A Desolate Hour

by Mae Clair

  A letter that mentioned Obadiah and something that still induced a chill when she thought of it—a towering winged demon with glowing red eyes.

  * * * *

  Quentin stepped into the lobby of the hotel and shook rain from his hair. The place was open and inviting, with thick braided rugs over a hardwood floor. A large fireplace dominated the far right wall, the left taken up by a row of towering windows with deep sills and built-in seats. Woodwork, floorboards, even the turned staircase with its thick landing newels and deep risers reflected the construction of a bygone era.

  A woman with shoulder-length brown hair stood behind the reception counter. She looked to be close to his age, somewhere in her mid- to late twenties.

  “Hi.” She smiled a friendly greeting.

  “Hi.” Quentin approached the desk and set his duffel bag on the floor. Despite booking his stay open-ended, he’d packed fairly light, hoping to wrap his business within a week. “Checking in. I’m Quentin Marsh.”

  The woman gave him a quick once-over while trying to be unobtrusive. He knew he looked bedraggled, his wavy brown hair plastered to his neck with rain, his jeans faded and worn at the knees. He’d grabbed his most comfortable pair for the drive, knowing he’d be stuck in the car for hours.

  “I see you beat the storm. At least the worst of it.” The woman’s smile stayed in place as she flipped a ledger around for him to sign. “It looks like you’re planning on being with us for a while, Mr. Marsh.”

  “Quentin.” He scribbled his signature where she indicated.

  “Oh my.” Her breath hitched at the sight of deep purple scars road-mapped across the back of his hand.

  He should have been prepared. The accident was over two years old, but the reaction of others still caught him off guard. “It’s all right.” His mouth stretched in a jaded grin. “It’s a normal response.”

  “I’m sorry.” She flushed, clearly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean…”

  “No problem.” He came to her rescue by shoving the offending hand into the pocket of his jeans. “Unfortunate accident. Looks worse than it is.” There was nothing like ending your career with a single careless blunder.

  She fumbled to locate his room key, spots of color bright on her cheeks. “I’m glad you chose the Parrish Hotel for your stay, Mr. Marsh—uh, Quentin.”

  “No problem.” If he’d wanted lodging in Point Pleasant, there wasn’t a choice. The only other hotels were located across the river in Gallipolis, Ohio. “Any thoughts on where I can grab something to eat?” He sought to deflect the awkwardness they were both currently feeling.

  “That’s an easy one.” The question seemed to help her relax. She pointed across the lobby to a hallway tucked beneath the staircase. “If you follow that hall it connects to the River Café here in the hotel.”

  Quentin nodded, following her direction. Wide and imposing, the staircase sheltered a short hallway beneath it. “Looks like this place has been here for a while.”

  “Since the early 1900s.”

  “Amazing. Did you by chance grow up here?” She might know something about the curse of Cornstalk.

  The woman hedged. “I left Point Pleasant after the Silver Bridge fell and only returned last year.”

  He’d been a kid at the time of the catastrophe, but it had made national news—forty-six lives lost when the bridge connecting Point Pleasant and Gallipolis plunged into the Ohio River a few weeks before Christmas in 1967. “Bad memories?” He had more than a few of his own.

  Her gaze dropped to the registration book where he’d scrawled his name with a flourish on the Q. “My father died in the bridge collapse.”

  “I’m sorry.” Idiot. Now it was his turn to feel stupid. “That was thoughtless of me. Of course, I’ve heard of the tragedy.”

  She managed a wan smile. “I guess we both bungled a few things.”

  “Maybe we should start over.” He held out his hand. “I’m Quentin Marsh.”

  She grinned and accepted. “Eve Flynn. And I believe I owe you a key. You’re in room twenty-eight. Second floor, facing front at the end of the hall.”

  Quentin looked at the ornate skeleton key she passed him. “This is an old place.”

  “Part of the charm.”

  He hoisted his duffel bag. “I’m sure I’ll find that’s the case. Right now, I just want to unpack, then grab something to eat.” The drive had been long, and even with a few stops interspersed along the way, he was overly tired and hungry.

  “My cook does a great beer-battered fish sandwich.”

  “So you own the place?” He should have realized. Small town, family-owned hotel.

  She nodded. “It was built by my great-grandfather Clarence in 1922. Flynn is my married name.”

  She’d be a good source of local information with her family history, but right now he couldn’t wrap his head around the curse, or the promise he’d made to his sister. When he wasn’t coming off an eleven-hour drive, he’d think better.

  “Thanks, Eve.” He gave her a parting smile and headed for the stairs. His family had been cursed for centuries. Waiting another day to get to the bottom of that plague wouldn’t matter. And it certainly wouldn’t change his misfortune.

  Chapter 2

  It was dark, pitch black with heavy cloud cover by the time Caden’s shift ended and he made it home. He parked his Capri along the street and killed the ignition. Lights glowed through the front windows of the large house on Pine Creek Avenue. Eve was still up, probably waiting for him. He would have been home earlier if not for a detour to the TNT. Over the last few months she’d gotten used to his forays into the place. Once an ammunitions site during World War II, the area had been reduced to a labyrinth of abandoned weapons igloos, ponds, wetlands, and the crumbling shells of a few old buildings scattered over 3,600 acres of woodlands.

  Or as most people in the area had come to think of it—the home of the Mothman.

  Caden stepped from the car to the smell of wet asphalt and damp grass. They needed the rain. It had been a dry summer, unusual for a town that sat on the confluence of the Ohio and Kanawha Rivers, and had sustained horrible floods through the decades. Old-timers said those floods had been the curse of Cornstalk in play. Maybe the unusual summer was too.

  “Hey.” He smiled as he stepped through the door, catching sight of Eve on the sofa. She sat with her legs tucked to the side, sipping from a cup he guessed held hot tea. Chamomile by the scent. Her face lit up when she saw him. Within seconds she was across the room, arms wrapped around him to bestow a kiss.

  “Missed you.”

  “Missed you, too.” He kissed her back. Their marriage was just over a month old, both still flush with the glow. “Sorry I’m late.” It was hard being away from her, but she understood the pledge that kept drawing him back to the TNT. Thankful to be home, he set his hat aside and un-holstered his gun. All part of the uniform. The bullets came out before he put the weapon in the drawer of an end table by the door. “I took a drive through the TNT.”

  Eve’s eyes grew wide. “Did you see anything?”

  He shook his head. The creature was lying low. Mothman sightings historically played out in spurts, the most recent last fall. There’d been few reports in between. He’d personally encountered the creature once or twice, but for the most part the thing had gone into hiding. Despite the promise he’d made to Indrid Cold, he hoped it stayed that way. Far better the Mothman keep off the radar.

  “Have a seat and I’ll get you a beer.” Eve motioned to the couch.

  Nodding his thanks, Caden sank into the cushions while she disappeared into the kitchen. He heard the refrigerator snick open and closed. It had to be somewhere after eleven, but he was still wired from work. He’d be rotating off shift soon and could enjoy two days of downtime before going on daylight.

  “We got a new guest at the hotel.” Eve returned with a can of Miller.

  Caden popped the top and took a drink as she set
tled in beside him. “That Quentin guy you were waiting on?”

  Eve nodded. “Quentin Marsh. He’s not what I expected.” She wrapped her hands around her teacup and leaned against him.

  Hooking an arm around her shoulder, he made room for her to nestle closer. The radio played in the background, something soothing and melodic, likely tuned to the station for her plants. She pampered them as if they were pets.

  “I hope he didn’t show up dressed in black.” Caden wasn’t entirely joking. He took another swig of beer.

  Eve laughed. “No. He’s nothing like the Men in Black from last fall.”

  Point Pleasant had been inundated with mysterious men in black suits who arrived with little explanation, their sole intent to warn anyone who’d claimed to have seen a UFO to be silent. Given the town had experienced a UFO Flap in October, that was close to half the population.

  “But he is odd,” Eve continued. “Oh, nothing like Lach or those other men,” she added when he sent her a sharp glance.

  Lach Evening was someone he wasn’t sure he’d ever see again. Caden waited a beat but she didn’t say anything further. “What’s so odd about him?”

  “I’m not sure.” Eve pressed her lips together, considering. “When I asked what brought him to Point Pleasant, he evaded the question.”

  “Why is that so strange? It’s no one’s business but his.”

  Eve made a pffing sound. “Most guests chitchat, Caden.” The concentrated look on her face indicated Marsh’s reluctance to talk was only half of what was troubling her. “I told him about my great-grandfather building the hotel, and it got me thinking about him and my grandparents.” She swiveled to face him, her eyes wide and probing. “Did I ever tell you what happened to them?”

  Something told him he should already know.

  A buried memory stirred awake in the back of his mind. His father shaking his head, talking in hushed tones to Caden’s mother. A tragedy.

  “There was a fire at the hotel,” Eve continued before he could answer. “I was four when it happened, so I only know what I’ve been told.” She rubbed a thumb over the diamond ring on her left hand. “The fire broke out on the third floor. No one knows what started it, but they were all up there together—my grandfather and grandmother with my great-grandfather, Clarence.”

  “Yeah.” Caden’s voice dropped. “I remember now. I was ten. I remember walking down Main Street the night after it happened. The brick on the third floor was black in the front where the flames shot through the windows. My parents went to the funerals.”

  “That’s when my parents took over running the hotel, along with Aunt Rosie.”

  Caden tensed. Rosalind Parrish had died over a year ago, taking a secret to her grave that still made him bitter. He lived in the house she’d bequeathed to Eve but wasn’t certain he’d forgiven her. “This is old history, Eve.” His voice sharpened, a knee-jerk reaction to Rosie being mentioned. “Why bring it up now? Because some guy asks about how long you’ve lived here?”

  “Yes.” Eve gripped his hand. “Quentin has me thinking. I grew up hearing about that tragedy and about grandparents I don’t remember. Daddy said they never did find the cause of the fire.”

  Caden drained the last of his beer. “Old wiring. That’s what I heard.”

  “That was speculation, but my father would have known. Do you know what my mother said?” Eve’s gaze held challenge, but she hurried ahead before he could answer. “She blamed it on the curse of Chief Cornstalk.”

  Shaking his head, he stood. “Everything that happens around here gets blamed on Cornstalk’s curse. Wayne Rosling’s dog got hit by a car yesterday and he blamed it on Cornstalk.”

  “Oh, no.” Eve looked stricken. “Is Brisket all right?”

  “He’s fine.” Caden headed for the kitchen and another beer. “Broke his leg, but otherwise he’s going to be okay.” Rosling, a senior deputy with the sheriff’s department, had told Caden about the incident while they caught up on reports. Wayne’s frisky Labrador had slipped its leash and bolted into the road just as a Vega rounded the bend.

  “Let ancient history be ancient history,” Caden called from the kitchen. He paused with his hand on the refrigerator door. The tip of the scars he carried from the Mothman poked from beneath his sleeve. Three branded marks he’d had since 1967 when the Silver Bridge fell, the welts had never changed in appearance or texture.

  Until today.

  His gaze narrowed.

  Normally vibrant red, they were now jet black.

  * * * *

  Quentin pulled into a parking space at the Parrish Hotel as a small red Volkswagen Rabbit slid in beside him. He’d slept decently last night for being in a hotel and had spent the morning visiting Tu Ende Wei State Park, the site where Cornstalk was buried. Given Penelope’s preoccupation with curses, it seemed the best place to start. He’d learned a good deal of historical fact, studied numerous monuments and wandered the grounds, but came away no wiser about breaking spells. Rain departed with the dawn, but the threat of severe weather huddled on the horizon.

  A petite redhead exited the Rabbit and hurried to the back where she raised the hatch. She hitched the strap of a leather purse onto her shoulder, then struggled to lift a plastic tub from the rear of the car.

  “Need some help?” Quentin walked closer in time to catch her startled glance.

  “Oh.” She balked slightly then fumbled a smile. “It’s not heavy, just awkward.”

  “Going in the hotel?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll carry it for you. I’m going there myself.” Before she could protest he took the carton and waited while she closed the hatch.

  Her smile blossomed into something genuine. “Thank you. That’s kind of you.” She led the way. As they walked up the steps to the covered porch, she cast a glance over her shoulder. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you a guest here?”

  “Yeah.” It was the reaction he’d been getting most of the morning no matter where he went. Apparently, strangers in Point Pleasant stood out like sore thumbs. “Visiting for a while.” Once inside, he waited for her to tell him where she wanted the carton. The lobby was empty, even the check-in desk vacant.

  “On the registration counter is fine.” The girl pointed to the empty desk. “I’m sure Eve or Katie are around somewhere.”

  Quentin set the carton down. It was light as she’d said, just awkward in handling, especially for someone petite like her. “Katie Lynch was here when I left earlier.” He shrugged when the girl glanced at him in surprise. “She introduced herself.”

  “Oh. Well…” Flustered again, she held out her hand. “I’m Sarah Sherman. Thank you for your help.”

  He grasped her slim fingers, noting the flick of her gaze to the scars that crisscrossed his skin. At least she didn’t recoil as if he were diseased. “Quentin Marsh.”

  Her eyes widened. “Q.M.”

  “Pardon?”

  She appeared to backpedal mentally. “Um…nothing. I just…” Quickly, she withdrew her hand. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, started to turn away, then hesitated. Light from the windows on the east wall reflected off her necklace, a flat blue stone in a silver setting. He hitched in a breath.

  Noticing his reaction, she looked at him curiously. “Is something wrong?” Her hand rose to her throat.

  “Your necklace…” Opaque cobalt blue with veins of black. A flawless twin for the amulet tucked in his pocket. An heirloom that had been passed down through generations in his family. “It’s…” He guarded his words, unwilling to share the connection without understanding how it was possible. “Unusual.”

  “Thank you.” Her smile reflected melancholy. “It belonged to my mother and has been in my family for generations.”

  He debated telling her about his grandfather’s amulet, but something held him back. The similarity between the two could have been a coincidence. For all he knew the odd stone h
ad once been popular and there were hundreds in existence. Fortunately, Eve Flynn chose that moment to breeze in, allowing him to bow out gracefully.

  “Nice meeting you, Sarah.” Quickly, he headed for the door with a passing nod to Eve. The necklace bothered him more than he wanted to admit, but he wasn’t ready to call Penelope. She’d blow the similarity out of proportion, insisting the sun and moon had aligned and it was some type of sign. Originally, he’d intended to grab something for lunch at the café, but now all he wanted to do was keep looking for a connection to his family’s curse. Tu Ende Wei State Park had been a bust but he still had Fort Randolph to investigate. With any luck he’d find something or be able to assure Penelope her fears were unfounded. It all came down to Madam Olga and Pen’s theory about twins.

  His gaze dropped to the back of his ruined hand. The odor of blood and metal engulfed him. The sooner he could put this damn town behind him, the better. Point Pleasant was doing a bang-up job of resurrecting phantoms he’d thought he’d buried.

  * * * *

  “Hi.” Eve circled behind the registration desk and peeked into the carton. “Is this the stuff for Shawn?”

  Sarah nodded, sensing her friend’s mind already diverting elsewhere. “Yes. And before you ask, I met Quentin Marsh. He carried that in for me.” She tipped her chin in the direction of the box.

  Eve plastered a passably innocent look on her face. “What makes you think—”

  “Don’t be coy. We grew up together, remember?”

  Eve chuckled. “Ok, so kick me for being curious. What did you think of him?”

  “We didn’t talk that much. He liked my necklace.” She plopped her purse on the registration counter and tried to steer the conversation back on track. She only had a short interlude of time, and the storm fermenting outside had her edgy. The sky had been overcast and threatening since the moment she crawled out of bed. “I’m on my lunch break, so I can’t stay long, but I wanted to make sure Shawn knows his stuff is here. If he doesn’t show up tonight, will you let me know?”