by Ann Charles
“I reckon I can come up with a big distraction fer ya,” Harvey said with a snicker.
Cooper glanced from Doc to me. “I packed extra heat. But if the shooting stops, you need to be ready for trouble.”
“I hope you can shoot,” Doc said to Cornelius.
“My ability to discharge a firearm is not the problem with which you need to concern yourself, Oracle.”
“Why’s that?” I asked him.
“If I understand our current situation, what lurks in the darkness is far more dangerous. Firearms will do us no good there.”
I grimaced. He’d hit that nail on the head. “I hope you brought your lucky cannon.”
Cornelius kept an abundance of talismans in his coat pockets, his miniature cannon being one of his favorites.
“On that cheerful note,” Doc said, handing Cornelius the 9mm pistol, grip first. “Violet, grab your war hammer and the crowbar. I’ll get the clock. We need to move fast as soon as we open these doors.”
“Maybe I should go in alone,” I said.
He scoffed. “That extra backbone you lug around is cute as a button, Killer. Now shush up and get out.”
We all moved at once, including Harvey and Cooper, who switched places behind the wheel so Cooper could put more focus on unloading bullets at a rapid rate. I grabbed the ammo can out of the back and handed it to Harvey before he closed the driver’s side door.
“Be careful,” I told him.
Harvey’s eyes twinkled when he grinned back at me. “Don’t ya fret about me, Sparky. Coop and I are gonna have a knee-slappin’ time, aren’t we, boy?”
Cooper grunted in reply.
“You get yer tail feathers in and out of that coyote den, ya hear?” The old coot sobered, patting my cheek. “Don’t be ridin’ any tornados bareback while yer foolin’ around in the dark.”
“Move your ass, Parker.” Cooper pissed on our tender moment while checking the rounds in his Colt .45. “And don’t fuck this up.”
“I love you, too, Coop,” I said and then jogged after Doc and Cornelius, who were waiting under the sagging awning of the old store.
Doc led the way around the side of the building through the snow.
“What are you going to use as a weapon?” I asked him.
“My girlfriend.” He raised his hand in the air, stopping us. After a finger to his lips, he stepped carefully to the corner of the building, peering around the back. After a couple of seconds, he waved for us to join him.
Cornelius nudged me. “Did you bring the candle?” he whispered.
I’d brought two—one made of wax and one made of nitroglycerin. “Yes. Will it help us see in this darkness that Doc is talking about?”
“Not through our eyes.”
Doc gave Cornelius the clock box to hold and then held out his hand to me. “Crowbar.”
I handed it to him, gripping my war hammer with both hands as I searched the thick stand of trees growing on the hillside behind the store. I tried to focus inward, attempting to sense if there was anything out there. Something was blocking me, though, making it hard to hear and smell anything beyond the whisper of the pine trees in the breeze and the musky scent of Cornelius’s aftershave.
Where was everyone? Were the locals all hiding behind barred doors? Or had they left town due to the chimeras? Or were they all dead?
The screech of a rusty nail made me wince and turn.
Doc levered the crowbar between the side of the building and one of the long planks of wood covering the entrance into the back of the store. Another screech filled the air as he popped the board free of another nail.
A familiar gobble-squawk-yip pierced the air up the hillside.
“Doc,” I whispered, tightening my grip on the war hammer.
“I heard it.”
“Hurry.”
“I know.”
Cornelius nudged me aside and grabbed the corner of the board as Doc buried the end of the bar into the crease between the wood and the doorframe further down.
Where was Harvey’s damned distraction?
“On three,” Doc said to Cornelius. “One.”
I set my war hammer down and gripped the edge of the board midway between Doc’s and Cornelius’s hands.
“Two,” Doc said, adjusting the crowbar.
I heard a tree branch crack from up the hillside. Something was coming to see what we were up to.
“Three.”
We tugged as one, ripping the board almost free. It hung by one loose nail overhead yet, giving us enough room to squeeze into the building.
“You guys ready?” Doc asked.
I stepped back, reaching for my war hammer. “Let me—”
KA-BOOM!
An ear-ringing blast echoed through the valley, sending birds squawking into the air. My heart nearly popped out of my chest and flew away with them.
A clump of snow fell to the ground next to me, barely missing my head. Doc yanked me backward and crowded me into the side of the building, shielding me with his body as large sheets of ice and snow slid from the roof and crashed to the ground at our feet.
“What the hell was that?” Doc asked when the snow stopped falling off the roof. He frowned in the direction of the old Plymouth.
“It appears the sky is falling,” Cornelius said, brushing the snow from his one-horned Viking helmet. “Did your chicken warn you of impending doom recently, Violet?”
As a matter of fact, she had gotten her feathers ruffled down in the basement, distracting me from clock-watching with her squawking. It was hard to believe that had only been this morning. “Elvis the soothsayer chicken.” I snorted. I dug my war hammer out from under the snow and ice. “That explosion was Harvey’s distraction,” I told Doc. “He was packing dynamite.”
“No shit,” he said, grinning.
I didn’t mention that I was, too. Doc might not find that as amusing. I pointed my hammer at the loose board. “Are you leading now or am I?”
“I’m leading today, Killer.” He knocked my war hammer aside and squeezed through the opening, his thick coat scraping over the wood and exposed nails.
“You go next,” I told Cornelius, scanning the trees for trouble.
Doc held the board aside as Abe Jr. slid his thin frame through the narrow opening without a hitch. My curves got in the way when it was my turn, snagging my parka on a nail.
“Damn it.” I scowled at the tear in my coat after I tugged free. “I’m going to run out of coats by January at this rate.”
Doc let the board slide over the opening, shutting out the light. He clicked on his flashlight, shining it around a narrow, rectangular room with a ten-foot ceiling. Several broken boards lay scattered about the floor, covered with a thick layer of dust. Rodent droppings peppered the floor trailing in different directions, along with a set of boot prints that belonged to Cornelius heading through the doorway at the other end of the room. Where had he wandered off to?
In one of the corners, a nest of some kind was mounded about a foot high. A local critter appeared to be calling this place home sweet home. My guess was a packrat that liked to collect flotsam from the forest and had no problem pooping where it bedded down.
A broken chair sat crookedly next to a boarded-up window that leaked slivers of light around the edges. Crushed beer cans and broken liquor bottles told tales of drunken parties from long ago. The cold air smelled faintly musty with a mixture of dust, varnish, and urine. The walls muffled the outside world, giving a false sense of safety.
“We need to get moving,” Doc said, grabbing my hand and towing me along behind him.
I trod carefully through the droppings and wooden boards. We stepped through a tall doorway into a much larger room, this one lined with broken-down shelves and an old store counter that ran the length of one wall. The packrats had been busy in here, too, building an even larger mound in an open cupboard door under a row of spiderweb-decorated glass jars.
“How soon until the chimeras figure out we�
��re in here?” I asked.
“That depends on how long Coop and Harvey can keep them busy.” He aimed the light at the top of the stairwell that ran up the side of the room. “We need to go upstairs.”
“Why? What’s up there?”
“The shadow I saw in the window yesterday.”
“Where’d Cornelius go?”
The ceiling creaked overhead.
Doc pointed the light at more boot tracks in the dust, this time on the stairs. “He’s leading the way now.”
We climbed the narrow set of stairs, stepping more gingerly with each creak and groan underfoot. My hands were sweaty by the time we crested the upper floor.
“I hope those hold on the way back down,” Doc said, aiming the beam down a long hallway running perpendicular to the stairs. A light flickered in one of the doorways partway down the hall.
We found Cornelius standing in a square room with no windows, Viking helmet still in place, his flashlight directed into one corner of the ceiling. The clock box lay on the floor at his feet.
What was this? A big closet? There were no shelves on the white plaster walls; no rodent droppings or broken boards either, oddly enough. The floor was dusty, but the room was clear of debris otherwise.
“We need to focus our energy in here,” Cornelius said without looking at us. “It’s the heart of the building.”
I understood why Cornelius chose this room. Something about it felt right. The air was slightly warmer and the walls gave a feeling of security rather than confinement.
“Hold that thought,” Doc said, disappearing into the hallway.
“What are you looking at?” I asked Cornelius, peering up at the corner, seeing nothing. Not even cobwebs. Once again, I had to wonder what this room had been used for, and why neither insects nor rodents desired to make it their home.
“The crown molding.”
“What about it?”
“Whoever did the woodwork in this room was an expert finisher. The seams in the crown molding and the corners are perfect. I could use someone with similar skills at my hotel.”
Doc returned, carrying a couple of pieces of wood. “I just heard Bessie’s barrels sing out along with several shots from Coop’s Colt.” He closed the door behind him and jammed a broken board under the doorknob, wedging it at an angle on the floor. “Things must be getting exciting out there.”
My pulse throbbed in my ears in the cottony silence of the room. I crossed my fingers and toes that Cooper and Harvey were holding their own and it was only exciting, not deadly.
“We need to hurry,” Doc said, echoing my thoughts. “Are you ready, Killer?”
“I guess.”
“What about you, Curion?”
Cornelius nodded. “What’s the plan?”
“All three of us are going in, but you’ll need to stay by her side while I figure out our way through. If Violet slips free of my mental tether, she may need help finding her way back.”
“Back from where?” I asked.
“The dark,” Cornelius answered. “Give me the candle, Violet.”
I reached inside of my coat and plucked out the candle, handing it off and then adjusting the stick of dynamite so that it was now lodged in my inner coat pocket and not my cleavage. “You want the lighter?”
“No.” He broke the candle into three pieces, and then pulled out a pocketknife and sliced the wick holding the pieces together. “We need to share. Here.” He held out a piece of the candle toward me and gave another section to Doc. “I saw this used successfully once in Haiti. It should help us find our way back to one another in the dark.”
I stared down at the piece of candle. “Can’t I just use a flashlight?”
“It doesn’t work that way,” he said, lowering cross-legged onto the floor in the center of the room. When I frowned down at him, he patted the dust-covered wood next to him.
“Where will you be?” I asked Doc.
“With you but not.”
“That’s comforting,” I said sarcastically.
He cupped my face. “I’ll keep an eye out for trouble.”
“What sort of trouble?”
“The kind that hunts Executioners.” He kissed me softly. “Come back to me today, cara mia,” he whispered before stepping back.
“Oui, mon cher.” I dropped onto the floor next to Cornelius.
Doc settled on the floor next to the door, leaning back against the wall. He set his flashlight on the floor, the beam lighting the opposite wall. He pointed at the box next to my knee. “Hold the clock in your lap. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”
I did as told. “Like this?”
“Yes. Don’t forget your war hammer.”
I gripped it in my candle-free hand. “How do we know this is going to work?”
“We don’t,” Cornelius answered. “What’s the code word?”
I glanced his way. “Why do we need a code word?”
“I need to make sure you are you on the other side and nothing is playing tricks on me in the dark.”
Tricks in the dark? Yikes. I hadn’t thought about that. “Monkeybutt?” I threw out.
“Monkeybutt?” Doc repeated, his tone edged with amusement.
“Sure.”
“Monkeybutt it is,” Cornelius said. “Take my hand.” I clasped his palm. His fingers were cold. “Now close your eyes and meet me at the flame.” He began to hum in a steady rhythmic tone, his usual soundtrack for sliding down the rabbit hole into our macabre version of Wonderland.
I stared at Doc. His dark gaze held mine in the dim light. “Don’t go chasing shadows in there, Killer.”
“I’ll try not to. Get Cornelius out if shit starts heading downhill.”
He saluted me and then closed his eyes, his chest rising and lowering visibly as he took several deep breaths.
Following his lead, I closed my eyelids and pictured a candle. Addy’s and Layne’s faces flashed through my thoughts. I squeezed my eyelids tighter, shoving all thoughts of my children away. I didn’t want them anywhere near where I had to go today.
The candle flame in my mind flickered as I focused on it, sinking low until it was nothing more than a tiny flame of blue. One small sigh would blow it out. I hesitated, afraid to give life to the flame, my palms clammy about what was waiting in the darkness beyond. The cuckooing of the clock in my lap grew louder, making it hard to concentrate.
“Violet,” Doc whispered in my ear. “Stay focused.”
Pulling my attention back to the flame, I fed it energy, making it grow taller and brighter, watching it dance in the dark. The cuckooing faded until the only sound was my heartbeat, strong and steady.
I reached out to touch the flame. A pale hand grabbed my arm.
I sucked in a breath and looked up from the flame. Cornelius sat on the other side of the candle from me, his Viking helmet missing.
“What’s the word?” he asked. His cornflower blue eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, reflecting the candle’s flame.
“Monkeybutt.”
He released my wrist. “What took you so long?”
“I was having trouble focusing. Hold this.” I handed him the clock and pushed to my feet.
He stood as well, studying the clock. “The cuckooing must be hindering your channeling abilities.”
“You can hear it?”
“How can I not? It’s incessant.”
Interesting. Was I using some sort of telepathy to relay the sound? Or was it … never mind. We had more important things to do than analyze the hows and whys at the moment.
“Now what do we do?” I asked.
A door opened behind Cornelius, answering my question. Was that a real door or only in my head? I shrugged. It didn’t matter.
“Thanks, Doc,” I whispered and scooped up my war hammer. After one last glance at the steady candle flame, I led the way toward the doorway. My fingers were crossed Doc was already there waiting for us.
* * *
Normally, I avo
ided going into the light. But today it beat freaking out in the dark while I waited for death to come courting.
It took a couple of blinks for my eyes to adjust to the brightness. When they did, I found myself standing in a room full of clocks. Only they weren’t tick-tocking or hanging on the walls. Most were in pieces, spread out on a long workbench littered with clamps, pliers, and tweezers. On the walls, gears and chains of varying lengths and sizes dangled, as well as pendulums and hammers both big and tiny. A large magnifying glass hung from the ceiling on a hinged steel arm, hovering over the cluttered workbench. Several long-legged stools were scattered throughout the room. Three large windows let sunlight stream into the room, while pots full of dead plants lined the sill. The world on the other side of the glass was green and lush, not a flake of snow to be seen.
“What is this place?” I said quietly.
“I have a feeling we’re not in Slagton anymore.” Cornelius set the Wild Hunt clock down on the workbench and walked further into the room.
I chased after him, catching his sleeve. “Don’t go too far,” I said, glancing behind us. “Crud! Did you close the door?”
“I’m no doorman.” He picked up a clock face that had upside-down numbers circling it. “What have we here?”
I returned to the door, twisting the knob. The door wouldn’t budge. I turned the knob harder, tugging. “The sucker is sealed shut,” I told Cornelius. “Like the closet door in Jane’s office.”
He set the clock down and joined me, trying the door as well. “Hmmm, it seems this is where we are meant to be.”
“Or we’re stuck.”
He returned to the bench. “Everything will be okay in the end.”
“What if it’s not?” I followed him. “I’m here to face off with a hunter, remember?”
He shrugged. “If it’s not okay, then it’s not the end, is it?” He moved further down the bench. “Come look at this clock. The woodwork is more intricate than yours.”
I studied the design, looking beyond the two-headed, gangly-armed version of Bigfoot carved in the wood with what appeared to be the body of an elk-like creature in one hand and the creature’s head in the other. Cornelius was right. While there were similarities in the gruesome subject matter, the style was different. It reminded me of something Layne told me about the Maya civilization. How different stone carvers put their own flair into the glyphs they chiseled in the limestone—a distinct artistry visible in the design.
