Hidden Salem

by Kay Hooper

  Whenever the forecasters promised “only a dusting” of snow, people in the Appalachian Mountains had learned to be wary and prepared for anything up to a blizzard. The weather could be very strange in the mountains.

  “All this is taking too damned long,” Geneva said in a low voice. She had mostly dealt with her lunch, eating what she’d ordered while all the time gazing with apparent dreaminess out the window. But, of course, intently watching Nellie and Finn Deverell.

  Grayson kept his own voice low. “I know you’re worried about Bethany. So am I. But even with both her father and Bishop vouching for Finn—and one of us should definitely talk to him about that once we’re back at Quantico—she’s the type who has to make up her own mind who she’s going to trust. He’s high up in the militia, and according to the letter from Nellie’s father, he can help her. He can also help us. You found nothing in that house up in the woods, nothing in the Hicks house. And Bishop hasn’t been able to locate the rest of the family yet. Lots of touristy places in Florida. We have no idea where to even start looking for Bethany. The militia is supposed to have eyes and ears everywhere; we need Finn on our side. If nothing else, we need to know what he does about the four bodies found.”

  “We need to know a hell of a lot more than that.” Geneva kept her gaze focused on that distant discussion.

  “Agreed. But it’s like you said. There are undercurrents everywhere in this town, and we don’t have the time to figure it all out on our own.” He grimaced as she glanced at him with lifted brows. “No, I don’t like that any more than you do, but it’s the truth. Bethany is gone, we don’t know where or why; Nellie, if she’s in any way connected to our missings, and we know she is, has something very bad coming at her, probably in the next few days but maybe later today or tonight. We just don’t know enough. We really don’t have the first clue what’s going on here except that people have gone missing and people have died.”

  “That about sums it up,” she muttered.

  “So, we wait long enough to see what Nellie finds out from Finn. We won’t do anybody any good rushing around or sneaking around looking for clues like detectives in a bad novel. Especially when we don’t even know where to start.”

  “She’s been missing for days, Gray.”

  “I know that.”

  “I know you know that.”

  “And I know you know that some investigations get stalled, even early on, and we have to just keep following our noses until they lead us to a break.”

  Geneva looked at him finally, frowning. Her glance swept on, taking in the moderately crowded restaurant where people talked quietly and ate, relaxing on their Saturday afternoon.

  “What do you suppose they’d do if I suddenly stood up and asked if any of them know where Bethany Hicks is?” she wondered as her gaze returned to his.

  “My guess would be mostly blank looks, along with a few militia members making mental notes to report to their superiors.” Or if they really don’t like the question, escorting your ass out of here.

  Geneva glared briefly, clearly getting that, then sighed and this time only glanced out the window before returning her attention to what was left of her lunch. “They’re gonna freeze their asses off out there,” she muttered.

  “I’d guess Finn is acclimated, and Nellie’s bundled up well enough.” Grayson paused. “At least getting in touch with Bishop this morning told us a little more. The likelihood that the fourth body found the other day was reported missing just a little more than a week ago, and that his name was Mark Summers.”

  Grim, she said, “And do you honestly believe that any of the missings will turn up even as remains now? The militia took care of them, and I’m guessing the remains were either buried deep or cremated.”

  “We have to know who’s behind it,” Grayson said. “It can’t be just the militia in general. Finn’s part of that, high up in that, and Bishop vouched for him as being no murderer or one who would cover up crimes. That has to mean there are factions within the militia, or at least one faction under someone’s influence or control and willing to at least dispose of remains—if not murder.”

  “I’m guessing murder,” Geneva said.

  “It takes a hell of a strong control to force someone to murder for you,” Grayson pointed out. “More likely whoever is killing believes they’re doing it for some . . . necessary reason.”

  “Like gaining power? Increasing his own abilities?”

  “For whoever leads them, yes. And since Nellie’s father sent her here under an alias, I’m betting the man is the longtime head of the Cavendish family, her uncle Duncan. As to what he tells those who help him commit the acts . . . We both know there are some insane reasons to be willing to murder someone else. Justifications that will never make sense to most people.”

  “Justifications for killing four people under the age of thirty, probably threatening Nellie with the same fate, and abducting a ten-year-old girl? I want to meet someone who can explain that to me, Gray, I really do.”

  And this time, her voice was beyond grim.

  NINETEEN

  Nellie didn’t look shocked at that, but held on to her expression of polite inquiry. “Sounds like a cult leader,” she said.

  “I think he’s become that,” Finn admitted. “He crossed the line a long time ago.”

  “And you haven’t done anything about that because—?”

  Finn laughed without amusement. “Because he’s managed to do much of what your father tried to stop. He commands the majority of the militia, and the county sheriff is one of his . . . followers. So are most of the town leaders. Except for the Deverells, he has the other families afraid of him. And rightly so.”

  “Why?”

  Coming full circle at last, Finn said, “Fear. Because he murdered your father. And your mother.”

  That did shock her, clearly. “My mother?”

  Finn chose his words carefully. “Nellie, you were only an infant when Thomas confronted his brother. According to my father, there was an actual physical—and psychic—battle for control of the family. I have no idea what that looked like; my father would never tell me. Just that it was ugly, and powerful, and when it was over Duncan was triumphant, that your father had literally burned out the Talent trying to stop him, and that within a week Thomas had taken his wife and infant daughter and left Salem. He never returned.”

  Slowly, Nellie said, “I wasn’t born in Salem.”

  “Yes. You were.”

  “My birth certificate—”

  “Altered. Thomas wanted to cut his family off from Salem. He had no idea Duncan’s reach could extend as far as it did. I’m sure if he had he would have left the state, maybe even the country.”

  “And my mother?” she asked after a moment.

  “I don’t know how he did it, but I’m positive he contacted Sarah and threatened you and your father if she remained with you. Once she was away, with plans to lie low with a friend in another state, I’m just as positive that he had her killed. I don’t have any proof, even Bishop couldn’t find any, but he did find out that she never made it to her friend.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would he care about my mother? If he had already—already defeated my father and driven him from Salem?”

  “Two reasons.” Finn kept his voice quiet. “Because Duncan had discovered he was sterile, that he would not produce a male heir, or any child of his own blood, and he knew that Sarah could still give Thomas a son. And because . . .”

  “Because?” she prompted steadily.

  “Because even though she hadn’t been born to one of the five families, Sarah had her own Talent from her own powerful, long-lived bloodline, Nellie. Among other things, she could influence the weather, even call down a storm. A violent one.”

  Nellie blinked. Just that. Her face was expressionless.

  Finn went on as if
she had asked another question. “I don’t think it was a Talent she wanted, and her control was erratic. My father said one of the worst storms ever to hit Salem hit just after the confrontation between Thomas and Duncan, when Sarah was clearly distraught. Once Thomas took his family and left, there were never any storms that violent again.

  “I don’t know if Duncan was sure it was Sarah, though he probably was, clairvoyance being one of the Cavendish Talents. Duncan was and is also a telepath. So he knew Sarah was a threat to him on two fronts. She could give Thomas a son, and she could fight Duncan directly if she had to. So he threatened you and Thomas; Sarah left, hoping to keep you both safe—and vanished before she could reach safety.”

  “I was a toddler,” Nellie murmured. “I was told she just . . . ran away. Left my father without a word.”

  “Duncan made sure every sign pointed to no more than a runaway wife. Thomas always suspected him, but he could never trace Sarah, and never had proof that Duncan had killed her or had her killed.”

  After a moment, Nellie said, “He stayed in touch with your father.”

  Finn nodded. “They were of an age and had been more like brothers than friends. He stayed in touch. Confided in my father what he believed and feared. And one of those fears was that Duncan would come after you. So . . . Thomas deliberately distanced himself from you. He always had very discreet bodyguards around you, though I’m sure you never noticed them when you were a child.”

  “No. No, I didn’t.”

  “And he never married again, because Sarah was the love of his life and because he wasn’t willing to endanger another wife or another child he might have had from such a marriage.”

  Finn broke the short silence by continuing. “Duncan was, for the next years, busy building his power base here. Recruiting more followers, people who were willing to believe in him. Who believed he was what he claimed: chosen.”

  “A false prophet,” she murmured.

  “Yeah.”

  Nellie turned her head and gazed out almost blindly over the park and the still-frisking dogs some yards away. “You really believe he had my mother killed?”

  “I believe he killed her himself. So did my father and yours. But none of them could ever find a shred of proof. And neither could I. Neither could Bishop.”

  “And my father’s death? It was an accident.”

  “Was it? Why did he lose control for no apparent reason? A safe driver in a safe car he was familiar with? What about all the feathers, Nellie? All the black crow feathers all around that wreck?”

  She glanced over at the fence, where now half a dozen crows watched them with bright eyes, then looked back at Finn. “What are you saying?”

  “Only a Cavendish born can command the crows. Your father could—before that confrontation with Duncan. Though Thomas never forced them; he was kind, interested in them. Sometimes he’d call one or another, and they always came. My father suspected he could actually talk to them, but Thomas would only laugh without confirming that.”

  “Do you believe he could? Talk to them?”

  “Yes. But once he was gone, everything changed. Now Duncan controls them, and . . . rather brutally. He doesn’t ask them to obey him; he forces them to, somehow. And whatever he does to them, I believe it hurts them at the very least. He may well have killed some of them. As examples, if nothing else.” Finn paused, then added, “I imagine they’d much prefer you dealing with them than him.”

  “You’re insane,” she said. Her eyes were wide and without expression. “Nobody can control birds. Crows. Not like that. Not if you’re saying he—he commanded crows to cause my father’s car accident. Years ago and halfway across the state.”

  “I believe he did just that. And I believe that you’re half-convinced yourself.” He heard a distant rumble of thunder and felt his pulse quicken. Both he and Bishop had been right. Nellie had inherited more than just the Cavendish Talents. She had also inherited her mother’s.

  Though there was so much danger if this particular Talent escaped her control . . .

  “You’re insane,” she repeated, then frowned a little as a louder rumble of thunder reached them, adding almost mechanically, “I should call Leo and head back. It’s supposed to snow.”

  “Snow rarely comes with thunder,” Finn said.

  She got to her feet and said, hurriedly now, “It happens. Rare, but more common in the mountains. Thundersnow. I’ve read about it.”

  He bet she had. He bet she’d studied it intensely, trying to understand how she could possibly trigger such storms.

  And control them.

  There was a louder rumble they could actually feel in the ground upon which they stood. The other two pet owners, after glances up at the gray, heavy clouds above, which seemed much more ominous by the moment, were calling their dogs, and Leo was coming toward Nellie, his ears up and eyes fixed on her face.

  Finn, on his feet as well, could feel the dog’s sudden concern, which surprised him. He had never been able to sense any animals—he’d certainly tried with the crows for years—and he had his shields up.

  Nellie bent slightly, pulling a leash from her pocket, and clipped it to Leo’s collar. “I have to get back,” she said.

  Finn looked at the black, skintight gloves she wore and wondered if they could help her at all now. “Nellie, you’re in danger. Duncan is much stronger now as a telepath than he was back then. Stronger in all his Talents. Stronger than Thomas knew before he was killed.”

  She straightened and looked at him. He thought she was a little pale, but still expressionless. “You believe I might end up like one of those bodies nobody’s talking about?”

  “Maybe. Unless you can stop him.” He met her gaze steadily.

  She let out a little breath in what was not a laugh, the air misting in front of her mouth. “If my father couldn’t defeat his brother years ago, when you say he was less powerful, what makes you think I can do it now?”

  “Because you’re stronger than you know. Because I’ll help. And so will your new friends from Bishop’s unit.”

  “He vouched for you. When they reported in earlier.”

  “He said he would, when the time was right. Once you were here, his team was here—”

  “And a little girl had disappeared?”

  For the first time, Finn was honestly shaken. “What?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “No. No, I didn’t know.” His mind was racing, considering and discarding possibilities, none of which he liked. At all.

  “I thought you were high up in the militia.”

  He shook his head slightly. “There are . . . factions. I have a number of people loyal to me. But Duncan’s faction has always been the largest, and always had access to information the rest of us didn’t. Like the bodies. Somehow, they always seem to find those bodies first. And they’ve dealt with them as he ordered them to.”

  “You didn’t find that suspicious?”

  “Of course I did. That and . . . other things. It’s why I got in touch with Bishop.”

  “You really knew nothing about Bethany Hicks disappearing?”

  “All I knew was that her family went on vacation. We were notified to keep an eye on the house. It’s a common request of the militia when a family goes on vacation.” It was his turn to speak almost mechanically.

  Thunder rumbled again, deep and rolling, yet seemingly right overhead. Flurries began to drift downward.

  Control. I need to control this, dammit.

  Nellie glanced up briefly, a slight frown drawing her brows, but her voice was matter-of-fact. “The family certainly went somewhere. But without Bethany. She was taken. Near that house where you held Geneva imprisoned.”

  He didn’t deny or try to defend or explain his own actions, but frowned and said, half under his breath, “He wouldn’t go that far. Surely. He
wouldn’t abduct a child. A child born here in Salem, even if she doesn’t belong to one of the Five.”

  “He has. If he’s the one pulling strings in Salem. If he’s the one behind all this. Then he has. Why would he have done that?”

  Finn hesitated, then shook his head. “If she was in the woods, near anything he wanted to protect, and was discovered there . . . his men in the militia might have grabbed her.”

  “And held her, the way you held Geneva? Or something worse?”

  Finn looked at her, his face grim. “I don’t know,” he said. “I honestly don’t know.”

  * * *

  —

  GENEVA AND GRAYSON stood some distance outside the restaurant, far enough from the entrance not to be heard by people who were going in but mostly coming out and heading for home, eyeing the drifting snowflakes and talking in casual voices belied by their words.

  “In two weeks you haven’t been able to read anyone except a worried little kid and a shaken hunter, or to get anyone to open up to you in the normal way,” Grayson said, and before she could take it as an accusation—as she likely would—he added, “and if you couldn’t do it, I’m sure as hell not likely to. Especially since I haven’t picked up a thing today except from Leo and those damned crows. Which means we really do have to count on Finn for information.”

  “I don’t like having to count on one man I don’t know,” Geneva said. “Especially when he held me captive for days. And this is the oddest case I’ve ever been involved in. People start freaking out when bodies turn up; they just do. It’s human nature. What is wrong with these people?”

  Grayson shifted slightly, moving the strap of his very professional camera—much like the one around Geneva’s neck—a bit higher on his shoulder as he pulled his collar up to cover more of his neck. It was colder than it had been when they’d entered the restaurant.

  “Maybe it has something to do with this energy that’s still increasing, building. Dunno about you, but it’s really making my skin crawl a bit.”