyone deny their reunion?

  As Brent approached Brigit, Mab fell in by his side, leading him forward. The ghostly calico mewed loudly as they approached the basement where Brigit waited. Then the cat let out a yowl and raced over to coil behind Brigit’s skirt, where Brigit caught her up in her arms and buried her face in the cat’s fur.

  “Brent! Brent? Stay away—she’s dangerous!” Irena’s voice quavered. Brent ignored her.

  “Brigit. Is it really you? Forgive me, please forgive me. I couldn’t save you. I tried, but I couldn’t stop it from happening. Can you ever forgive me? I love you. It’s always been you—only ever been you.” His voice cracked and the flicker of tears shimmered on his cheeks.

  “I’ve died a thousand deaths every day, every time I remember your face.” He held out his hands, beseeching. “When you looked at me, that moment right before you fell, I knew then that my world had ended.”

  “Brent! Stop, please stop. She’s dead. Leave it alone, let her spirit rest. Come home with me. You can live with me and I’ll take care of you.” Irena’s voice spiraled into the night.

  The scene played out like an old movie flickering on a scratched screen in a theater long closed to the public. In my heart, I knew Brent was already dead. He had long been linked to another world and there was nothing we could do to reclaim him, to save him from his destiny.

  Brent’s eyes flashed, shining as he spoke to Irena. He was poised on the very brink and something had to give. If he went back to the hospital, he’d never again touch the world with a clear mind. “Let me go. Let me be happy.”

  “No! Brent! Don’t!” Irena raced forward.

  “Irena! You’ll startle him!” Murray shouted, racing after her, but she slipped in the mud and fell face first into a small pile of brambles, letting out a shout as the thorns drove deep. As she struggled to extricate herself, Irena stopped, as if suddenly aware of how close to the edge of the stairs Brent was standing.

  She held her hands out to him. “Brent, I’m begging you, come home with me. Everything will be okay. You’ll be okay and live with me. We can be brother and sister again.”

  He gazed at her, then silently turned back to Brigit. She smiled softly and let Mab jump to the ground, holding her arms wide, reaching for him. As he stepped toward her, she slowly moved back, hovering over the basement, glorious and brilliant, no longer a lost soul.

  And then, Brent stumbled toward her almost like a child toward his mother. In his haste, his foot caught on one of the brambles rooted by the side of the foundation and he wavered, flailing for just a moment before he tumbled headfirst down the stairs, a single cry echoing as he fell. Brigit looked directly at me, relief and peace flooding her face. Then she, Mab, and the Will o’ the Wisps faded into the night.

  Sixteen

  MUR IMMEDIATELY TOOK charge. “Emerald, you and White Deer go check on him. I’ll call 911.” While she pulled open her cell phone, White Deer and I hit the stairs. Brent’s unmoving figure lay below in the muck. A wave of vertigo flooded over me and everything seemed to shift as I found myself staring down at Brigit’s body. Then, in the blink of an eye, it was once again Brent at the foot of the steps. My feet slipped and I almost went headfirst down after him but White Deer, who was right on my heels, grabbed me by the arm.

  I fell back against the stairs and, breathless, wiped my eyes. “Oh God, I’ll be glad when this night is over.”

  After making sure I hadn’t broken anything, I lit off down the stairs again. White Deer was already checking his pulse by the time I joined her. She looked up at me and shook her head. “Dead.”

  Dead was right. Brent’s neck was turned in an unnatural position, but the look on his face was that of a gloriously happy man. There was noth
ing to be done for him—his long wait was over. I glanced over at the bedroom door and wandered inside, but it felt empty, as if Brigit was well and truly gone. There was no sign of Samantha, either. Just an empty room in a burnt-out house on an empty lot. That about summed it up.

  The woo-woo of sirens came whirring up on the street. White Deer and I looked at each other. There wasn’t much to say. We waited in silence as the paramedics came filing down the dark stairs, Joe hot on their heels.

  “The kids—” I started to say but he cut me off.

  “They’re okay, I left them with my aunt. I heard on the scanner that there had been an accident here and thought … I thought …” He broke off, unable to finish his sentence. I saw the terror lurking in his eyes.

  “You thought it was me.”

  He pulled me into his arms so tight I couldn’t breathe and buried his face in my hair. “Don’t you ever leave me, Emerald O’Brien. Don’t you ever leave me. Whatever happens, don’t leave me alone.”

  “Hey, Captain, can we get a hand here?” one of the medics called over to Joe.

  He searched my face, staring deeply into my eyes before he went over to help them. I watched the men work on Brent for a moment, then headed upstairs. I craved the light, craved noise and laughter and the joy of having my family gathered around me.

  “I am half-sick of shadows, said the Lady of Shalott,” I whispered to no one in particular. Only the wind heard; it swept up my words and carried them away.

  MURRAY FILLED DEACON and Greg in on what had happened. She told them that Brent and Irena had come to visit what had once been their home. Brent lost control, he got loose from Irena’s side, tripped and fell down into the basement before any of us could stop him.

  White Deer, Irena, and I verified her story—it seemed easiest all the way around. And that, was that. Nobody put up a fuss and I realized that Brent was one of so many people who fell through the cracks of society. Forgotten, mentally ill … nobody would pay much attention to the death of an old man. Oh, someone here or there who remembered his name might blink over the obituary notice, but other than that, Brent would fade into history, as obscured by time as Brigit had been.