by Ann Charles
Doc walked to the sink and peered out the window. “There are footprints in the snow.” Before I had a chance to fully register his words, he stepped out the back door, closing it behind him.
Layne and I looked at each other with matching lined brows.
“Where’s he going?” Layne asked.
I wasn’t going to wait around for Doc to return and tell me. I grabbed my cell phone from the kitchen counter. “Layne, go upstairs and make sure Addy is okay, and then stay up there until I call and give you the all clear.” I handed him Aunt Zoe’s cordless phone.
“Where are you going?”
Grabbing Aunt Zoe’s work coat hanging inside the laundry room, I slipped my arms into the sleeves. “To help Doc find Aunt Zoe.” I snatched a set of house keys from the rack next to the fridge. “Lock the door behind me.”
“But … but … I don’t want you to go out there.”
I kneeled in front of him. “I’ll be okay. Doc will protect me.”
His cheeks darkened. “But I’m supposed to protect you.”
Now was not the time to get into this. I kissed him on the cheek. “I know you are. Right now I need you to protect your sister for me while I help Doc find Aunt Zoe.”
Layne shot another frown toward the back door, and then he nodded. “Okay, but you better call me as soon as you find her.”
“I promise.” I walked out into the freezing morning air, waiting until Layne had flicked the deadbolt before joining Doc, who was standing at the bottom of the porch steps. He’d slipped his boots on at some point between my bedroom and the kitchen. Smart guy. I only had my slippers, which wouldn’t do much good if we had to trek up to Mount Moriah cemetery.
“Where do you think she went?” I asked him.
“Her workshop.” He pointed out the footprints leading to the door. “The question is, who’s in there with her?”
“What makes you think someone else is in there?”
“There are tracks coming from the side gate.”
I tried to see the tracks, but the sun was reflecting off the snow, blinding me. Were they Reid’s? Or maybe Dominick’s?
“I don’t see any blood in the snow,” I said, unsure if that was a good thing or not.
“Me neither.”
The door to the workshop opened and Aunt Zoe leaned out, waving for us to come inside. She turned back, leaving the door ajar.
“Something isn’t quite right here,” Doc said, not moving.
I agreed. Her wave had seemed stiff.
“We might as well find out what’s going on in there.” I tried to see inside the window, but the snow’s reflection lit the glass. “Whoever is with her knows we’re here.”
“Do me a favor, Killer.” Doc took my hand. His fingers were cold. “Let me lead this time.”
“Be my guest.” I followed him through the snow across the backyard, retracing Aunt Zoe’s tracks. Once inside, I stomped the snow off my slippers and closed the door behind me.
I looked around her workshop. Her glass cutting tools, paddles, and blocks were hanging on the pegboard, the old radio she kept high on the shelf was playing the Allman Brothers Band’s “Midnight Rider,” the scent of cinnamon from her plug-in air freshener spiced up the air. Everything seemed normal, so why were my hands and fingers tingling? Maybe it was nerves, but something didn’t feel quite right in my bones.
I walked over to Aunt Zoe, who sat tall and stiff at her worktable. Her shotgun lay on the table in front of her.
“We heard a gunshot.”
She grimaced. “I slipped on the porch step and accidentally pulled the trigger before I caught myself.”
“Why did you have your gun?” Doc asked.
“I saw someone.”
“Who?” I pressed. “If Masterson is bugging you again, I’m going to find that slick bastard and—” And what? That guy could bust through brick walls. Short of pulling out his nose hairs one by one, I wasn’t sure what I could do to hurt him.
“It wasn’t Dominick.” Aunt Zoe pointed her thumb behind her.
Mr. Black stepped out from the back room.
I squawked, taking a card from Elvis’s deck. Stumbling backward, I collided with Doc. He steadied me, holding onto my shoulders even after I had my footing.
The dang juggernaut always brought out the chicken in me upon first sight. It wasn’t so much his extra-tall stature that made my knees wobble after the initial shock wore off. It was the similarity to another of his kind whom I’d battled twice and barely scraped by with my life both times.
Mr. Black’s thick tufts of white hair contrasted sharply with his black coat, which hid his tall lanky frame. His high cheekbones looked more prominent today, his eyes sunken—not as bulbous. But his skin was still as pale as Layne’s snowman outside in the yard. Had his kind evolved to blend in with the snow? A northern European chameleon?
“You have been busy, Scharfrichter,” he said in clear English, no Slavic accent that I’d heard from others of his sort. I wondered how long he’d practiced to get rid of that telltale sign of his origins. The last time I’d heard his deep voice was over the phone almost a week ago when he’d told me we needed to talk soon about my Timekeeper duties.
“He knows about Slagton,” Aunt Zoe said. “About your kills.”
Already? Jeez Louise. I hadn’t even had time to clean the deads’ ashes out of my pea coat yet. “How?”
“When ein Scharfrichter performs an execution in the middle of the street in the daylight, it is sure to cause a ripple.”
Who was watching? The ghost town had been a … well, a ghost town. Or had it? There were several ramshackle buildings hiding back in the trees near the informant’s place. Did Mr. Black know about the blue-blooded carcass hanging on the front porch, too? Did he have any answers on the whereabouts of Cooper’s informant?
“I couldn’t help it. They attacked in the daylight.” I crossed my arms, my hackles rising. “Is that why you’re here? To tell me I’m screwing up? That I shouldn’t kill while the sun is up?” I should give him Cooper’s phone number. The two of them could form a peanut gallery and holler insults at me, like those cranky old men on The Muppet Show.
Mr. Black spread his hands wide. “Who am I to tell ein Scharfrichter when or how to slay? I mention this only because you have undoubtedly captured the attention of an enemy who will not be pleased to lose two allies.”
I cringed. “Actually, I’ve killed three—another one attacked me in the woodshed the day before yesterday.”
“Three?” His pale lips curved upward. “There will be retaliation for this loss. A battle will ensue.”
Great. Splendid. Shit. He didn’t need to look so happy about it. I shuddered mentally at his ghoulish grin. He reminded me even more of the other juggernaut who’d tried to kill me in my nightmares too many times to count.
“Retaliation by whom?” Doc asked, still holding onto me.
“Their master. These are not simple creatures. They are bred and trained to obey the commands of the leader of the hunt.”
“The leader of the hunt,” Doc repeated under his breath, as if contemplating each word.
“Where is their master?” Aunt Zoe asked.
Mr. Black held up one long finger. He crossed to the door, peered outside through the glass for a moment, and then left the workshop.
Doc walked over to the window, squinting in the brightness. “The hunter,” he said more to himself than Aunt Zoe and me, rubbing his stubble-covered jaw. “How do I know that …?”
Shoot! I’d forgotten to call Layne. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the house phone.
Layne answered on the first ring.
“It’s me,” I said. “Aunt Zoe fired her gun by accident. You and your sister can go downstairs, but stay inside the house for now.”
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Out in Aunt Zoe’s workshop. I’ll be in soon.” I had to go to work this morning. While there wasn’t a big rush to be at Calamity Jane’s si
nce it was a snowy Sunday and I had no appointments, I’d agreed to go in and hold down the fort while Jerry and my co-workers were out of the office. Although Mona had mentioned being in and out throughout the day, so I’d probably see her at some point.
“What aren’t you telling me, Mom?” Sheesh. Layne was beginning to sound like Doc.
“That you need to brush and floss your teeth.”
At Layne’s groan, I hung up and tucked my phone inside my pajamas.
Doc turned from the window. “Zoe, isn’t there an old story about a hunter and its hounds?”
Before she had a chance to respond, Mr. Black returned with a mid-sized wooden crate. He closed the door behind him and placed the crate on the counter in front of Aunt Zoe, standing across the worktable from her.
Shazbot. Not another wooden crate. I joined him at the worktable, waiting to see what was inside this version of Pandora’s box.
My hands and fingers tingled again, as they had when I’d first entered the workshop, yet the sensation was more of a pleasant tickle than something to set my teeth on edge. I sniffed, waiting for the usual punch of nausea that came with being in close proximity of the others. I smelled something akin to licorice—not uncomfortable, merely a subtle yet distinct scent. Where I was unable to get close to Dominick Masterson without upchucking my cookies, Mr. Black caused only a minor reaction. Why the difference? Did it have to do with a level of danger? I was going to need to keep testing to find out.
“Have I passed?” Mr. Black asked, one white eyebrow lifting.
There was no use playing games with him. “For now.” I pointed at the box. “Please tell me this is a big chocolate Santa Claus for my stocking.”
“There is only coal for der Scharfrichter.”
Aunt Zoe chuckled.
I did a double take. “How do you know about receiving coal in Christmas stockings?”
He shrugged. “One does not exist among humans as long as I have and not understand the rituals associated with various calendar dates.”
Doc rounded the table as Mr. Black lifted the lid off the crate, standing across from us next to Aunt Zoe’s chair. “A weapon or a clock?” he asked the juggernaut.
“Both, if used correctly.” Casting a sideways glance at Doc, Mr. Black set the lid down on the table. “Der Scharfrichter has chosen you to mate with, yes?”
My face warmed at the juggernaut’s words. When he phrased it in that way, I felt like a horny monkey being observed by a group of grad students with clipboards.
Doc shot me a grin. “That’s one way of putting it.” His focus dipped to the black velvet material filling the crate.
“An interesting choice,” Mr. Black said.
He made it sound like I’d had an option when it came to falling for Doc. As if my heart hadn’t leapt into his arms after that first kiss and begged to be carried off into the sunset.
“Why’s that?” Doc asked, his brow tightening.
Wait! Did Mr. Black know about Doc’s ability to trade places with the dead? That he could sniff out ghosts? If so, how had he found out?
“You see what most cannot,” Mr. Black said matter-of-factly while reaching into the box. “Ein Orakel is a rare gem coveted by many who crave power.”
Orakel? Was that the same thing as an “oracle” in English? Like the high priests and priestesses in the ancient times sought out by leaders for advice and prophecy? Or more like the mediums in movies, who could bend spoons and read minds?
“Selecting ein Orakel to guide her through the other realms was wise beyond her experience.”
Wise? I looked Doc up and down. Dark hair, sexy eyes, thermal hooded shirt, faded jeans, and boots. Even fresh out of bed he looked like the cover model for a magazine about rugged woodsmen, whereas my morning guise leaned more toward the loony old hag who lived under a dead tree and had pieces of forest flotsam stuck in her hair. Mr. Black had it wrong. There hadn’t been much wisdom involved on my part when it came to Doc, let alone any conscious “selecting” going on in my head.
The juggernaut drew back the black fabric. “But seeing is not your only gift, is it?”
Doc glanced at me, his expression guarded.
I looked back and forth between Mr. Black and the man with whom I shared a bed. What did Mr. Black mean? Did Doc have some other ability that I didn’t know about yet?
“What have you heard?” Doc asked Mr. Black.
“Nothing yet, but time will shed light on even the deepest shadows. It always does.”
“What makes you think Doc has other gifts?” Aunt Zoe asked, rising from her chair. She leaned her shotgun against the side of the table.
“I do not think, I know,” Mr. Black said, still eyeing Doc. “He was near der Scharfrichter when she executed the other Timekeeper. I could feel him.”
What? Doc wasn’t in Ms. Wolff’s apartment that night, only Cooper and me.
Then again, when I’d initially “woken” during the séance, before I’d tiptoed down the attic stairs, only Cornelius had been in the room with me. Both Doc and Cooper were absent. I’d run into Cooper a short time later in Ms. Wolff’s apartment because he’d been following me in real time. Doc, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found. Yet he’d been able to pull Cooper out of the time loop I’d been caught in until Ms. Wolff’s death.
“His kind are rare,” Mr. Black’s voice pulled me back to the present. “And they are quite ancient. A primeval lineage left over from a rather dark period of time when tyrants reigned with unchecked violence.”
“How do you know his ‘kind’ by sight alone?” Aunt Zoe asked, staring at Doc as if he’d just stepped off the stagecoach in a remote desert town.
“They have evolved to blend in seamlessly with humans, but I interacted with one many years ago. Different beings, such as this one,” he indicated toward Doc, “have distinct, telltale characteristics. Sight is not the only means of identification. Some features cannot be muted, not even after generations of crossbreeding with humans.” Mr. Black blinked, his pupils morphing into black snake-like slits. He leaned over the table toward Doc. The juggernaut’s nose protruded as he sniffed several times, growing snout-like for a moment before sinking back into his face. “They have a unique scent when their mate is near, especially when they perceive the presence of a threat. It is one of their few weaknesses, but this is obvious only to those who have familiarity with their kind.”
I thought back to the night in the basement of the old Opera House when Dominick had sliced my palm and smelled my blood, and the day Prudence had sniffed my neck. Both had been able to detect by the scent of my skin that I was an Executioner before I even knew what I was. What other signs defined a species besides smell and looks? Was this something Mr. Black could teach me?
“Besides Doc’s ability to see what others cannot,” Aunt Zoe said. “Why is Violet choosing him as her partner an interesting choice?”
“This mating is a rare combination that gives der Scharfrichter an advantage over her enemies. They will expect her strength and fortitude in battle, but the vision of ein Orakel allows her to have advanced information in order to prepare for what is to come.”
But at what cost? I frowned across the table at Doc, who was looking beyond Mr. Black toward the window, his body rigid. His life was even more at risk because of me than I’d thought, damn it. The doom and gloom surrounding me just kept billowing bigger and bigger. What was next? A plague of flesh-eating locusts? An army of Tiffany clones? My evil sister Susan moving in with me?
Without further comment, Mr. Black lifted a clock from the box. It was another Black Forest masterpiece.
Crud. I was hoping for a weapon. I didn’t need more ticking-ticking-ticking to make my belfry even battier, but this clock was silent at the moment.
“Is that from Ms. Wolff’s apartment?” I asked.
Was it from the previous group of missing clocks that had Detective Hawke all shifty-eyed? Or had Mr. Black returned to the apartment lately and grabbed another fr
om the wall? If it were the latter, Hawke was going to be knocking on my door as soon as he returned from his forced leave and had a chance to count clocks.
“Nein. This one has been in my possession for many years.” He looked over at me. “It will alert you when the hunter has returned. With the help of das Orakel, you will have the insight necessary to prepare for retaliation.”
I pulled the clock closer, noting the macabre scenes carved into the wood surrounding the face. It was similar to the other clocks I’d seen. I counted eight mutant griffins on the clock. “Is this accurate?”
“In what way?” Mr. Black asked.
“Are there eight of these cat-bird creatures? Or is the number portrayed here arbitrary?” I was curious since I’d recently killed three of them.
“It is my understanding that there are often eight, not to include the hunter. However, the number in stories have varied, sometimes more, sometimes less.”
Aunt Zoe ran her finger over the carvings. “So, they’re pack hunters?”
“This is so.”
Doc snapped his fingers. “It’s the Wild Hunt.”
“Ja, die wilde Jagd.” Mr. Black’s ghoulish grin was back. “Das Orakel is correct.”
I frowned across at Doc. “What’s the Wild Hunt?”
“It’s an early European myth that tells of a supernatural group of hunters in wild pursuit of their prey,” he explained. “If memory serves me right, the hunters are sometimes described as fairies or elves, varying slightly depending on the culture. Periodically, the tale will describe them as ghosts. The leader of the hunt was usually associated with a god, such as the German god of war, Woden.”
“But that’s a myth,” I said.
“Myth, you say?” Mr. Black chuckled. “I have lived enough to witness historical events woven into myths. Often they are not as fictitious as you might believe.”
“So this hunter and his pack of nasty-ass creatures are chasing down their prey,” I said. “What happens when they catch whatever they are hunting?”
Mr. Black looked at Doc, allowing him to answer.
Doc’s brow creased. “It’s been awhile since I read about this one. The story I remember best recounted that the sight alone of the Wild Hunt in process was a precursor to some horrible event, such as a plague or war. Another version said that seeing the hunters meant death was imminent for the one who witnessed it.”
