Spellbinders Collection

by Molly Cochran

The girls were so young.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Daniel stared at the blank section of stone. It had formed a misty hole like a whirlpool, shadowed, framing faces glowing as if in firelight: Alice, small and round-featured and dark, framed by Ellen and Peggy. He'd smelled smoke, sharp and fragrant of birch and herbs, and their images had wavered in a heat-mirage. He'd chosen his words carefully, with a thought to the monitor camera and probable microphones.

  Now they were gone.

  This wasn't speech forming in his head, the conversation with Ben or Gary through the Dragon's power. He had felt the difference. The Dragon was tight and hot and focused, while this other thing was cool and spread throughout the stone itself. When the brujo had sensed it, tried to grab it and twist it to his use, it had slipped through his fingers like water or the wind.

  Daniel sat and stared at the wall. It stared back at him, coarse pink granite with the faint ripple of tool marks and scattered glints from embedded mica. It felt cold and rough under his hands, and the touch of it made him ache to run his fingers through the warm softness of Mouse's tangled curls. The sense-memory made his eyes sting for a moment. He shivered.

  What was Alice doing? She always had at least three reasons for anything she did. Showing magic to the girls, that would be one of them. Get them used to the fact that strange things happened, that magic happened, that the funny woman who lived in the funny house they used to visit on autumn afternoons was a real, certified witch and could protect them.

  Showing Ellen that her father was still alive, that could be a second reason. He could feel his daughters' reactions through the link. Poor little Mouse had just thought her eyes were playing tricks on her imagination, but Ellie believed.

  But what other reasons did she have? To let him know his daughters were safe, were hidden in the Woman's House and beyond the reach of the brujo's slimy touch? That couldn't be it. She must know that anything she showed Daniel, the brujo would find out. Alice was too devious to give away information so cheaply.

  Women moved to the Haskell House as a last resort. It was the final break, the step that announced everything to the scandal-wagging tongues of small-town life. No woman ever went back to the violent husband, no child to the abusive parents, after she moved in with the Haskell Witch. They all moved on, not back. Was that Alice's message?

  Daniel stood up and started pacing. He glanced at the video camera, at the malevolent red glow of the little light under the lens. He hesitated by the electric heater, stooped down, and plugged it in. He squatted in front of the gray box, warming his hands, smelling the dry reek of dust baking off the glowing coils. Get the watchers used to certain actions; get them to ignore things that proved to be innocent, again and again. The first time he'd unplugged the heater, one of the guards had been inside the door within five seconds.

  The heater made this humming noise, he'd explained. Even with the thermostat turned off, there was this humming whine. It annoyed him. He'd demonstrated, and the guard heard the whine, and nodded, and left Daniel with tacit permission to plug and unplug the unit whenever he damned well pleased.

  After all, a grown man couldn't commit suicide by sticking his fingers into a wall outlet. He'd have to strip the wires bare and grab one lead in each hand to force the current through his chest. That took more time than he'd have, and even then 110-volt household current probably wouldn't kill him.

  No, Alice wasn't telling him he was an abusive father. Moving the girls to the House was a signal. Showing the girls to him was a signal. She wanted him to know how serious the problem was. That and her message through Ben, they said the same thing. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  The brujo must not get the Dragon.

  There was another reason why children, girl children mostly, moved into the Haskell house. They were orphans.

  People died. Stonefort people lived hard, working the woods and waters and rocky fields of a hard land. Down through the centuries, women died in childbed, men disappeared at sea, horses bolted and dragged farmers to their deaths. Children stayed behind, alone, helpless.

  Stonefort had never had a town farm or an orphanage. The Woman took care of waifs and strays, found relatives or other families to take them in, supported them if necessary, guarded their lives and any property coming to them. People who took in a child from the Haskell Witch considered her offer a kind of blessing. Legend spoke of one family that had an orphan child taken back again: They left town, root and branch, after a year of shunning.

  Daniel rubbed his hands in the warmth of the heater. The chill of the stone cell had settled in his belly, and the cold damp musty smell reminded him altogether too much of the family crypt. Alice's message had been for him, not just for the girls. She'd been reminding him that the world thought he was already dead.

  He wrinkled his nose in disgust. He didn't like to think he was a coward. Of course, marriage to Maria was a form of cowardice. He'd done what had to be done, what the family needed. Not what he knew was right. And what had it gotten her? Wealth, yes, and a jump three levels up in the social register of Sunrise County. But Daniel agreed with the Bible: "Better is a dry morsel with quiet, than a house full of feasting with strife."

  Well, she had peace now. Whatever Father Henderson might think, Maria's God knew her death wasn't suicide.

  The door clicked behind his back, deadbolts drawn and latches turned. He'd expected it, expected the grumpy face of the Peruvian brujo. Daniel had no secrets here. He stood up and faced the Inquisition.

  This time Tupash was not alone. Two squat bodyguards followed him into the room, brown impassive men about as wide as they were tall that reminded Daniel of Chinese movie thugs. The brujo shook his head. "You do not seem to take me seriously. Or perhaps you did not love your wife so much, that her death was a problem for you?"

  Daniel winced inside; that cut too close to home. He had nothing to say, so he said nothing.

  "There are perhaps others who are more dear to you? Your daughters, perhaps? Moving them to this witch's House was not wise. All you have done is widened the danger. An innocent woman must now die, an outsider to this test of strength. And I believe she is important to your little village? Irreplaceable?"

  The brujo studied Daniel's silence. "You seem to place great faith in this bruja and her casa. My associates, your neighbors, they have told me tales of her and her line. These women are strong, but they have never faced such a test of power. They protect and heal, but only against nature and normal men. I am not a normal man."

  He paused, considering options. "The house is wood. Something as simple as fire, perhaps? Would you like your daughters to burn to death? A clinging fire like napalm or phosphorus, eating into their young flesh?"

  Again, Daniel felt the vise closing in on his chest, forcing words out of his throat and over his tongue. "That house won't burn. Witch-hunters tried to burn them out, back in Colonial times. Five ministers up from Boston, five graves over in the churchyard, burned themselves to death one at a time. Still true: Thirty, forty years ago, some damn fool tried to firebomb the place because his wife left him. Didn't even kill the grass."

  The brujo tilted his head to one side, considering. "It is kind of you to tell me this. I hate wasting time and effort. So I will set another scene. One small woman and two powerless children, what can they do against men such as these?" He gestured at the bodyguards.

  Daniel swore to himself, wishing he didn't know so damned much about the Haskell house, wishing he hadn't spent so many afternoons climbing apple trees and poking around in dusty attics. He fought to hold his breath, control his tongue, but the brujo just lifted one eyebrow and Daniel's resistance vanished. "Men can't even get inside unless a woman lets them in. Witchcraft. Game we used to play as kids — we'd try to open the doors and windows. You can open them from inside, but from the outside they stick shut. Only a woman can open them from the outside. And we were guests, invited."

  "Very good. You are most kind to tell me
this." Again the brujo sat quietly, pushing his lips out and in as he thought.

  Daniel couldn't even read any irony into the brujo's voice. The man spoke as if he was getting a briefing from a spy or trusted aide.

  "Windows can be broken. So can doors."

  Daniel shook his head, after another brief struggle. "Kids played baseball in the yard, largest open space in the village. Never broke a window. I hit a ball straight at one, once, thought I'd die. The ball curved away."

  "And the doors?"

  "Solid oak, three inches thick. Not just locks — barred on the inside."

  "Very interesting. I would like to talk with this Haskell Woman, study her family and her art. It is a shame. But a woman can enter, you say, someone this Alice knows? Or perhaps something else, something that is not an hombre? Something that is not even human?"

  Daniel's head nodded itself, a traitor. Birds had gotten in, and bats in the attic. One summer there'd been a swarm of bees in one wall, and Aunt Jean had let them stay. She'd given Ben a garter snake that wintered in the cellar, after making him promise to care for it and let it go before fall.

  The brujo studied Daniel's face. "I do not understand why you make this so difficult. I offer you riches and power, and you refuse. You think of suicide. That would be a mistake, compadre. Then you could not stop what happens. My associates tell me that family is everything to Morgans, much more than God or country. Can you desert your family like that? Can you expose them to such danger?"

  The bastard kept trying to shove guilt down Daniel's throat. "Blame the victim," as if he controlled the situation. Daniel's fingers twitched, and he imagined wrapping them around that lying throat and squeezing until guilt or innocence no longer mattered.

  Tupash lifted one eyebrow. "I dislike being so crude. We should be friends, business associates. But you persist in being stupid. Consider these men." The brujo waved at his two bodyguards, standing like chunks of rock to either side.

  "Your Maria found a quiet death, a gentle death. I saw to it myself, that she did not suffer. Your children, that will not be gentle. These men are animals."

  Daniel glanced from one to the other, wondering if they understood English. His question must have flitted across his face, for the brujo nodded.

  "Yes, they understand. They believe I have just complimented them. It is a macho thing." One of the bodyguards smiled faintly and nodded. The other remained impassive and watchful.

  "I have need of good men," the brujo continued. "I need you and your dead brother, and other members of your clan. But I also need bad men, and these men are very bad. They enjoy causing pain. And I believe they like little girls. What are your daughters? Eight years old, and twelve? Twelve is a little old for Jago's taste, but I'm sure he'll do the best he can. I believe that they could make the pain last for a week or more, before death comes to set your children free."

  "I. Can't. Give. You. The. Dragon." Daniel had to force the words past his teeth, past his rage and fear.

  "On the contrary. You cannot keep me from taking it. All you can control is the things I do to get it. Think about your daughters, so young and sweet and innocent. Think about this animal on my right, the one who so enjoys small girls. He likes to take them in the rear. The normal orifice he reserves for other things. When they finally stop moving, he kills them. Can you condemn your daughters to such treatment?"

  Daniel spun on his left foot and kicked at the bastard's knee. He thought he'd moved fast, he thought he didn't telegraph the attack, but the nearest bodyguard simply turned and scooped the kick out of the air with one hand, lifting and pulling until he stole Daniel's balance. Daniel landed in a break-fall, curling and rolling, but the other bodyguard took one short step and planted a kick in his belly as he came to a crouch. Daniel collapsed back to the stone floor, curled around pain and empty lungs.

  He lay there, gasping, waiting for more kicks. They didn't come. He finally uncurled enough to look up at the brujo.

  "These men may be animals, but they are skilled animals. They are very good at what they do. All of my men are very good at what they do. That is why I wish you to join us." He turned towards the door, then turned back with a gesture to his bodyguards, inviting them to feast. "Do not break anything. He must be able to speak, to hear, to see at least with one eye. No permanent damage: He is valuable to me."

  The animal on the left nodded, as if he was in charge. Daniel tried to roll away, but the other one moved faster, kicking to his back. Fire lanced through his kidney, and he flopped back to the floor. Other blows — kicks and punches and stiff-fingered jabs — probed nerve points and muscles. They struck slowly, scientifically, allowing him to feel each strike, allowing pain to ebb and flow instead of numbing him with a deluge. Each time he clawed back to control of his body, they struck again.

  He started to fade, welcoming the darkness. The blows stopped. The two men stood over him, studying him, weighing how much he could take. They hadn't broken a sweat — even their hair looked smooth and fresh from the comb. The leader tilted his head to one side and lifted his right foot.

  Daniel cringed away, into the other man's toe. The blow lifted under his armpit, sending sparks down to his fingertips and leaving the tingle of numbness behind. He flopped forward, into another kick that punched in just under his ribs and stunned his diaphragm. He curled around the fire again, gasping for air. Something blurry formed in front of his eyes, a face seen through tears. The face nodded — detached, cool, scientific. It withdrew and vanished. Daniel heard the door click and slam, distantly noted the rattle of the bolts.

  He lay on the cold stone, coarse grit biting into his cheek. His ragged gasps slowed and deepened, finally bringing air into his tortured lungs. The fire of the blows died to embers. Feeling oozed back into his right hand, with the pins and needles of returning circulation. He concentrated on that, on wiggling his fingers and flexing his elbow. By focusing on that, he could force the rest of the pain down into a dull ache.

  He straightened out, uncurling and sagging onto his back. Feet worked. Knees worked. Hips, shoulders, elbows, neck — all the pieces worked. The animals had obeyed the brujo's orders. Nothing broken, nothing torn. One tooth felt loose, but he'd had worse before and it had settled back onto its roots. He swallowed blood.

  Peggy. Ellen. Those animals.

  You've got to trust Alice, he reminded himself. The house is strong. The house protects itself, protects the women living in it. Alice is strong.

  But he'd given so much of that strength away. His memory was a traitor. He reached up and clutched the Dragon, the pendant with its crimson tear, drawing power to ease his pain. He could hand that over to the brujo, give the bastard the Dragon's powers. Then Ellen and Peggy would be safe.

  All he had to do was take the pendant off and give it to the man. Ellie would be safe, Mouse would be safe — even Alice would be safe to come after Daniel and make good on her threats. He'd rather face her wrath than have Ellie and Mouse in the hands of those two thugs.

  You've got to trust Alice. You've got to trust the Haskell House. No woman has ever been harmed in that House.

  He forced himself to his knees, still clutching the pendant. It gave him the strength to move. He huddled over the heater, soaking up the warmth it offered to fight off the chills of shock and fear.

  The pendant lay in his hand. He slipped the chain over his head, to free it. The red stone glowed at him, a living thing that felt his mood and read his thoughts. It seemed to approve of them.

  "Our Father, who art in heaven . . . ." Prayer seemed necessary. So many faiths thought you achieved heaven by dying with your prayer on your lips and God in your heart. Into thy hands, O Lord, I commit my spirit. Shema Yisrael, Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One. Allahu Akhbar, God is most great.

  That red stone was Daniel's link with Ben and Gary, the source of treason, the source of salvation. It was a piece of his soul, had been for twenty years. He couldn't imagine life without it. Most likely tha
t wouldn't be a problem.

  He kissed it and tottered to his feet. Spots swam around his head, and he staggered against the wall of his cell. The beating had taken more than the Dragon could give back. He slumped back down again, leaning against the stone, holding on to the metallic conduit connected to the wall outlet.

  Trust Alice. Into Thy hands, Lord . . .

  His left hand unplugged the heater. His right hand wedged the pendant in between the prongs of the plug, with the Tear right in the center. He jammed the plug back into the socket before he could change his mind.

  Electricity flashed, blue against the red fire of the Tear. The silver dragon glowed orange and then white before splashing molten sparks down the wall. The Tear shattered into a thousand fragments.

  The Dragon clutched his heart in her talons.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kate backed her truck up the driveway, set the brake, and switched off. The clunker clunked twice, backfired, and shuddered to a stop. Another day, another twenty-five cents. Before taxes, that is. At least bashing out walls with a sledgehammer and wrecking bar helped take her mind off things.

  She glanced at her watch; she'd put in at least twelve hours actual job time. Nearly eight in the evening, and she'd left the trailer before six that morning. She climbed down from the cab and stretched her aching back. And the arm still worked, too.

  They'd been hauling trash to the landfill all afternoon, a couple of tons of scrap lumber and busted-up sheetrock, and without a dump bed on her truck she'd had to lift every ounce of the damned stuff at least twice. Time for a long, hot shower and another night spent staring at the ceiling, wondering.

  Maybe Jackie had come back. Maybe Alice had left a message. Kate wasn't sure which mystery troubled her more. Jackie had never been gone this long before — two days was her max, before she ran out of money and her friends' mothers got tired of feeding that gaping mouth. Alice, now, Alice wasn't answering her phone or pager, and that was something new. The hospital said she was on "family emergency leave."