by Dawn Brown
“Too late.” Her voice creaked like a rusted hinge.
Reece’s gut pulled tight. “Why? Where is he?”
“The round room.” She spoke the last two words on a trembling whisper.
The dread gripping Reece’s chest squeezed tighter, turning his breathing short and shallow. “What is that?”
“Pain,” she whispered, again. “Once you go in, you never come out. Not until he’s done with you.”
“Where is the round room?”
“It’s so dark.” She held out her hand, slender finger shaking badly. “I can only feel the rough, stone walls. They curve. It’s always dark until he comes, but the light is only what he wants to see. It hurts so bad.” Her voice turned high and reedy. A shudder gripped her, and when she spoke next her voice had calmed. “It’s better when it’s dark.”
She wasn’t making sense. She was his best hope for figuring out what happened to Kyle, so he had to make her coherent. “Is the round room here? Somewhere nearby?”
“He didn’t go when he took us the last time. Just me. They needed him right away, and I was the prize. This time, he’s gone to the round room.”
“Kyle?”
She nodded, eyes wide and glassy. Peirs had said he’d been with a woman the night he’d nearly been killed. She must have been murdered, too, and likely by the same culprit.
“Who took you?”
She glanced surreptitiously at the door behind Kyle. “I was his prize for a successful harvest. They let him keep me until he was done.”
“Stephen Paskin?” He asked. “He took you? He has Kyle?”
She shuddered and nodded.
Chapter Eighteen
Reece turned to the door leading into the pub. He wanted to storm in, grab Paskin by the throat and squeeze until he told Reece where he’d taken Kyle. Where the round room was.
He turned to the girl. “Is the room here? In the pub?”
“He takes them where no one can hear. I try to warn people what he is, what he does, but no one listens.” Her brow furrowed and her eyes cleared a little. “Just you.”
Of course, she stayed to warn others. She was a white lady. White ladies are bad omens.
“You don’t have to stay. You can cross over.”
She seemed to consider his words. “He’ll keep taking people. Some for harvest, some for himself.”
“What’s harvest?”
“I don’t know,” she told him, voice lowering to a whisper. “I was his prize.”
He opened his mouth to ask her more, but the door behind him opened and the couple he’d seen earlier stepped out.
Careful to avoid eye contact, the woman drew closer to her husband, while the man frowned at Reece.
“Alright?” the man asked, his perplexed gaze never wavering as if trying to guess just what Reece was doing loitering outside the pub door. Maybe he’d even caught some of Reece’s one-sided conversation. Probably had, if the wife’s refusal to glance his way was any indication.
“Fine, yeah,” Reece muttered, ducking his head.
The wife hurried to their car, but the husband dragged his feet, glancing back at Reece over his shoulder.
Yeah, yeah. Freak. Weirdo. Just get in your car and go. Reece jammed his hands into his pockets. Once their car turned onto the road, he shifted his attention to the dead woman.
“They can’t see me,” she said. “Just you. He wouldn’t want them anyway. They’re too old. The harvest must be strong, and his prize pretty. I used to be pretty.”
“Cross over,” he said, with more urgency this time. God knew what she’d suffered through in the last days of her life. She should at least have peace in death.
She shook her head. “I have to warn people to stay away.”
“No one sees you, anyway.”
“You did.”
For all the good it did him. Kyle was gone. If Reece had spoken to her when he’d first seen her, he might have been able to stop this.
The white glow from a car’s headlamps lit up the trees on the far side of the road just before Eleri’s car pulled into the car park. Reece glanced at the spirit beside him. Convincing her to move on wasn’t going to happen tonight. Not while Stephen Paskin was inside holding court.
“I have to go now,” he said. “Thank you.”
She stared ahead, watching Eleri’s car pull up next to his. “I’m glad you heard me.”
He jogged over to meet the women as they got out of the car. His gaze snagged on Brynn and his heart swelled until his chest felt tight. She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered, “No more splitting up.”
“No more,” he agreed.
When Brynn stepped back, he spotted Eleri glaring at him. “How could you have let him go off on his own?”
Guilt twisted low in his gut and excuses danced on his tongue, but they were weak and she was right. “I’m sorry.”
Eleri raked her fingers through her hair, gaze darting from one end of the car park to the other. “We have to find him. Even if we call Harding—”
“I might have a lead,” Reece said. “I spoke to the woman who had been with Kyle the night he disappeared two years ago.”
“We’ve been looking for her. She was here?” Eleri scanned the car park again. “Where is she now?”
“She’s dead, Eleri.”
* * *
“Dead? How did you…” Eleri’s voice trailed off while she processed everything Reece had just said. His words barely registered amongst the chaos swirling inside her skull. The idea Kyle had been taken, facing God only knew what, had her teetering on the fine edge of panic. If she focused on any one thing for too long, she’d collapse into a blubbering mass of nerves.
“You know I see the dead, hear them.” Reece dragged her from her dark thoughts.
“What did she tell you?”
“Stephen Paskin took them both two years ago, and he has Kyle now.”
Reece’s words caught her like a kick to the stomach, stealing her breath. Stephen Paskin was a sick man, but she’d never suspected him. “It doesn’t make sense. He believes I murdered his son.”
“Maybe your reputation has been a convenient smoke screen for him,” Reece suggested.
She shook her head. “Griffin left, he didn’t die. He and Paskin had a row.”
“The woman said Kyle was the harvest, and that she was Paskin’s prize,” Reece said.
“Harvest?” Eleri’s heart thudded in her chest, remembering the details of everything done to Kyle at The Devil’s Eye. “What does that mean?”
“If Paskin took Kyle, let’s go in there and make him tell us where he is,” Brynn said, taking a step toward the pub.
Reece’s hand shot out and grasped Brynn’s, stopping her. “Kyle’s not in there. The woman said Paskin took him to the round room.” Reece looked at Eleri. “Does that mean anything to you?”
She frowned and shook her head. “It has to be somewhere in the pub. The cellar, maybe?”
“She gave me the impression that Paskin held on to her for a while, that he tortured her before she died. She said no one could hear her. The room would have to be isolated, not in a pub where the man worked and lived with his wife, and people come and go at all hours.”
Tortured? Blood drained from her head in a cold swoosh. What if Kyle was hurt, or already dead?
“How could Paskin have taken Kyle out of the pub without you noticing?” Brynn asked. “I’m sure you would have seen him leave.”
“Paskin and Dylis park their own cars on the far side of the building where their flat is. Reece wouldn’t have seen him pull out onto the road parked here.”
“Okay.” Brynn nodded slowly and took a backward step toward the pub, her hand slipping from Reece’s grip. “I say we go in there and jab sharp things under his fingernails until he tells us where this round room his.”
“I had a similar thought, only it involved me beating the man bloody, but if we do that, police will haul us in. No one will be looking for Kyle
then. I think our best bet is to wait. Paskin will eventually go to wherever he’s keeping Kyle. When he does, we’ll follow.”
“No.” Eleri shook her head. “The last time, there were at least three people at The Devil’s Eye. Just because Paskin’s here doesn’t mean Kyle isn’t in danger. Someone else could be with him, hurting him.” Her voice cracked and she dropped her glassy gaze to the gravel.
Brynn was by her side, grabbing her hand. “He’s going to be fine.”
Reece gripped her shoulder and squeezed gently. Eleri lifted her gaze and met his light eyes.
“We’ll find him. I promise you.”
She swallowed hard and nodded, but didn’t speak. She couldn’t get a word past the knot swelling in her throat. On a deep breath, she pushed down her panic, fear and gratitude.
“We need to go to the police,” Eleri said. “Tell Harding everything that woman said, but tell him I said it. Tell him I’m the one who took Kyle to the round room.”
Brynn whirled on her. “Are you out of your mind?”
“We’ll never find Kyle on our own, not in time. We need the police to be out there looking for him, and this is the only way.”
Reece eyed her, his expression impossible to read. “Are you sure about this? Once we start, we won’t be able to call it back.”
“Reece, no,” Brynn snapped. “We’ll find another way.”
Fear fluttered in Eleri’s throat, but she nodded. “Once word gets out that Kyle’s missing, Harding will come for me, anyway. Might as well try to get some use out of the detective in the meantime.”
“For this to work, you can’t let the cops find you,” Reece said.
“Right.” Her heart thudded double time in her chest. “Try to keep him away from Morehead. Kyle had maps of the village. I’m going to see if I can find where this round room might be.”
Reece fished his mobile out from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Take this and text us on Brynn’s phone if you find anything. We’ll try to keep you posted about where the police are so you can avoid them.”
“I think this is a terrible idea,” Brynn said, mouth tight, her gaze bouncing between them.
In truth, it wasn’t Eleri’s favorite plan, but it was the only one she had. She watched her sister and Reece leave. That pesky knot was back, swelling and making her throat ache. Would this be the last time she saw Brynn as a free woman?
She couldn’t think that far ahead. Finding Kyle was her top priority.
She turned to her car. Maybe she’d be better off on foot. It would take longer, but keeping off the roads would make it more difficult for the police to track her.
With that in mind, she started for the trees and stopped, glancing back at the pub. What if Reece was wrong and Kyle was still inside?
Reece and Brynn could have the detective searching for a round room all over Cragera Bay, but he’d have no reason to search Stephen Paskin’s pub or home.
Eleri stood in the shadows of the trees and stared up at the building. She couldn’t enter through the pub. Stephen and Dylis would toss her out before she could walk both feet across the threshold, but maybe she could find it through their flat.
Tucked in the shelter of the woods, Eleri rounded to the building’s rear. Here the windows were dark, long shadows stretching across the steps leading to the door. With a quick glance around her to be sure she was alone, Eleri hurried from the trees up the steps and pressed the latch on the door. Locked.
Biting her bottom lip, Eleri stepped back and peered at the Tudor building. Maybe she could find a window to pull herself through. The leaded panes were high up on the walls. Even if she could find one unlocked, she couldn’t reach it without something to stand on.
She backed away from the house and peered to the side. A thin line of trees separated the narrow strip of parking from the empty road, though cars rarely parked on this side. Paskin used the gravel lot mainly for deliveries.
Her gaze fell on the double doors over the cellar stairs. She rushed to the opening. An old padlock held the doors closed. She gripped the heavy steal and yanked, but the metal held firm. The lock might have been tarnished and aged, but it was as strong as ever. She ran her hand over the loose, rusted plate, the wood beneath it dry and rotting.
She hurried to her car, flung open the trunk and searching for anything that might pry the metal plate from the wood. The only things inside were the spare tire and a car jack.
Eleri lifted the lever. Would it be thin enough to slip between the plate and the wood? Only one way to find out.
She dashed across the parking lot, knelt next to the doors, slipped under the metal plate and pulled. Screws tore free of the rotted wood in four easy pops.
Yes! Carefully, she lifted the heavy wood door; the hinges creaked loudly in the quiet. Eleri winced and ground her teeth. She descended the short flight of concrete steps, pulling the door closed behind her. Darkness wrapped around her like a shroud, so thick she couldn’t make out anything. Damp mildew filled her nose. Music, voices and thudding footsteps sounded above her.
“Kyle?” she said, barely above a whisper. Stupid. If he were down there, Paskin wouldn’t leave him capable of calling out. Her heart gave a small jolt in her chest. She couldn’t think of him, of the things that might have been done to him, things he might be going through right this moment.
After a few minutes, her eyes adjusted enough to make out darkened shapes in the black. She shuffled across the floor, hand out. She needed a light before she tripped over something and broke her neck.
A loud clunk broke the quiet and yellow light spilled in from the far side of the room. Panic burst inside her like a firework. She darted sideways, stumbling over something in the dark. Her palms slapped against a rough wood wall. Overhead fluorescents flickered to life, casting eerie white light over the cellar and leaving Eleri exposed.
She pushed back from the wall. Not just a wall, she realized, a door. Wood slats held together by two-by-fours created a box-like room in the back corner of the cellar.
Footsteps thudded down stairs toward her. Eleri lifted the latch and slipped inside. Someone moved in the cellar, but Eleri couldn’t see who and she didn’t risk moving closer to the door to peer through the slats and chance being seen. Gaps between the wood on the walls around her were covered by weird patterned wallpaper.
Something tickled the back of her neck. She bit back on the squeal creeping up her throat, reached behind her, and closed her fingers around a thin string dangling from the ceiling. She looked up at a dark bulb and rolled her eyes. Not a giant spider or the hand of death she’d imagined.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs again and the lights went out, followed by the clunk of a door closing.
Eleri let out the breath she’d been holding. Her legs and hands shook badly. Did she really believe she could search the pub and Paskin’s flat without anyone catching her? From her time with Griffin, she knew the door to the cellar opened into the office dividing the pub from the Paskins’ living quarters. If she timed it right, she’d enter the office while both husband and wife were behind the bar, then slip into their flat.
Of course, if she timed it wrong, she was screwed.
With a sigh, she gave the string in her hand a yank. Yellow light filled the box-like room and Eleri’s eyes widened. Her stomach sank to her shoes. The wallpaper was a collage of Polaroid photographs. Dozens of faces—men and women—their gazes bright with fear and desperation.
Eleri pressed her hand to her mouth. What was this?
She heard a faint rattle at the door to the box of horrors and then it swung wide. Stephen Paskin’s monstrous frame filled the opening. A delighted smile stretched across his face.
“I knew it would be you.”
IV
Feathery snowflakes fell from an indigo sky. Despite the icy air, cold sweat coated Kyle’s skin and every step he took over the slick ground turned slower than the last.
A voice in his head screamed for him to turn around
, to go back to his car, back to his hotel in the next village, but he forced his feet forward instead. After all, he’d come here to start the process of moving on just as his brother had said, and facing The Devil’s Eye was his first step. Though, if Tom knew where he was and what he was doing, Kyle was certain his brother would call back every word.
Silence gripped the cold air. Not a sound reached his ears except for his own footsteps on the sloppy ground, as if the woods around him was holding its breath—waiting.
Stumbling footsteps headed his way jerked him from his reverie. His heart lurched, lodging in his throat. A woman staggered between the trees, her gait veering left to right.
Was she drunk? Hurt?
He frowned, watching her stumble and grasp a tree trunk to keep her balance. She leaned against the bark, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her clothes were wet and she didn’t have a coat. His frowned deepened. Or shoes.
He took a step toward the woman then froze, catching sight of her sharp profile. Eleri James. The Witch of Stonecliff.
His insides twisted into knots, a strange mix of fury and awe overwhelming him, holding him frozen where he stood.
She pushed away from the tree and continued past him—obviously unaware he was watching her from a mere ten feet away.
She tripped on something beneath the thin layer of snow and fell forward landing hard, arms splayed out before her.
Here she was, the woman who’d cut his throat and changed him forever. She’d killed the man he was and left this empty husk behind.
His hands itched to curl around the slender column of her throat. One quick twist and he’d snap her neck. She’d be dead, unable to hurt anyone else.
But she hadn’t been alone that night. There’d been others.
Kyle closed the distance between them. Maybe she heard him approaching because she tried to push up on all fours, but her hands slid out from under and she sank into the thin layer of wet snow once more.
