Valerie rolled her eyes. “He just trying to—scare you straight.”
“Good luck with that.”
“You know what I mean. He can’t kidnap you.”
“Do you want to test me?” said Mather. “I could exile you both.”
She took Joey’s hand. “Try it.”
Joey slipped behind Valerie, using her as a shield. He’d never seen this side of her. She seemed taller, more fully upright. Like a tree that’s finally shaken off a heavy snow.
“Do you know who I am?” Mather rose to his full height and looked down his nose at her. “These eyes are royal purple. My family goes back to the beginning of our world. You would be wise to show respect.”
Valerie’s face broke into a mirthful smile to rival the insane Chinese on the wall. “Oh, Gift-Catcher. Don’t you know—who I am?”
Mather inspected her. “Of course. You’re Hadewych’s mistress.”
The smile evaporated. “Who my family is?”
Mather frowned. “The Salem Maules, isn’t it? So you have money. Am I supposed to be impressed?”
She regarded Mather. “Do you know—who the Maule Founder was?”
He shrugged. “No.”
She spoke carefully, with odd emphasis. “We don’t have one.”
Mather faltered. He slipped behind his desk again, as if in need of a shield. “So. You’re one of the…”
“One of the Deep Lines. Yes.”
Now he looked truly worried. “Which?”
“Let’s just say—my family has had—dealings with yours.”
“Which witch?”
Valerie hesitated. She leaned forward, with a look of amusement, as if she couldn’t help herself, and whispered, “Faith-by-God Parris.”
Mather’s worry became terror. “How do you know that name?”
“She was my ancestor.”
“The Maules are her descendants?”
Valerie gave a nod. “I expect your discretion.”
“Of—of course.”
Joey looked back and forth between the two, trying to understand what had happened. Valerie had turned the tables somehow. Mather had become positively… meek.
Valerie raised a palm. “Your family may be old—in the Gifted world, but you’re newcomers—compared to us. My friend and I—will be going now.”
Mather’s jaw clenched. “He’s still a rogue.”
“Has anyone died?”
“No.”
“Then all he is—is a boy who saved lives. You will drop this.”
Mather pressed a fist to his desk. “Yes, ma’am.” He clicked the computer off. His eyes met Joey’s. “Consider this a warning.”
Valerie reached for the doorknob.
“Speaking of family reputation,” Mather said, stopping her. “Your heritage must be a burden. How terrible for you if it became… generally known.”
Valerie’s hand tightened on Joey’s. “Yes, it would be terrible. But not for me.” She made a gesture. Mather’s ebony desk split down the middle, breaking into two pieces. His computer slid to the floor, its screen smashing. The precious jade tea set broke into shards. “Goodbye, Mather.”
Joey contained his curiosity until they were safely outside and tromping down Usher’s driveway, away from the scowling, frenetic hubbub. “What was that about?”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” said Valerie.
“You scared the shit out of him! And that’s impressive, because he’s so full of shit!”
“I had to scare him. So he’d leave you alone. And keep my secret.”
“What secret? What’s a ‘Deep Line’?”
Valerie led him to her parked BMW. She tossed Joey her keys. “If I’m talking, you’re driving.”
Joey’s heart leapt. He slid behind the wheel, his backside immediately appreciative of the deep leather seat. “Oh my God. I’ve never driven a Beamer. How do you turn the headlights on? Oop! Never mind. I’ve got it.”
“Seatbelt,” said Valerie, closing the passenger door. “Let’s get you home.”
Joey started the engine and rolled out of the driveway, praying he wouldn’t grind the gears. They both relaxed as the lights of Usher’s house receded in the rear view. He pointed the car toward Old Sleepy Hollow Road, headed south.
“A Deep Line,” Valerie said, “is a supernatural family—that predates the Great Curse. We have no Founders because—our origins are so ancient. We’re the old witches. The pre-1692 witches.”
“‘Deep’ as in deep in the past.”
“Yes. The most ancient bloodlines.”
“So your family is older than his.”
“Much older.”
“And that scared him?”
“All Modern Gifted—fear the Deep Witches. The Modern can’t do magic—the way the Deep can. They are mostly a—secondary evolution—a product of the Curse. They owe their existence to—ghost attacks and comas.”
“Like I do.”
“No offense. My grandmother calls your kind—the ‘nouveau-witch.’ But the Deep were here—from the start. The conjurers. The haruspex. We resemble the other Gifted—in some ways. We have physical Gifts, as you do. A dirt Gift. A fire Gift. My telekinesis. But we also have—spiritual Gifts. We can work the craft.”
“Lady, if you can ride a broomstick, I will trade you one for this car.”
“She does drive nice.”
“I’m never going back to my Beetle. Is this the turn?”
“I think so.”
They crossed under an interstate and passed into the woods, leaving all streetlights behind.
“I love witchy stuff,” said Joey. “We did The Crucible in sophomore year, you know. Okay. So—only the Deep lines can do real magic?”
“The Deep Lines can—command spirits. That’s all witchcraft is. We cast spells. Ghosts listen. We bind them as servants.”
“You can do all that?”
“In theory. It’s in my blood.”
“So was Mather thinking you’d turn him into a frog?”
“He knows I can’t. I’d need a grimoire.”
“That’s like a spell book?”
“Yes. But they’ve been lost. The Appointed—have them. Under lock and key. Useless to them, but not to us. They dread the day—we’ll recover one. It was the name—that really scared him.”
“Faith-by-God…”
“Faith-by-God Parris. My ancestor. One of the Deep. The most notorious.” She covered her face. “I shouldn’t have told him.”
“Who was she?”
“Our world doesn’t know her—by that name. Only someone with—first-hand knowledge—would know it. As Mather does. As I do. Most people call her—Legion—after the demon that Christ—drove into the pigs.”
“Legion…” said Joey. “I’ve never even heard of her.”
“Promise to keep my secret? I would be—shunned—if people knew.”
“Why? What did Legion do?”
Valerie looked away, out the window, at the passing woods. “She cast the Great Curse.”
Joey was appalled. “Your ancestor?”
“Yes. Only one of the Deep—could have done it. It was a powerful spell—the most profound ever cast. And it’s caused so much death. So much pain. So you can see why people would hate me—if they knew that I was—” She trailed off.
“What’s wrong?”
Valerie raised a finger. An insane ribbon of green graffiti ran the length of a passing retaining wall. “It’s that spell again. I’m seeing it everywhere. It’s in the language of—the grimoires. Only the Deep can—do magic, because only we—can read the language.”
“So… there must be another Deep Witch. Writing spells all over town.”
“Exactly. Another Deep Witch, writing spells—to raise the dead. I think—Agathe has a body. She’s come through somehow.” The wind kicked dead leaves across the windshield, like little hands searching for a way inside. “I’m scared, Joey.”
Joey’s phone rang, and they both jumped. H
e slowed the car and fished the phone from his pocket.
“Hello?”
“Jo-Jo, it’s Mom.”
“Hi, Mom. I’m driving. I can’t—”
“I need you to come to Phelps Memorial. Right now.”
“Why?” Joey whispered, already knowing the answer, already knowing who was to blame. The woods grew ever darker ahead. The painted lines of Sleepy Hollow Road wound into the deep, endlessly receding, and a passing billboard whispered another spell of death.
“They’ve brought your father in. And they say… he might not live.”
Mather sighed and put his feet up on Usher’s desk, thankful that Paul couldn’t see him from Boston. He gripped the phone receiver as if his hand were around Valerie’s throat. “What do you think?”
Paul let out a long whistle. “A descendant of Legion, right under our noses.”
“Do you think she’s a threat?”
“That one? No. She made a mistake by telling you. It gives us leverage over her family. But… if this is true, I wouldn’t cross them unless we’re sure we can take them. Let’s hold that card in case we need it someday. And as far as Valerie goes, I wouldn’t worry. I read her once. Back when she was with Hadewych. She’s a coward. She crumbles under pressure. Just keep an eye on her. Besides, we have bigger problems.”
“Something new?”
“Afraid so. I got a call from Jerry Wollestone today.”
“Boston Gazette?”
“Yeah. He’s been talking to those detectives we hired. Wanted to let me know that he’s breaking a story on Monday. ‘Senate candidate hiding daughter’s disappearance.’”
“Good God.”
“It could sway the whole election. Wood’s up by three.”
“Play the sympathy card.”
“And you know what they’ll say? ‘Why are you in Boston, Usher, when your daughter’s been abducted? Why are you up here kissing babies when your own baby is missing?’ Damn it. What are you doing down there? I need some results.”
“Mind your tone, Paul.”
“Sorry. I’m losing it. I can’t concentrate on winning this election with an outbreak happening in my own back yard, with rogues getting their idiot asses caught on camera. Lock it down!”
“How?”
Usher paused. “You’re not going to like this.”
Mather understood at once. “No.”
“Send out stones.”
“Out of the question. It won’t be approved.”
“Tell the elders what’s at stake. They’ll approve it. And I want this Headless Horseman situation resolved. Stop their investigation. Find a normal to blame the murders on. Serial killer, lunatic, blah blah. Shut down the ghost talk. Find the police a scapegoat.”
“Who?”
“I don’t give a rap. Give them somebody. Anybody. Lock down the Hollow through November fourth. After I win this election, it won’t matter.”
“I’ll call the elders. There’s a time difference.”
“Oh. And… Hadewych.”
“I was about to ask. Have you decided?”
“I warned you that offering him a deal was a mistake. We pushed him, and now those kids are dead.”
“He had to know we’d respond.”
“He’s an arrogant ass. We challenged him, so he’s got to summon the Horseman and show us who’s in charge. It’s time he learned his lesson.”
“I agree.”
“So get a team together. Drag him out of that house—”
“And put a bullet in him?”
“No. We were friends once. I’m feeling generous.” Usher chuckled. “Put fifty.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Coffee and Comic Books”
Valerie looked away. She knew the PAIN CENTER very well. Just as she knew the VOICE AND SWALLOWING DISORDERS, INSTITUTE FOR. The sign spoke of helpless nights, of being strapped down with a respirator tube, her lungs raped against her will, her mind raped with images of her mother—blank-faced, possessed, stabbing with a car key, over and over.
The elevator arrived. Valerie stepped inside, careful not to spill her two Styrofoam cups of coffee. An elderly man in a too-short hospital gown noticed her valve as they rode. His face whispered, “There but for the grace of God go I.”
Valerie noticed the amulet the man wore. A yellow-streaked rabbit’s foot on a chain. This town was going nuts with their silly superstitions.
Everyone knows you wear a snake head for luck.
The elevator opened and she stepped out.
She didn’t know if the Osorios drank coffee, but she needed to be useful. She’d searched the gift shop for some gesture, anything, but when your father or husband lies near death, nothing is more useless than an embroidered pillow that reads:
YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE
BUT IF YOU DO IT RIGHT
ONCE IS ENOUGH
– MAE WEST
Once is enough. Valerie found many meanings in the phrase. She pressed on, pushing away ghosts. Yes. Once is enough.
She found room 340 and knocked. Pat Osorio appeared. “Good morning.” She took the coffee with a smile, and slipped into the hall. Her eyes were bloodshot but calm. “Thank you.”
“I have one—for Joey too.”
“He’s in the chapel,” said Pat, her voice distant.
“How is he?”
“He’s in bad shape. He and Jim had a fight, just yesterday.”
“How’s your husband?”
“Stable.”
“Is it… a coma?”
“No. Brain swelling. It could have been worse. Two men were found dead. One with his head crushed. I don’t know what to think.” She sipped the coffee, blowing to cool it. “How do you know my son?”
“I was the partner—of Jason Crane’s guardian. Joey and I are both… musicians.”
“My poor Jo-Jo. First his friend Jason, and now… He couldn’t take losing his father too.” She squared her shoulders. “Maybe he’ll talk to you? I need to stay with Jim.”
“Of course.”
Pat returned to her husband’s side.
Valerie found the chapel, steeled herself, and went in. Her eyes adjusted to dim light. She faced six pews with cool blue cushions, a non-denominational altar, and Joey, the only occupant, slumped over, staring at the pages of a big red book. He glanced up.
“I don’t like coffee,” he said, his voice flat.
“Is there anything else—”
“No. I’ve got all I need. See? If I get bored I have the Life Application Bible. What more could a gay boy wish for?” He pressed a finger to its onion-skin paper. “I opened at random, and I got this: Isaiah. ‘Do not be afraid. You will not suffer shame. Do not fear despair. You will not be humiliated. You will forget the shame of your youth.’”
Valerie slipped in and wedged her cup into the hymnal rack. “Don’t feel ashamed.”
Joey pressed his forehead to the polished wood. “This is my fault. I cursed him. Twice.” He lifted his chin, and a tear tumbled down his cheek. “He’ll die, right?”
“You don’t know that.”
“Don’t tell me what I know.” Joey ripped his tie off and shoved it into his pocket. “I don’t want to see you right now.”
“What did I do?”
“Nothing. But your ancestor did. It’s kind of hard for me to—How could she curse us like that? Talk about the evilest bitch in the universe. I’m in the closet, and Dad’s dying—all because of her.” He closed the book with a clap.
“She didn’t mean—for this to happen. Sometimes people try—to protect us—and make things worse.” Valerie reached for him.
He shook his head and drew his knees up. “She screwed up the world. My world.”
“Our world.”
“Our world.”
They sat in silence for many minutes. Joey kept a brave face on, but his breathing was irregular.
“I cursed my father too,” Valerie whispered.
Joey sniffed and wiped his face. “Did he d
ie?”
She hesitated. “Yes. And I’ve blamed myself ever since. I wear this—” She drew out her red-gold seashell necklace. “To remind me to be—a good person—and to forgive myself.”
“Do you? Can you?”
“I was a child. I couldn’t help myself. But—no. I’m still trying. We have to try. To forgive our own mistakes. And, yes. Legion started all this. But we should forgive her, too.”
“Hell with that.”
“Come here.” She offered her shoulder. Joey’s resistance failed him and he accepted her embrace. “They burned her at the stake, you know.”
“Good,” he whispered. “Sorry. Not good. Just…”
“Shh. She cast the Curse—as she burned.” Valerie stroked his hair. “I don’t know, Joey. I’ve always found it hard—to blame someone—for something they did—when they’d been set on fire.”
Jason’s palms were on fire. They were glowing again, as they had on the night Tamper died. He sat on his cot and studied them. No little light bulbs. Just a steady white glow. Had his Gift changed, as it had last November, when he’d suddenly developed his ability to heal objects? Valerie had explained it to him. Every time he faced a ghost and survived, he would get a little stronger. Well, he’d survived a ghost attack all right. There could be no doubt about that. He’d probably been in a coma, like Joey had been. Tamper had said his condition had resembled Eliza’s. He realized, now, that Eliza had been struck down by the Horseman and had gone into the coma state. What would her Gift have been, if she’d survived? Oh, if only she’d lived. Then she’d have been immune to the Curse, as all Gifted are, and they could have shared everything—maybe they would have had more adventures together. Jason and his granny, solving supernatural crimes up and down the eastern seaboard. That would have been… amazing.
So. He’d been through the coma state and back out again. “I beat him,” he blurted. That was annoying. What did the coma mean when you were Gifted already? Was he… double-Gifted now? Like double-jointed? He couldn’t get his head around it. Normal plus coma equals Founder. Okay. That he understood. His Founder was Ichabod and he’d inherited Ichabod’s Gift. What happens with Gifted plus coma? Would he get some power unique to him, that represented the essential Jason Crane? And since his parents both had Gifts, did that change the equation? Would his Pyncheon side blossom now? That would be helpful. He’d been trying to call telepathically to Zef, or even Jessica, but all he’d heard so far was… psychic crickets. Oh—and since he had Kate’s energies locked up inside him, did that make him a double-heritage Ichabod-descended Crane/Pyncheon Gifted second-level Founder witch with a dose of Usher prophecy?
SLEEPY HOLLOW: General of the Dead (Jason Crane Book 3) Page 30
