What Befalls the Children: Book 4 in the Troop of Shadows Series

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  Cricket swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Now, Mister Fergus, about this contraband...Wait a minute. Where’s Pops?”

  “He’s reporting to Serena Jo.”

  Willa noticed the grim expression on the normally cheerful face. Her stomach did a flip. “Reporting about what?”

  Mister Fergus looked exhausted all of a sudden. He stepped inside the cabin, shutting the door behind him and lit the stove in the corner. Willa hadn’t noticed she could see her own breath.

  “We found another body,” he said. Sudden flames from the kindling danced in the normally merry eyes. Now, those eyes looked tired and sad.

  “You mean like Mister Everett?”

  A nod of his head.

  “Just like Mister Everett? In a tree?” Cricket whispered.

  Another nod. “This was closer, though. Only a couple miles to the north. Very close to your cache of goodies.”

  “Did anyone find our stuff?”

  Mister Fergus gave her a quizzical look. Was there disdain there too?

  “Aren’t you interested in who the victim was?”

  Willa felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “Yes, of course. I mean, I know it wasn’t Pops because you said he’s with Mama.”

  “You’re only concerned about a murder if the victim is someone you love?”

  Willa frowned. “No. I’m not saying that.”

  “I’m sorry. That was unkind of me. I’m just tired and cranky. I’m also not sure what’s to be done about this...situation. Trying to find the perpetrator is like trying to snare a ghost. There were no tracks to speak of near the...scene.”

  She felt a sudden surge of affection for her odd little teacher.

  “You don’t have to tiptoe around horror, Mister Fergus. We were in Knoxville when everything collapsed. It was bad. We’ve been living off the land for the three years since. We see hogs slaughtered, deer gutted, rule-breakers put in the stocks...”

  The blue eyes flew wide open. “Stocks? As in the medieval form of torture?”

  “More like they used in old western movies for drunkards and troublemakers.”

  “Why haven’t I seen evidence of this barbarity?”

  Cricket piped up, “Don’t happen that often, Mister Fergus. Most folks avoid the stocks if they can. They usually can.”

  Mister Fergus shook his head in disgust, but didn’t comment further.

  Pops chose that moment to stomp up the cabin steps.

  “Quick. Replace the board, Cricket!” Willa hissed.

  “Your grandfather knows about my belongings. Do you think I would hide items as dangerous as these in a house without telling the homeowner?”

  “What’s all this about?” Pops said as he walked in the door. He looked even more exhausted than Mister Fergus.

  “The children are bored, Skeeter. Perhaps we can find them something productive to do with their time that doesn’t involve breaking and entering.”

  “Technically, there was no breaking. Just entering,” Willa offered. “And Mama doesn’t need to know. She has plenty of other things on her mind. Right Pops?”

  Her grandfather squinted at her and gave a tired grunt. “You got that right. And just in case you three were thinking about sneaking out of the village, I’m telling you right now, don’t do it. I will personally tell your mother if I catch wind of it. And you know I will catch wind of it...”

  Uh oh. Pops was using proper grammar. That meant serious business.

  “Who was it that got strung up?” Cricket asked.

  “The Tate girl. The one who just earned her place on the Scouts,” Pops replied.

  “Adelaide? That’s awful,” Willa said. It was awful, but not catastrophic. Adelaide was a bully. Not only that, she liked to torture small animals when she thought nobody else was around; they’d seen it firsthand on one of their forest adventures. As much as Willa hated the thought of someone getting murdered, at least the village’s next litter of puppies would be safe.

  “Right. I know exactly how you felt about the girl, Willa. Coulda been worse, I s’pose. You all get going, now. Your mama’s waiting on you.”

  They dashed out the door, dropped Cricket off at the most squalid of all the houses in the village — his drunkard daddy was a ne’er do well — and raced home. Willa beat Harlan to the front steps. She always did. Harlan was stealthy, but she was faster.

  “Slow down, you two.” Their mother’s gaze zeroed in on them the second they stormed inside. Willa felt the heat in that gaze. Serena Jo had an agenda. Willa could almost see it floating above the braids, like squiggly lines coming off a cartoon skunk. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “We already know about Adelaide. Pops told us.”

  “There’s something else. Sit down, please.”

  Mama was sitting at their wobbly kitchen table, warming her hands on a steaming cup of instant coffee. The taste of coffee was gross, but it smelled heavenly. She’d brought a ton of it with them in the U-Haul, and she only drank it at home so she wouldn’t have to share it.

  “I need to tell you something...” she began, then stopped.

  Willa felt a sudden unpleasant fluttering in her belly. Serena Jo never hesitated.

  After a deep breath, Mama said, “If anything happens to me, Pops will move in here with you. You must promise to mind him just like you do me. I know you love him, but I also know you take advantage of him. And you’ll need to take care of him too. His memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  The fluttering exploded into a swarm of angry bees. The notion of Mama not being with them was too dreadful to ponder even for a second.

  Harlan signed, Nothing will ever happen to you, Mama. You’re too smart for that scary lady.

  Mama smiled. “We don’t know who is behind these murders, but we do know the person is formidable.”

  Willa approved the word choice with a nod.

  Mama continued. “The person abducted and killed two of our members — people who were quite capable of defending themselves — without anyone seeing a thing. Then he was able to hoist them into a tree and stage them for us to find. So the murderer is either very strong or very clever. And he’s quick. From the time Adelaide was last seen alive until she was found...in the tree...was only an hour.”

  Harlan signed, Are you scared, Mama?

  “Yes, I’m scared for my family and our people. That’s why it’s vitally important that you two don’t leave the village.”

  We won’t Mama. We promised. Then he switched to their twin sign language, I mean it, Willa. Don’t try to bully me this time.

  Willa leaned back in her chair and studied her brother through hooded eyes. This rebellious streak she’d been seeing in him lately...she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  “Anyway,” Mama continued, “I just want you both to know that if something happens to me, Pops will take care of you.”

  “What if something happens to Pops?” Willa demanded. “He’s no spring chicken, you know.”

  “Pops isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. He’s a healthy old goat.”

  What if that lady gets him when he’s out on patrol? Harlan’s chin quivered at the thought.

  Mama sighed. “We don’t know who the killer is, Harlan.”

  I’m not saying she is the killer. I’m just saying she’s out there somewhere.

  “He’s got a point,” Willa said, warming to the notion of two potential villains.

  “I know you both like Mister Fergus very much, but that doesn’t mean he was truthful about that woman. Something seemed off about his story. But he’s the least of my worries now. He has an alibi for the two murders. It’s someone else, and I’m going to find out who.”

  Chapter 13

  Harlan

  Harlan awoke to find himself soaring through the night air fifty feet above the ground. He breathed in the smell of wood-smoke and pine needles with a nose that wasn’t really there. The pine-needle scent was stronger than the smoke in his imagined nostrils, so h
e must be farther away from the village than usual. His imagined skin registered a chill in the air as he swooped and soared, but the cold temperature didn’t truly affect him because his body wasn’t actually outside.

  After they’d moved from Knoxville to the holler, it had taken a few months to get used to the new terrain. As with traveling in the real world, he had to know where he was going in the astral plane or he might get lost, like a tourist in New York City. So he’d learned to let his fabricated nose guide him in situations where he didn’t recognize the topography from his bird’s eye view.

  He had never gotten lost in the astral plane and had no idea what would happen if he did. Sometimes he worried about that because he suspected if he did get lost, he might wake up in a stranger’s bed with a family he didn’t know. But it was so much fun that he was willing to risk it the two or three times a month he was able to do it. He enjoyed these special dreams even more than adventuring in the forest with Cricket and Willa.

  A village hunting dog flew beside him. It was always interesting when one showed up.

  “Hey, Cooper,” he said with his mind.

  The dog, floppy bloodhound ears blowing backward, acknowledged his presence with a lolling tongue and a tiny wink.

  “I guess we’ll go north tonight. Does that sound good?”

  Another doggy wink.

  Harlan never knew ahead of time where he would be when he slid into a one of these dreams, which was part of the fun. Unlike the real world, he couldn’t really be hurt in the astral plane, so there was nothing to be afraid of.

  Theoretically.

  Tonight, though, the northerly route made him feel a bit anxious. According to Mister Fergus, the scary lady had come from that direction. Not only that, but the two murder victims had been found north of the village. Was that a coincidence? Probably not.

  He decided to utilize his dream to conduct a reconnaissance mission, just like the village Scouts. Maybe he would see something useful. And anything that might help the investigation could keep Mama and everyone else safe.

  He spotted a small campfire in the distance. He believed his position to be close to the clearing where the Pop-Tarts and candy had been delivered. After soaring over the very location where their spoils lay hidden in holly bushes and corralled by urine, he came upon the campfire.

  Through the thick branches it was difficult to clearly see the person beside the fire, who stoked the flames with a long stick. Was it a woman? Was it THE woman? Impossible to tell.

  It wasn’t easy to alter his course during a dream, but he had managed it a few times. He glanced at Cooper, still flying an arm’s length beside him. He placed a dream hand on the dog’s head, and then closed his imagined eyes. Cooper seemed to know he was needed as a kind of anchor, and he gave Harlan a quick swipe with his rough dream tongue. The gesture said, I’ve got you, friend!

  Harlan concentrated.

  When he opened his eyes again, he and Cooper had circled back around and were soaring over the same campfire. From the lower altitude, he could make out the figure gazing into the flames.

  It was a man.

  Whew! Harlan supposed a man could be responsible for the terrible murders, but his gut told him Mister Fergus was right about the scary lady.

  What next, then? He and Cooper were heading north, but something pulled at his brain, telling him to go west. His hand still rested on Cooper’s head, so he squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on steering them to the left. When he opened his eyes again, he recognized the familiar terrain. He and Willa and Cricket had played Robin Hood and his Merry Band in a copse of trees just below. The giant live oaks there were perfect for climbing and a small clearing had hosted more than a few of Willa’s storytelling sessions. He could see the Pyramid Logs, three dead trees that had fallen into a triangle shape, forming the perfect setting for conversation.

  A small campfire blazed there now, and a woman with long black hair danced around its flames.

  Harlan’s imagined heart skipped a beat. Mama had never taken them to church, nor pressed any religious beliefs upon them. But if there was a hell, surely this scary, witchy-looking lady belonged there. Just as he and Cooper soared over the clearing, her head tilted backward. A smile unfurled on the white-skinned face that glowed in the darkness, like a lighthouse beacon on a haunted island.

  Did she ‘see’ him somehow? He had never experienced any kind of interaction with living people during these astral journeys.

  He shuddered. “Time to go home, Cooper.” His eyes closed in the dream for the final time.

  When they opened again, his body was safely tucked beneath the covers of his bed. Willa snored gently from two feet away. His heart...the real one inside his real chest...pounded like a kettle drum. Mama’s beautiful eyes were open, watching him in the darkness from across the small bedroom.

  “Nightmare?” she whispered.

  He nodded. Nobody knew about the dream flights. Not even Willa.

  Mama lifted her blanket and patted the mattress. He was much too old to be snuggling with his mother, but he didn’t care. Sometimes a boy just wanted the reassuring proximity of the person who loved him more than anyone in the world.

  Finally Mama’s breathing slowed. He was nowhere close to being able to sleep yet, not after seeing that Witchy Lady dancing in the hellish firelight. Mister Fergus was surely right about her. And now that Harlan knew her location, he must pass it along to his teacher. Discreetly, since Mama didn’t seem convinced of the Witchy Lady’s existence.

  Something shifted inside his brain then. It was a feeling similar to taking a math test and knowing he would get a perfect score, or beating Willa at chess when she almost always won. It happened when he made the right move...the best move. Just like the special dreams, the sensation was a secret, one he had never told anyone about, mostly because it would be so difficult to explain. He didn’t understand it himself, but he knew he trusted it.

  For a boy who chose not to speak, the Shift was just one more addition to the War Chest of Oddities.

  And the Chest was close to overflowing.

  Chapter 14

  Fergus

  Fergus opened his eyes to late morning sun filtering in through the cabin’s solitary window. A boy sat motionless beside him, staring.

  Harlan pressed a finger to his lips.

  Fortunately for them both, Fergus’s squeal reflex had been successfully squelched after millennia of silently overcoming squeal-inducing situations. Skeeter lay on his bunk, emitting the chainsaw snores of the tired and the elderly.

  Harlan handed him a note, then motioned toward the door. Fergus nodded, pulled on his boots, and followed the boy outside.

  The scintillating aroma of smoked pork drew his attention toward the kitchen house, but only for a second. He ignored the rumblings of his belly and turned his focus to the boy, then the note.

  “Shall I read it here?” They stood just outside Skeeter’s cabin. People were on the move, performing various chores, paying them not one iota of attention.

  Harlan shook his head, took Fergus’s elbow, and guided him to the front steps of the rickety school building, away from the center of activity. Serena Jo had canceled classes; nobody could concentrate on learning or teaching while there was a murderer in their midst. They sat side by side on the warped pine planks. Fergus opened the folded note and began to read.

  He could feel the golden eyes — eyes that so resembled those of the mother and the sister — upon him. He scanned the note, and read again. Then he went back over it slowly and mindfully, fully digesting every word. Finally, he folded the note and stuck it in his pocket.

  Without looking at the boy, he said, “There are some very special people left in the world these days. I’ve met a lot of them. You’re one of them.”

  He sensed Harlan nodding beside him.

  “I bet you’ve always felt different from other kids. From other people.”

  Another nod. More vigorous this time.

  �
�I’m sure your mother and sister know you’re special. They’re special too, but not in the same way. You know that thing that your grandfather does? How sometimes he seems to hear people’s thoughts?”

  A slow nod.

  “Can you do that?”

  Harlan hesitated, then gave a shoulder shrug.

  “I bet you can a little. Maybe it sounds confusing, like a television commercial from two rooms away.”

  Another nod.

  “When your sister makes you swear a blood oath, whose cut heals the fastest?”

  Harlan grinned and pointed at his chest.

  “I know this next question will sound strange, but I’m going to ask it anyway. I need you to keep it just between the two of us. Can you promise me that?”

  He faced the boy now, projecting his own inherent decency and goodness. This kind of conversation would — and should — put a child on high alert if that child had been properly educated about stranger-danger.

  Harlan gave him another slow nod.

  “Have you ever touched a person, or perhaps even a pet or animal, that was sickly or injured, and afterward that person or animal got better right away?”

  Enhanced langthal was the Holy Grail of talents, prized by The Ancient Ones more than any other. It had taken tens of thousands of years for the Cthor to genetically engineer the trait — the ability to self-heal rapidly and also to heal other living creatures. If Harlan possessed enhanced lanthal, like Jessie in Kansas, Fergus would have no choice but to recruit him and take him to Cthor-Vangt, away from his home and family.

  Harlan merely gave him a noncommittal shrug. Probably just as well.

  “Okay. Back to the astral dreaming. Even though it’s not commonplace, others do it too. I’ve experienced it myself on a few occasions. Quite pleasant, isn’t it?”

  A giant grin and a vigorous nod.

  “Do you think you could make it happen rather than waiting for it?”

  A shrug of the narrow shoulders.

  “Will you try?”

  Yes.

  “Can you tell me where you saw the Witchy Lady?”