by Kay Hooper
From quite a few people.
It was an oddity in his experience, and it worried him, especially since he’d felt the same thing the day before. He was also aware, especially when he’d been outside, of the energy that appeared to be centered on the town. The few emotions that had slipped in past his walls had been . . . odd. Like actual static on a radio, almost crackling, and that was not how he’d ever sensed emotions.
And either that or something else made him physically uncomfortable, just enough for him to be aware of it. Like a live current occasionally brushing past him. Or a tendril of energy. He grimly shored up his walls, wondering if there were a lot of psychics in Salem—or only a handful of them. Either way, assuming they existed, they were either untaught or badly taught, since they were apparently unable to contain their own energies, or else were using those energies in ways they had never been meant to be used.
Dangerous ways.
It could be either, and until Grayson knew, there wasn’t a thing he could do except guard his own abilities and keep all his normal senses on alert.
He’d killed a couple of hours or so after he’d checked in Thursday morning and unpacked in his room by wandering downstairs and settling in with the air of a tired man, seemingly relaxed in front of a brisk fire in the parlor. He saw few other people, but some he assumed were guests, coming and going. Saw the woman at the front desk seldom leave it, never getting far away for long. He’d remained in the parlor for a while, establishing what he intended to be a habit the people around him would cease to even notice.
Then he’d walked to town, choosing the first restaurant he’d come to in surface idleness to have a late lunch, assuming a pose of just-on-the-edge-of-drowsy weariness. The place had been busy but not crowded, with most patrons, he guessed, townsfolk. He’d done the same thing that evening, choosing a different restaurant and finding it Thursday-night busy.
Both times, the food was good.
Both times, people had seemed casually friendly but left him to himself.
And both times, the undercurrent he’d felt had been wariness.
He hadn’t seen a sign of Geneva. Not in town and not here at the B and B. He hadn’t dared start a search for her.
He had not slept well.
So here he was again, settled in the parlor, the weekend edition of the paper that was published on Friday before him and his entire attitude one of taking things easy and looking at the paper with only idle interest. Without even having to turn his head, he noted the attractive woman with the gleaming black Pit leave with the casual air of someone going out to walk her dog and explore.
By the time he gave in to worry and slipped upstairs and to Geneva’s door, he hadn’t seen another guest that day, even though at least a dozen were registered.
He used his special keycard gadget to get into her room, all the while mentally rehearsing what he would say if she happened to catch him at it.
But not only did Geneva not catch him, a quick look around convinced him she had not, in fact, returned to her room the previous night—assuming that was when she’d last left the place. She had hung out her DO NOT DISTURB sign, which might have meant she’d known she wouldn’t be back last night and didn’t want the maid service to notice. Or it might simply have meant she still disliked strangers cleaning her room when she wasn’t present; when it was time for housekeeping, Geneva’s habit was to make sure she was there while the maid was.
He remembered that about her.
* * *
—
NELLIE DECIDED TO give Leo his walk after she unpacked, so they set out from the B and B while it was still only a bit past early afternoon. She had nothing in mind beyond a little exploring—and possibly a late lunch at one of the restaurants with outdoor seating, because she’d never gotten around to having breakfast that day.
She had dressed for extra warmth before starting out but still felt the chill of the air on her cheeks and, occasionally, the cold bite of a gust of wind even though it wasn’t a particularly windy day.
Leo, being a shorthaired dog, was wearing a blue, fleece-lined hoodie sweatshirt; he hated clothing as a rule and could shred an outfit in less than five minutes if left alone while wearing one, but he condescended in very cold weather. He walked obediently at Nellie’s side on a loose leash, looking around him with a curious and benign gaze.
The few people they encountered on the sidewalk nodded politely to Nellie and took note of her dog without comment, except for one small boy who asked if he could pet the doggie. His mother, rather to Nellie’s surprise, nodded to Nellie and waited with a smile for her to give permission, then laughed when her son kissed Leo between his eyes and then hugged him exuberantly.
“His name is Leo,” Nellie told the boy.
“Leo! I love you, Leo!”
As Leo reciprocated by licking the giggling boy’s face with the usual Pittie enthusiasm, the child’s mother merely said, “He loves animals, and they always love him.”
“Then he has a gift,” Nellie offered with a smile.
“I think so. Come on, Joey, you’ve been outside long enough. It’s too cold for our usual ramble. Say good-bye to Leo. I’m sure you’ll see him again.”
Joey planted two more kisses on Leo’s broad head, then said happily, “Bye, Leo!” and accepted his mother’s hand to continue on their way.
Nellie and Leo continued walking, and it was several minutes later that Nellie wondered why the woman had not introduced herself or asked Nellie’s name. That was more usual in small, friendly towns, she had discovered. She hadn’t been in Salem quite long enough for the local gossip mill to have spread her name around, and people were always curious about strangers, especially when the traditional tourist season hadn’t yet begun.
It bothered Nellie, though only in a vague, nebulous way she couldn’t really put a name to, just like that odd tingling on her skin bothered her.
But she was probably just being paranoid. This was a tourist town, after all, and it was true of tourist towns that lots of people passed through in all seasons to visit without offering their names or learning the names of any of the townsfolk. And her research had told her that there were hardy souls who hiked the Appalachian Trail all year long, hikers who were known to come down off the Trail from time to time to rest or wait out especially bad weather in small towns like Salem.
Probably welcome to have “tourist” dollars off-season.
So why was it bugging her?
And, anyway, none of that explained the faint tingling she was aware off, not so strong that she wanted to rub her skin but just strong enough for her to feel it. She felt it—and then the sensation dimmed a bit, as it had before, and she had the curious image in her mind of something being pushed away, held away.
She passed a sidewalk bench and was not at all surprised to see a crow watching her intently. Oddly, this time, she didn’t feel unnerved by the scrutiny so much as thoughtful.
It was weird. Like something on the tip of her mind she needed to remember.
She pushed the thought away for the moment since they had reached one of the restaurants with a small outdoor seating section. Even on such a cold day, one man was seated with coffee and a newspaper, his back to the occasional gusts of wind, and a young couple sat huddled in coats and enclosed in a visible aura of intense romance, gloved hands locked together on top of the table and blissful faces close.
Nellie chose a table roughly between the other patrons and sat down, relieved when a waitress in jeans and what looked like a parka came out to take her order.
“Excuse the outfit,” she said with a laugh, “but I’d rather look weird than freeze.” She eyed Leo and added, “The manager would probably let you bring him just inside if you want to. I mean, it’s really cold out here today.”
“Thanks, but we’ll be fine.” Nellie studied the single laminated menu for luncht
ime and, mindful of the cold, ordered a bowl of chicken vegetable soup and a sandwich, with coffee. “And could I get a bowl of chicken broth or something like that for my dog?”
“Sure, no problem.” The waitress whisked the menu away. “I’ll be right back.”
Nellie absently stroked Leo as he sat beside her and looked around at as much as she could see of the town from where she was. Very clean, very neat. And no deserted buildings or obviously failing businesses that were visible, at least here on Main. Reasonably busy for a Friday afternoon, with cars passing and people on foot walking briskly.
It wasn’t until her gaze turned in that direction that she realized the bank was no more than half a block away, and that from this angle she could read the rather discreet sign above the discreetly impressive entranceway.
CAVENDISH SAVINGS AND LOAN
It startled her for only a moment, but then she realized it made sense that her father would have continued in some form of the family business after he left Salem. Gone on working in the field he’d known best, finance. Though the company he had founded not long after Nellie was born had a slightly different name—and purpose.
Cavendish Investments Limited.
She was mulling that over, frowning a little, when a brief growl from Leo gave her just a moment’s warning before a man sat down in the chair on the other side of her table.
“Hey, Nellie,” he said pleasantly. “Welcome back to Salem. My name is Finn.”
* * *
—
DUNCAN CAVENDISH COULDN’T remember a time when he hadn’t both hated and feared his younger brother. Others might have called it jealousy, but he had known he was the superior of the two: taller, stronger, faster—and better able to use the Talent.
He had, after all, fought his way through the Barrier far younger than Thomas had, younger than was the custom, and had spent those years in learning to control what he could do.
And adding power.
In the early years he had felt a twinge or two of guilt at the means he used to gain more power, but as time went by he grew far less squeamish. They were only animals, after all.
And the power . . . the power.
It hadn’t helped him father a son by the three wives he had married and divorced in quick succession as each proved barren. Because it wasn’t, of course, his fault that no children were produced, sons or daughters.
Yet Thomas had gotten his young wife pregnant almost as soon as the wedding cake was cut, and even though Duncan had been relieved when the child had proved to be a girl, he’d received a blow only a few months later. One of the Blackwood elders, her Talent the farseeing, had sought him out and told him that Thomas or his daughter would destroy Duncan.
She had been very sure, and she was never wrong.
That was why Duncan had crossed the line in his seeking for more power, committing an act even he had known would damn his soul for all eternity. But that act had granted him the power to face Thomas and literally drag from his younger brother, his blood kin, the Talent Thomas had possessed.
He was not sure, even now, how Thomas had survived that, but he had managed. And he had spirited away his wife and child so quickly that Duncan had, for some time, lost track of them.
By then his own power had grown yet stronger, and he was able to find Sarah Cavendish, who had fled her husband and young daughter for whatever reasons of her own, and his agents had dealt with her.
Thomas and his daughter had been more difficult. Thomas might have lost his Talent, but he was smart and he was careful. He somehow found a way to protect his child as she grew, and managed himself to elude Duncan’s agents until the girl was in college.
Since then . . . Duncan had tried more than once to get at her, without success. He wasn’t sure what protected her, whether Thomas had defied custom and taught his daughter as she grew, at least enough so she was able to protect herself, or whether Sarah had left her daughter some gift meant to be triggered as she grew older.
It infuriated Duncan to not know why all his efforts failed.
Still, he had known she would, at the proper time, return to Salem. All of the blood with Talent returned here, compelled by a calling buried so deeply in their minds they rarely even guessed it might be something placed inside them by powerful other minds, even as the Barrier was placed.
Most came on their own, but Duncan had realized he would have to gain as much power as possible before his niece returned here, and so he had triggered four others of the blood to return early to Salem, using the careful, mysterious lures he had learned worked best.
And they had come.
But . . . none had survived the breaking of the Barrier. He refused to accept the idea that his methods had been too harsh, too hurried; he had needed, and they should have provided him what he needed, what he craved. Greater power. Greater control over his Talents.
He had gained . . . some. He could feel it. Some.
But not enough.
To gain enough, he would have to cross a final line.
To face Nellie and to defeat her, to tear from her all that raw Talent she had been born to possess, he would have to command the ultimate power.
And that came only by the sacrifice of the innocent.
EIGHT
Nellie stared across the table at the blond, blue-eyed man who was probably a couple of years older than she was, and said merely, “Finn who?”
“Deverell.”
Finn Deverell was about six feet tall, she judged, and had the look of an athlete, or at least a man who kept in shape. He had blond hair a little longer than was currently fashionable, and mild blue eyes that Nellie was certain were deceptive.
Despite her father’s letter—or perhaps because of it—Nellie wasn’t about to blindly trust this man or any other. So all she said was, “I don’t believe I invited you to sit down. I’m about to have lunch. I’d rather have it alone.”
Beside her, Leo growled again, undoubtedly alerted by the tension she was trying hard to keep out of her voice.
Finn Deverell glanced at Leo, still smiling faintly. “You can reassure Leo I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.
He must have been near enough to hear me tell the little boy, was all Nellie could think.
“I don’t think I’m going to tell him that,” was what she said. “I don’t, after all, know you.”
He didn’t respond immediately because the waitress returned just then, with a tray holding Nellie’s lunch and a generous bowl of gently steaming chicken broth for Leo. Plus a large cup of coffee for Finn Deverell.
“Hey, Finn,” she said casually as she began unloading the tray.
“Sally. Would you mind reassuring Miss Reed that I’m not an axe murderer?”
She laughed, clearly amused. “He’s okay, Miss Reed. Sort of the unofficial town greeter for tourists.”
Before Nellie could respond to that, wondering in the few seconds allowed to her how he had managed to find out her name, Finn took the large bowl of chicken broth and bent to set it in front of the obviously alert, intently watching Leo.
“Here you go, Leo.”
Nellie waited until Sally had unloaded her tray, grinned at them both impartially, and returned to the warmth of the restaurant, then glanced aside at her dog and said quietly, “It’s okay, Leo.”
He immediately began drinking the warm chicken broth. For many reasons, such as the fact that she traveled with Leo and couldn’t always control her or his surroundings, and so as to avoid danger, Nellie had carefully trained Leo to accept food from no one but her unless she gave him the okay.
Nellie fixed her coffee the way she liked it, then began eating her own soup and sandwich, ignoring Finn Deverell.
If anything, it seemed to amuse him. He drank his coffee and gazed around idly, his appearance and manner those of someone who had just stopped by to chat.
He made a few innocuous comments about the weather (unusually cold), the scenery (gorgeous as always, and he’d be happy to show her some of the most gorgeous), and the amenities to be found in Salem (and he’d be delighted to play tour guide). His voice remained pleasant and calm, his smile unruffled. And it wasn’t until Nellie finished her lunch that his casual friendliness dropped away to reveal something a lot more quietly intense.
She’d been right about those deceptively mild eyes. They could and did turn sharp in the space of a heartbeat. Sharp enough to cut somebody.
“I know what your father told you, Nellie. I know he told you that I could help you. That you could trust me.”
If he knows that . . . he knows who I really am.
“All I know,” she said after a long moment and a deliberate sip of her cooling coffee, “is that a man who trusted most of my upbringing to a paid nanny and various schools, and never showed any interest in my life otherwise, told me I could trust you.”
“You trusted him,” Finn said.
“Did I? He might have been a sperm donor for my mother, but he was never a father to me. So you’ll have to forgive me if I decide to make up my own mind about whether I can or should trust anything he had to say about anyone. Including you.”
“You trusted him,” Finn repeated. “You’re here.”
“I was curious.” Driven. Compelled.
“With your upbringing and the kind of message I’m certain he left for you, it would take a lot more than simple curiosity to bring you to Salem. Especially using an alias.”
And that makes me sound like a criminal.
Message? Did he know about the letter, or merely guess that would be how Thomas Cavendish would have left information when he had died years before it had to be delivered? Or did he know that her father had died?
Nellie said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do.”
