“We’re the Prince of Sanheim,” Quinn said, still holding Kate tight.
“It’s just a legend,” Tim said dully.
“No, it’s not,” Quinn said. “You just didn’t want to believe it. But you knew things were wrong. You’re a good reporter. You can try to kid yourself that the Headless Horseman is just someone dressing up in a suit, but you must know that a wild animal didn’t kill Summer Mandaville. If you knew about Maggie, then you also knew what she told the police—that the Horseman rescued her from something else, something worse. No, Tim, you didn’t think it was just a legend. You came here because you wanted the truth. The question is: what are you going to do now that you know?”
Tim stood there with his eyes on the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he said and gestured toward Kate. “I didn’t mean to…”
“I know,” Quinn said.
Tim turned toward the door.
“One thing,” Quinn said. “You wanted to know why we haven’t told the police? You know that already too. There’s something worse out there, Tim. If the police showed up, they wouldn’t be able to stop it. There would be a massacre. Dozens of cops would be dead. What we’re facing could make Lord Halloween look like child’s play. If we don’t find a way to beat them, a lot of innocent people are going to die. We might need your help.”
Tim nodded, gave Kate an agonized look, and left.
Quinn didn’t bother to watch him go. Instead, he just pulled Kate even closer and held her as she cried.
Chapter 26
October 21, 2007
No matter what Quinn did, he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was falling apart. He felt melodramatic thinking that way, but it was still true. In the days since his arrest, he and Kate had tried to pretend the situation was under control. But Kate’s encounter with Sawyer and then Tim had left her badly damaged. Quinn wasn’t sure how he could help.
“I’m not something you can fix,” she said one morning as he brooded over it. “You just need to let me sort it out.”
The problem was that they were running out of time. Sawyer’s deadline had come and gone the night before without a word. Which meant that Sawyer and Elyssa were officially their enemies and whatever plan they were hatching was most likely already in play.
Quinn liked to think that Kate’s appearance had thrown them. Her ability to turn insubstantial—in effect, become a ghost—must be unique. The police had taken his Prince of Sanheim books, but Quinn had found no mention of anyone with similar abilities. Quinn was formidable as the Headless Horseman, but somehow he felt sure they would have a strategy for him. What it was, he couldn’t guess.
Quinn had started digging up everything he could on Sawyer, looking for any unexplained events over the past century that would give them a clue to his cennad. His search had included paranormal websites, online newspaper archives and even microfiche clippings he had printed out at the library. What he found was disturbing, but not exactly illuminating.
Try as he might, Quinn had found nothing from the 1970s, when he estimated the last Prince of Sanheim had arisen. Maybe the problem was that he had too much information available. It was hard to isolate one strange event when there were so many to choose from. He pored over websites about paranormal activity and pulled up at least two dozen possibilities.
Quinn had narrowed his search around fire. Sawyer had been very clear that he planned to burn Loudoun to the ground. Quinn didn’t think the word choice was accidental. But he found a multitude of cases of mysterious fires, some believed to be the work of arsonists and others never fully explained. But even focusing just on Great Britain was no help. There was the great Manchester fire of 1974 and a rash of arsons in 1978 in Devonshire, among many others. But none of that told Quinn what he wanted to know.
He had better luck in the late 1930s. Of all the newspapers and forum postings he read about supernatural events, the most likely candidate to fit with Sawyer was the destruction of the small town of Crail, Scotland, in 1940.
There was no obvious reason Crail should have been destroyed. It was a tiny, remote fishing village of maybe 5,000 people. Other than the fire that engulfed it, it was on the map mostly because it was near St. Andrews, the former religious capital of Scotland and later the birthplace of golf.
There were no records of the fire that destroyed the town. Newspapers at the time referred to it only as “The Great Conflagration” and speculated it had been caused by a freak lightning strike.
But Quinn knew better. He had found references to an occultist named Aiden Jackson, who had started a new “church” in Crail. On two websites dedicated to tales of the occult, Jackson was described as having “extraordinary powers” that were at their height “near October 31.” Strangely, the sites never noted that the date was Halloween. Instead, they focused on his bride, a woman of “ethereal beauty,” who claimed to have powers over the tides. The “church” put out advertisements claiming great benefits to all who joined. It wasn’t hard for Quinn to read between the lines: the two were seeking moidin to join them.
But they didn’t have long. The earliest mention of them in the newspapers was in 1938. It must have taken Sawyer and Elyssa two years to find them, Quinn surmised. On October 31, 1940, the town of Crail was virtually wiped off the map by the fire. Only a few hundred survived—and no mention of Jackson or his wife were ever made again. Eventually, citizens rebuilt the town, but it was still rumored to be haunted. According to one forum post, local boys still dare each other to go to a ruin near the seaside on Halloween night. Some swear they can still hear the sound of people screaming.
Quinn had made this discovery only yesterday. He was so excited, he immediately shared it with Kate, who was lost in her own thoughts. Now he wished he hadn’t.
The story of Crail now dominated her thoughts, driving her even deeper into despair.
Quinn had tried to emphasize her progress: Kate now understood how she could transform, or at least had a better sense of it. When Tim fired the gun, it hadn’t touched her. When Elyssa attacked, she went right through her. Kate was shaping up to be a formidable adversary.
But it was no use convincing Kate of that. The vision of herself as Kyle Thompson was overpowering and debilitating. She was paralyzed by the fear that she would become him. When Quinn told her about Crail, in her mind’s eye, she saw flames covering Leesburg—as she looked on, helpless.
Quinn watched her sitting on the couch, stewing. She wasn’t reading anything, wasn’t helping in the research. She was just frozen.
“Okay, this has to stop,” he said finally.
Kate looked at him.
“Please tell me how,” she said. “I know what you want me to do, but I can’t do it. I won’t go back to a graveyard. I can’t embrace what I am anymore. If I thought it was still a possibility, I would ask to surrender to Sawyer.”
“He really got to you,” Quinn said quietly.
She didn’t ask who he was talking about.
“You have no idea,” she said. “It was like he took over. I wanted to stop, wanted to turn back into myself, but I couldn’t. What happens if I try to use my abilities again and he takes over?”
“It was a one-time event, honey,” Quinn replied. “I sensed your mind. You were turning into Lord Halloween to make a point to Tim. You won’t use that form again.”
“That’s not the point and you know it,” she said. “The form dictated everything about me. In becoming Kyle… I was him, if only for a moment. When I became my mom last year, I didn’t really think about it. But this was different.”
“I—of all people—understand,” Quinn said. “When I’m the Horseman, I’m not sure who’s in charge anymore. And it scares me still.”
“And yet you… you seem to have brought some nobility to that lost soldier, Quinn,” she said. “Your thoughts are different when you transform. But the way you helped Maggie in Leesburg, and the ghost in the cemetery. Those were acts of kindness, or at least mercy. I don�
�t think the Headless Horseman is normally capable of such things. I think instead of him infecting you, it’s the other way around. Your sense of decency and honor still exist in him.”
“It will be the same for you,” Quinn said. “When you find the form you were meant to take, it will be the same.”
“Did you sense decency and honor when I was Kyle?” she asked. “Because I sure as hell didn’t.”
Quinn looked at her in frustration. He was out of things to say, some way to make it right. He had exactly one idea left.
“Come on,” he said, standing up and grabbing his coat from the front closet. He tossed her a jacket.
“Where are we going?”
Quinn looked at her solemnly.
“Something I should have tried days ago,” he said. “We are going to seek out the most powerful force in the universe.”
*****
Kate stared at the sign when they parked.
“Cold Stone Creamery?” Kate said as she raised her eyebrows. “The most powerful force in the universe is ice cream?”
“I don’t know,” Quinn said, shrugging. “But at least it tastes good.”
They walked in and ordered two cups of ice cream. Quinn got his traditional rum raisin, while Kate opted for strawberry. They sat outside on tables overlooking the Route 15 bypass.
“I think I know one difference between us,” Quinn said in between mouthfuls.
“I like strawberry and you hate all fruit flavors?” she asked.
“She makes a joke!” Quinn said. “Ladies and gentlemen, Kate Tassel has made a joke.”
“Thank you, thank you,” she said and gave him a mock bow. “I’ll be here all week.”
She smiled. Against her better judgment, she did feel better. Maybe ice cream really was the most powerful force in the universe. For the past three days, she felt like she would never smile again.
“I love you,” she said suddenly. “Very much.”
He leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. His kiss was cool and tasty from the ice cream.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You were saying?”
Quinn leaned back in his chair and looked at the road. He watched the cars go by for a minute before responding.
“I just wonder if we’re thinking about it wrong,” he said. “You said that I seem to control the Horseman more than he controls me. You’re not wrong. But the reason for that is fairly simple. Last year, he tried to kill me. I had to find a way to beat him. When I did, I became him—but it was always clear who came out on top. The Headless Horseman is a tool I use, a part of my identity. But he’s not all of it.
“In your case, the situation is different. For just a moment the other night, I saw someone else. It wasn’t Kyle and it wasn’t you. When the bullet was heading toward you, Kyle disappeared and this other woman was there. She was in white and you could see through her. She was a ghost, I think. Who was she?”
Kate seemed genuinely confused.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she said. But there was a hint of doubt in her eyes.
“I definitely saw her,” Quinn said. “And I think I know who she is. I don’t think Kyle is your true form any more than your mother is. Whoever I glimpsed—that’s your equivalent of the Headless Horseman. She’s your cennad, if you will.”
“I wish I knew who you meant,” Kate said. “I remember the bullet passing through me, but I… I’m not sure how I did that.”
Quinn finished his ice cream and got up to throw away the cup.
“Let’s say this woman is my cennad,” Kate asked when he returned. “What of it? Am I supposed to fight her?”
Quinn paused and thought for a long time.
“In all the literature, there’s always a mention of the man facing his cennad. But I’ve never come across a mention of a woman facing one.”
“If you haven’t noticed, the writers seem deeply uninterested in the woman’s experience,” she replied.
“Yeah, but I think it’s more than that,” he said. “I think it plays out differently for women. Let’s face it: with men, direct is usually the only approach. We physically fight our fears and we either win or lose. With women… your test is more subtle. Didn’t Sanheim say that? Or Crowley?”
Kate shrugged.
“Either way, I’m failing it,” she said.
“Because you’re thinking of it as something you have to conquer,” Quinn said. “You’re thinking about it in my terms. You need to fight something to gain control of it. But what if it’s the opposite for you? What if to truly embrace what you are, you have to surrender to it?”
“Then there’s no deal,” Kate said. “I can’t do that. Even if it means we die. I won’t take the risk of turning out like Kyle.”
“You don’t trust yourself,” he said.
“I don’t trust anyone, including myself,” she said. “You saw me last year. I distrusted everyone. I thought you were Lord Halloween, then Janus. Everyone was a suspect.”
Quinn stood up to go.
“All I’m saying is my fight was physical, but it was ultimately about rationality over fear,” he said. “I had to find the most logical way to confront my worst nightmare and defeat it. But the Prince of Sanheim is two halves of a whole. Your battleground is the flip side of mine. Yours…”
“Is all about emotion,” she finished.
*****
Quinn took the scenic route home, driving down Edward’s Ferry road and then onto Battlefield Parkway. Kate looked at the houses in the subdivisions along the parkway and thought about what Quinn had said.
It wasn’t until they were almost back at Route 15 that she felt it.
“Stop the car,” she said.
Quinn didn’t hesitate, turning right onto the next street.
“What’s up?” he asked.
Kate looked around her. There was nothing out of the ordinary, just a typical suburb. And yet she felt this pull…
“You can keep driving,” she said.
Quinn drove forward. Kate passed more houses, saw a swing set from the street. Yet she felt almost like someone was calling to her.
“Do you know where we are?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s been a while, but…”
The suburb suddenly gave way. One minute they were in a normal subdivision and in the next they were in a parking lot for a local park.
“What’s the date?” Quinn asked.
“It’s Sunday,” Kate replied.
“No, the date,” he repeated.
“October 21. Why?”
Quinn parked the car and got out. Kate felt strange. It was a feeling she couldn’t describe, as if hundreds of people were nearby. Yet she only saw a handful of people around the parking lot and heading down the trail.
She got out of the car and followed Quinn over to several signs. She read the first out loud: “Balls Bluff National Battlefield.”
“There was a battle near Leesburg?” she asked.
She knew there had been plenty of Civil War skirmishes throughout Loudoun County. But she hadn’t known there was one here.
“A small one,” Quinn said. “And look at the date.”
Kate read the sign.
“October 21, 1861,” she said. “Today.”
“Why did you want to come here?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just felt something when we drove nearby. I can’t explain it.”
She tried to share her feelings with him, but it was almost no use. She just felt drawn there for some reason.
“You want to walk on?” he asked.
They hiked up an old section of road that was closed to cars toward the national cemetery.
“What’s the history here?” she asked.
“Not much to it,” Quinn said. “It was the early days of the war. The Confederates had just won the first battle of Bull Run. Some Union scouts in Maryland thought they saw a massive Confederate encampment around these parts. When the Union sent
a force in, they discovered it was actually just a row of trees. While the North was still figuring out what to do—should it withdraw or attack Leesburg—some Confederates discovered them and began firing.”
“The whole thing was an accident?” she asked.
“A very bloody one,” Quinn said.
Most of the area was forested, but near the cemetery was a wide open field, evidently there to give a sense of what the battlefield had looked like. The terrain was uneven, and Kate and Quinn walked uphill to look at some old cannons.
“The whole thing snowballed,” he continued. “Both sides kept reinforcing their own.”
“Who won?” she asked.
“The South,” Quinn replied. “The Union commander was a senator and not very experienced. He positioned his troops badly—had them trapped between the bluff and Confederates shooting at them from higher ground. When the Union retreated, they tried to get across the Potomac River.”
He led her past the cemetery, which was surrounded by a low brick wall. Kate looked inside. She saw a flag and a small circle of graves surrounding it.
“Not that many graves here,” she said. “Did many people die?”
“Hundreds,” Quinn replied. “But very few were buried here.”
They kept walking up a small path to the top of a tall hill. Below Kate the ground dropped off—like a small cliff. Looking down, she could see the river.
“Most of them never made it back across the Potomac,” Quinn said. “The Confederates kept firing and the boats capsized. It took days to find all the dead.”
Kate shivered as she looked down at the river. She could almost see them struggling to swim ashore, the river turning red with blood. She closed her eyes. Why was she here? What strange instinct led her to this place on the anniversary of the battle?
Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles Book 2) Page 26
