by Toni Kerr
“Stanley was found dead just recently. Where were you two nights ago?”
“Stanley’s dead?” Tristan frowned. “You think I killed him?”
“We’re still investigating.”
Tristan looked at Landon, doing his best to recall any sense of time. He had none. Landon had to sense how confused he was, but nodded for him to answer the question. “I...I think I was with Eleonora. We were drinking. The days have been a blur....” The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like his evening with Eleonora was more than two days ago.
“If you need him to answer anything else, leave me a message,” Landon said. “We’re done.”
Victor opened the front door. Jared closed his notebook and stood from the couch. “I would like the girl’s name and her brother’s, as well as the names of all the students in Angelina’s class.”
“Shaely,” Tristan said without thinking. “I don’t know her brother’s name, but he scares the hell out of me.” Tristan cringed. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
“I’ll see what I can find out and let you know,” Landon said.
“If I find out you’re hindering the progress of this investigation....”
“Get out.”
“I didn’t kill Stanley,” Tristan shouted as they left. “You have to believe me!”
“They believe you,” Landon said, shutting the door. “They just don’t like us. That’s why they gave you the serum, so we couldn’t coerce you with a script.”
“But why would they think that I...how many people know about Ireland?”
“Not many.”
“Why didn’t you tell me I’d have a guard?”
“We didn’t want to make you nervous. Well, more nervous than you already were.”
Tristan nodded. “So who killed Stanley?”
“It’s not our investigation, but I’d be wanting to question Shaely’s brother. Do you know his name? Where they live?”
“No. But as far as he knows, Stanley stood up for him by taking me down. I don’t think he’d be upset by that, not enough to kill the guy.”
“I don’t want to ask you personal questions while you’re under the influence of this serum, but I would like to know....”
Dread clawed through every muscle. He could think of several secrets he’d kept from them, the biggest being the map Gwenna gave him the night she was murdered. The second being his quest to learn enough to steal the emerald back, then get the heck away from this place.
“Do you really want to go hiking with us?”
“I—” Of all things Landon could have asked, this was unexpected. He couldn’t answer without putting whatever friendship they had on the line.
17
- FIRST CONTACT -
SHRIEKING METAL RIPPED through his nerves. For one terrifying breath, Tristan feared he was in Ireland—in the forest of dead trees with the wind and rain howling against him.
Whispers of the nightmare hovered over him as he searched the cabin for something that might have awakened him. He poured himself a mug of water and used a damp towel on his face and neck.
Landon and Victor had not taken his decline to hike personally, and they promised to check on him in the morning. He glanced outside to measure daylight, spotting something plunge into the bushes.
By the time Tristan got out the door and onto the front porch, whatever he’d seen was gone.
He sighed, debating the chance of it being some wild animal, and went back inside. A figure stood between the couch and his bed: Lazaro Sabbatini, grinning like a madman. Now we’re getting somewhere....
Tristan ran.
He pounded against Eleonora’s front door as slices in his bare feet left bloody smudge marks on her decking. She didn’t answer.
Why wasn’t Lazaro on his heels, trying to stop him? After all, Tristan had killed several of his men, and more than that were still trapped in stone. Lazaro believed the emerald could save them, and hadn’t bothered coming after Tristan when the emerald was thought to be lost in the ocean off the cliffs of Ireland.
Had he finally figured out that the emerald wasn’t there?
Tristan peeked around the corner of Eleonora’s cabin, eyeing the freshly cut trail. Sharp branches and jagged shrub trunks protruded upward from the ground, nothing that would have mattered if he’d had shoes on.
Lazaro wouldn’t need a trail; he’d probably just pop up wherever he wanted. How could a person escape something like that? His only chance was to find Landon and Victor.
He made a run for Grumpy’s, halfway there before he remembered he could do the same thing—pop up wherever he wanted to go. He slowed his pace and searched the dense forest, recalling the details near the picnic table Angelina used for class.
What would happen if he didn’t remember the location exactly right? This was no time to start doubting himself. He wasn’t even sure if there was still an emergency going on—Lazaro was nowhere in sight.
He shut his eyes and made the transfer, thrown into a state of panic when a tornado of light spun him away.
Clashing sounds and intense brightness swirled around him, except the peripheral light to his right, which remained steady. Tristan tried to shut his eyes, tried to pull away or shrink into himself as one of the blinding orbs changed directions, stopping within an inch of his face.
He couldn’t run, his body wouldn’t move. If he could even call it that. He looked for his hands, his feet, just as blinded by the concentrated light of himself. Unless it wasn’t himself. But it made him wonder, and he studied each of the orbs to find some sort of human resemblance. The more he focused on seeing into the lights, the louder and more burning the sensations became.
Something made him think of the ruined map hidden at the bottom of his backpack, buried beneath his clothes in the dresser. There were answers in it; Gwenna had said as much. He made up his mind to recreate what he could remember on paper, so he could study it without being consumed by it.
The thought confused him—why on Earth would he make such a plan at a time like this?
Could it be an actual place he was in? A state of mind maybe? He reached out curiously with his fingertips to touch the source of light in front of him. The orb backed away as a painful pressure crackled around his shoulders.
Tristan gasped for air, dropping to his knees in the wave of sudden darkness. He blinked it away, letting his eyes adjust, clutching at the pain in his head.
People he didn’t recognize gathered around him. But he was finally in the right spot—he could see the A-frame in the distance. “I need Landon or Victor.”
Someone put a wool blanket over his shoulders and Tristan drew it tight, settling onto his heels before deciding he may as well lie down. Two things echoed in his mind—he had to draw that map as soon as possible and Lazaro knew where he lived.
“Tristan?”
Something cold touched his forehead. Tristan opened his eyes, flooded with relief to see Landon. Victor too. “He’s here.”
Who? asked Landon. Don’t answer out loud.
Lazaro.
18
- VISITING GHOSTS -
TRISTAN SLUMPED ON THE COUCH in his cabin with the suffocating silence. Of course, Lazaro Sabbatini had left no trace of himself in the cabin. Landon and Victor thought he’d imagined the whole thing, that if Lazaro really had made an appearance, alarms would have notified at least twenty people.
There wasn’t much he could say to that, except maybe it wasn’t Lazaro. He took his empty glass to the sink, deciding to put the matter behind him, when he thought he heard a dry whisper.
“Hello?” Tristan searched the bathroom, sweeping aside the curtain from the shower stall. Landon and Victor had only been gone for a few minutes.
How delightful! You can hear me.
“Who’s here?” A bone-chilling cold seeped through his skin.
Interesting question.
Tristan opened the front door, expecting Landon or Victor. But they wouldn’t pull a pra
nk like this, would they? He searched under his bed and in the bigger cabinets. Someone had to be playing a joke on him.
The voice spoke low and soft. Have a seat at the table.
Tristan sat, unable to pinpoint the source of the voice.
Thank you, it said pleasantly. Now that I have a proper amount of attention, remember Ireland? Those men who fell dead at your feet?
“Landon?” Fear consumed his thinking and he couldn’t breathe. “Victor?”
I want you to try something, continued the voice. Pick one of those men. Invite him to your table.
“It was dark.” If it wasn’t Lazaro.... What if it was the voice of God? “I couldn’t see any faces, they were just shadows.” Maybe it was the ghost Eleonora had mentioned—the one who supposedly took Jacques’ place?
So many men, killed so easily. Yet, you didn’t look them in the eye and see who they were? Despicable.
A translucent middle-aged man appeared in the chair across the table. He had a peaceful, oddly blank expression.
Allow me to make some introductions. Sylvester Argus William Shantrel. For more than thirty years, this man served me faithfully.
Tristan sucked in a breath, too afraid to ask whom the ghost had served so faithfully. Lazaro? The Devil? God? The figure shimmered pale-green, but didn’t cast any light against the wall behind him.
He had three beautiful children and a lovely wife. I doubt they will get over his death anytime soon. Terribly sad. Friends used to call him Gargy.
Tristan remembered the name called from the tower. The ghost dissipated and a second man appeared.
Patrick Alexander Rockwell. Most of his family and friends knew him as Rocky. He had a wife who was pregnant at the time, but has since miscarried. Her life will never be the same—not without her true love. And now, she doesn’t even have his child to move on with.
Guilt consumed his soul. A third figure appeared.
Tristan turned his head and shut his eyes.
Wyatt Ray Livingston. He had a wife, too. They had an exceptionally gifted child who was devastated when he heard the news of his father’s death.
“Stop!” Tristan covered his face. “I didn’t know what I was doing. It was dark.”
That hardly matters to the living. The voice was gentle and cruel at the same time.
“They attacked.” He tried to remember how the action had been justified by the adults in his life at the time; Alpheus and Gram. Even Landon and Victor. “It was self-defense.”
Those families don’t care why or how, or what excuses you might come up with to make yourself feel better. Those men are dead. Because of you.
“Why are you telling me this?” Tristan pushed himself away from the table. “I can’t change what happened.”
They should not be forgotten.
“I haven’t forgotten!”
I feel an obligation to help you through this difficult time in your life.
Tristan sank to the floor in the corner of the kitchen. He’d always known that night would haunt him. The night he became an uncontrolled killer.
The night he became a monster.
19
- A FISHY GETAWAY -
TRISTAN LEAPED TO HIS FEET when someone knocked at the door. He straightened the poncho on his shoulders and quickly splashed water on his face. The front door opened and he spun from the sink, trying to look like nothing was going on.
Landed entered the cabin, followed by Victor.
“Give me a minute.” Tristan rushed to the bathroom and locked himself in.
“You okay?” Landon asked through the door. “We could do something else if you want.”
He’d forgotten about the rescheduled hike. “No, that’s okay. Anything outside is good.” He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to pull himself together. But even to him, the kid in the mirror looked terrible.
“Bad dreams?” Victor asked.
“Yeah, that’s it.” It had to be. He opened the door and couldn’t quite meet Landon’s gaze. “I’ll be fine.” He leaned away as Landon tried to touch him, almost tripping over a kitchen chair. “I said I’m fine.”
“Probably just side effects,” Victor said, opening the refrigerator. “Haven’t you filled out the paperwork?”
“Paperwork?” Tristan’s heart pounded faster. “Side effects from what?”
“I’ll make sure they send you food,” Victor said.
“We found traces of Salvia in your blood. Who gave it to you, Shaely?”
“What? No!”
“It’s a drug. I wouldn’t advise taking it again.”
“You actually think I’m taking some sort of drug?” When they didn’t respond, Tristan continued, relieved to finally lash out after cowering all night. “I’ll admit to stealing prescription painkillers that weren’t meant for me, months ago, but it wasn’t for fun. Why would I take—what was it again?”
“Salvia Divinorum is a hallucinogenic. It makes you see things that aren’t there, makes you paranoid, irritable, dizzy, gives you headaches...the list goes on.”
“If you didn’t take it on purpose,” Landon said calmly, “someone slipped you some.”
“The only drug someone slipped me was that damned truth serum! First murder, now this?”
“Let’s make a deal,” Victor said. “We won’t bring it up again if you agree not to eat or drink anything that doesn’t come from me, Landon, or your own house.”
Tristan scowled. Shaely had offered him food, but as far as he could remember, he hadn’t eaten any of it. He kept his mouth shut. “Someone’s been out to get me since that first night.” Probably karma, after what he did in Ireland. “What am I supposed to do?”
Landon sighed. “Nothing, for now. Keep your head down, your eyes open. We’re looking into it, and we’re also making preparations to relocate you if it gets worse. Be careful who you trust.”
Tristan nodded. Hallucinating all night was better than the alternative. “We’re still going out, aren’t we?”
Victor grinned. “You might do better if you got some sleep, but I’m game!”
“He’s right, you do need some sleep. Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“I can’t imagine getting to sleep and I’d rather be anywhere than here.” Not to mention he felt safer in their company. He ran his fingers through his hair again, forcing it out of his face. “Fresh air would be great. Really.”
“Okay,” Landon said. “We’ll hike as planned.” He found an empty water bottle stashed in a drawer next to the sink and handed it to Tristan. “We have brunch food packed out front, and we’ll swing by Victor’s house for dinner on the way down.”
* * *
Landon and Victor carried the entire conversation as they hiked through the quiet forest. Sunbeams of light warmed low patches of greenery. Tristan slowed with the overwhelming weight of someone keeping pace with them.
But the only way a person could stay hidden would be to transport themselves from one wide tree to the next, with the undergrowth being so low to the ground.
Landon and Victor waited for him at the top of a hill.
“You’re welcome to go with us if you want.”
“Sure. Wait. What?” Tristan asked. He’d lost track of what they’d been talking about.
“I wondered if you were listening.” Landon started walking again.
“What are the chances of Lazaro being out here?”
“Lazaro?” Landon and Victor spun to face him, making him regret the question.
“Yeah. Here…right now.”
“Now.” Victor scanned the forest with a skeptical grin on his face. “It’s not possible. Everyone would be notified, for one thing.” They started walking again.
Tristan followed, looking over his shoulder. “But what if nobody knew?”
“He can’t come within forty miles in any direction.”
“Why not?” Tristan jogged a few paces to stay close, nearly twisting his ankles on rounded boulders.
“We
usually don’t discuss security out in the open, but I’ve got to tell you, this entire area is drenched in it,” Victor said proudly. “I have hardware concealed in the trees, rocks, bird nests...with files containing DNA records of Lazaro and all his people that we’re aware of. Not to mention a few hundred other people that need not be mentioned. If anyone registered in the threat list sets one foot in this area, immediate alarms go off. Sort of like the tracker. It’s a fail-proof system.”
“Is there anyone around? Natives maybe? Donovan?”
“No!” Landon stopped abruptly and scanned the forest for himself. “Stop worrying.”
“Maybe underground?”
“You’re driving yourself insane! There is no one here. Stop thinking about Lazaro and—”
Victor put a hand on Landon’s shoulder. “Walk away, man. You’re letting him get to you.”
Landon’s jaw clenched, then relaxed. “You’re right.” He took a quick breath and shuddered before continuing onward in silence.
“So what he’s saying is,” Victor continued, “you need to learn to relax if you’re going to survive out here. We know for a fact that Lazaro is in Austria.”
“Was he there all night?” Tristan whispered to keep Landon from hearing.
“As far as I know, yes.”
A small house came into view, just beyond a meadow of waist-high grass. It had a rock foundation and stained wood for siding. They walked single file along a dirt trail to the front porch.
“This is Landon’s abode,” Victor said with a flourish, handing Tristan a rope of red licorice. “We’re picking up the fly rods.”
Inside the house, an oversized reading chair sat in a corner, half-hidden behind three coffee tables piled with books about Egypt. Shelves lined most of the walls, holding books and complicated trinkets he couldn’t identify. There were several world globes and Tristan casually looked for Austria.
Landon came from a back room, carrying a backpack over one shoulder and a pair of hiking shoes. “Sorry about losing my temper. I try not to let that happen.”
Tristan nodded, silent as Landon switched his shoes.
“I’m sure we can come up with a decent pair of hikers if you plan on doing a lot of walking. Heck, you need a decent pair now.”
