Haven

by Mary Lindsey

  The slam of the door when she left ricocheted around the room, making Rain even tenser. Damn. Instead of all of this narrowing down the list of possible killers for both Gerald and Freddie’s dad, it had been expanded. Ulrich, Klaus, and—as much as he hated to admit it—all three of Freddie’s cousins, too. The whole pack or coven could be involved. Hell, even the chief could have done it.

  Chief Richter straightened her spine. “One of you did this, and I won’t tolerate it. I’ve put up with missing cats and dead deer and antelope, but this is too far. We don’t need this kind of problem right now.” She got in Merrick’s face, not a surprise to Rain. Singling out the weakest is a common bully tactic. “Whoever did this will regret it. Mark my words.”

  God, Rain hated bullies. Rage swirled in his gut. “What about you, Chief?”

  From the other side of the room, Freddie shook her head, but he was already in too deep.

  “You hated Gerald. Treated him like a dog,” he said.

  She lifted her chin in what he assumed was an effort to look down her nose, but it didn’t work, since he was a head taller. “And here, I thought you understood what was going on in New Wurzburg. Clearly I gave you too much credit. Gerald Loche was a dog. That’s what Watchers are.”

  It took every ounce of self-control to not charge Chief Richter and punch her flat in her smug face. “Watchers are people, just like you. Perhaps you’re the one who doesn’t understand.” He took a few steps toward her and gestured to the door. “You have a key. You used it to get in here when you arrived today.” Her eyes widened, and a strong wave of satisfaction at her discomfort rolled through him like warm water. “You asked me where I was last night. You blamed my friends for murdering someone. Maybe we should be asking where you were last night.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she stalked toward him, stopping only inches away. “Your loyalty to your friends is touching. Watch yourself, Aaron. The only reason you’re still alive is because of me. If you weren’t biologically suited for the Weavers’ purpose, you’d have been killed at birth. You’re useful to us, which is why I brought you to New Wurzburg.”

  “Ruby brought me here.”

  She made a tsking sound and shook her head in mock sympathy. “How do you think your aunt even found out about you? We wanted your father’s DNA line. Natural-born Watcher candidates are hard to find. I always knew where you and your tramp of a mother were.”

  Merrick moved to his right side and Kurt to his left, like backup in a fight.

  “Stay cool, man,” Merrick whispered.

  The chief eyed Rain and the boys, and she took a step back. “Be careful. All of you. Like Gerald, Aaron Ryland has no ties.” Her face relaxed, and she gave Rain a sickening smile. “No one would even notice if you went missing.”

  “The judge in Houston who signed the court order that sent me here would.”

  She laughed. “The judge in Houston who sent you here is a Weaver. He sent you at my request.”

  Rain’s whole body felt like the concrete under his feet had become soft, like sand, and he was sinking.

  Chief Richter waved her hand dismissively. “The only person who would be a problem if you ended up like Gerald is your aunt Ruby. This whole thing could result in some unfortunate collateral damage if you continue to go too far. Keep that in mind, Aaron Ryland.”

  And at that moment, it dawned on Rain that his aunt worked at the police station for a reason—not a reason that benefited her, though, but rather, the Weavers. If this whole thing had been planned since his birth, they’d probably arranged to keep her close as leverage. His stomach twisted as the chief strode toward the door.

  She stopped as she passed Freddie. “Drop the foolishness about your father, Friederike. You can only make it worse.”

  Without looking back, Chief Richter yanked open the door. “Call the Reinhardts and have them pick up the barrel and take it to the funeral home, Ulrich. Charles, see that the case is documented properly, on the off chance someone comes looking for Gerald.” She turned and met Rain’s eyes directly. “Nobody go anywhere for the next few days. No spring break campouts at Enchanted Rock and absolutely no runabouts.” Her gaze shifted to Freddie. “Is that clear?”

  Freddie lifted her chin, not blinking. “A lot of things are clear now, Chief, and getting clearer every day.”

  “Careful,” the woman warned.

  “You be careful, too, Chief,” Freddie said, arms crossed over her chest. “I may just be a dog to you, but I’m sure as hell not going to roll over on your command.”

  Wanda Richter’s face flushed red. “I’ve found dogs are good at obeying lots of commands, little girl.” Her smile was more of a grimace. For a moment, Rain thought she was going to just leave it at that, but right before the door closed, she stopped it with her hand. “My favorite command is play dead.”

  Thirty-One

  By the time Rain and Grant had dropped the truck off at Ericksen’s and he’d clocked out and showered, it was way past dark.

  “Why are you so hell-bent on seeing the old lady?” Freddie shouted over the wind and bike motor as they turned off the main highway.

  “Petra said we should. Mrs. Goff has visions that could help solve your dad’s murder.”

  She slid her hands higher and wrapped her arms around his ribs. “Mrs. Goff is a senile old witch. The only visions she has are hallucinations.”

  He pulled up in front of the house and killed the motor. “You’re the one who said people only see what they expect. Perhaps she cultivated that negative image for a purpose—to throw someone off.”

  Freddie slid off the back of the bike. “She killed her own lover’s revenant. She sealed his body in her barn. She’s wacked. Anybody would be.”

  “She’s also been systematically earning Ruby’s trust and has been bringing her out here for years in order to get to me. I think there’s more to this than a goofy old witch.” He got off the bike and propped it on its kickstand.

  The waning moon hung low in the sky, and all around them, insects chirped in the long grass that hissed when ruffled by an occasional feeble puff of wind.

  Rain wiped his clammy hands on his jeans. “Maybe we should’ve called ahead to let her know we were coming,” he said, following Freddie up the old woman’s porch.

  “No need.” Freddie’s hand trembled as she rang the doorbell. “She knew we were dropping by long before we even knew.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “You okay?”

  “No, I’m not. You see what I’m about now, right? You could be next.” She blinked rapidly, then looked past him into the fields. “You could end up in a barrel like Gerald. You act like you’re impervious to what’s going on here, but you’re not.”

  He loosened his grip on her. “And that’s why we’re here. She might have some answers.”

  She sniffed and rang the doorbell again.

  Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. “Maybe she’s not here,” he said.

  Freddie tilted her head back and sniffed. “She’s here.” She rang the bell a third time and knocked.

  The fine hairs on Rain’s neck and arms prickled as he scanned the surrounding fields. Something felt off—like the air was too heavy or something.

  With a frustrated huff, Freddie cupped her hands to her temples and looked in through one of the panes of glass. “Dang. Doesn’t she ever clean her freaking windows?” She wiped a section with the bottom of her shirt, then leaned down to peek through the cleared area. “She’s in a rocking chair, but I can only see her from the back. It’s too dark to make out much else.” After banging on the glass with no response, she strode to the door and tried the handle, but it was locked. “That’s weird. Nobody around here locks their doors.”

  Something was wrong. Really wrong. Rain’s body dumped adrenaline like he was about to jump into a fight. He strode down the porch, hopped off the end, and hustled to the back of the house. There was no back door and only one window on this side, but it might give a better view
of Mrs. Goff. Because the house was elevated on blocks, the window was up too high for him to see in.

  “I’ll lift you up,” he told Freddie when she joined him under the window. “Take a look in.”

  “Lean down.”

  He did, and she climbed up on his shoulders.

  “Oh yeah,” she said, peering in. “I can see her now. Let me down.”

  “Is she okay?”

  Freddie climbed off his shoulders and headed for the front of the house again. “Yeah, she’s fine. She’s weaving a spell over a bunch of spools of thread.” Then she muttered something Rain didn’t catch.

  She slumped into a chair on the porch and gestured to the one next to her. “Might as well have a seat. It could take a while.”

  “Should we come back another time?”

  “No. I have to stay here. She broke the rules by going into a trance without a Watcher present. Goofy old witch.”

  He paced the front of the porch. “You sure she’s okay?”

  Freddie’s expression was completely relaxed in the blue light from her phone screen. “Yep. You’re uneasy because of the discharge. The magic is thick this close to a new spell. I guess that’s why she lives out here in the middle of nowhere; she can do whatever she wants. No discretion or caution necessary.” She peeked behind her through the section she’d cleared in the dusty windowpane. “But you and I both know nobody and nothing is safe right now.” She turned back around and moved some colored squares in the game on her phone. “At least she locked the door. That would slow the revenants down a little bit.”

  Rain scanned the terrain for walking dead things.

  “They’re drawn to magic. They seek out Weavers first, always, but go nuts if spells are being woven. I’ve only seen one once when I was a little girl. I’m told Europe has a much worse time with them. American covens have tighter sealing regulations and less free-roaming Watchers.”

  “What was it like, the revenant you saw as a little girl?”

  “Like an animated corpse in a really bad low-budget movie. Nasty. And it stunk. Dad took care of it. No idea how it got by without being sealed. Must have been a rogue wolf wandering the woods alone when it died.”

  A mournful howl drifted from the distance.

  “That’s Merrick,” she said. “He’s looking for me.”

  Rain leaned back against the porch railing, facing her, and waited.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “I want to watch you answer him.”

  She laughed. “Oh, okay. You’ll love this.”

  He wondered if she could make a wolf call in her human form or if he was finally going to get to see her transform fully.

  With a sly smile, she stood, placed her phone on the chair behind her, and cleared her throat. Then, she stretched her arms over her head, twisting side to side, as if warming up for exercise.

  His grip tightened on the railing as his heart kicked up in anticipation.

  “You ready?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Then she picked up her phone and typed something, her fingers flying over the screen. “Whoosh! Sent.” With a smart-ass grin, she sat back down in her chair.

  “You texted him.”

  “You didn’t really think I was going to howl, did you?” She shook her head and started back in with the game she’d been playing.

  For a moment, he stood there, stunned, half amused and half disappointed.

  She clicked off her phone and set it in her lap. “Listen to me, Rain Ryland. I’m grateful for your help finding my dad’s killer, but you’re never going to see me in wolf form. I like you way too much to see you stuffed in a barrel or zip-tied to vine wires. The chief already thinks you know too much to be set free, and Grant refuses to cancel your conversion, but I’m going to find a way to get you out of New Wurzburg unharmed.”

  “What if I want to stay?”

  “You’ve seen what happened to Gerald. You saw what happened to my dad. There’s nothing glamorous about this. We don’t live longer. We don’t have superpowers. We’re bizarre abominations created to do one thing: what I’m doing right now—we protect Weavers from harm while they weave spells to perpetuate the sick cycle all over again. Magic to protect magic so they can make more magic.”

  “What do they do with it?”

  “Lots of things. Make Watchers, for one. Compel people to do stuff they don’t want to do.” She shrugged. “Basically, they’re assholes.”

  “There has to be more.” He couldn’t believe all this effort and power was used only for selfish reasons.

  The front door opened with a harsh squeak. “There is, and she knows it.”

  Freddie turned in her chair to face Mrs. Goff and crossed her arms on her chest.

  The old woman shook a finger at Freddie as she spoke. “If it weren’t for Weavers, dark magic would break through to the human world, and that would be bad. Am I right, Friederike?”

  “Yeah. There’s that, too. Demons and all kinds of random monsters they keep out.”

  “She’s minimizing our role to lessen the appeal of our world to you,” the woman pointed out. “But you’re not buying it, are you, Aaron Ryland?”

  “You were weaving a spell without protection from a Watcher,” Freddie said before he could answer.

  “No, I wasn’t. You were here.”

  “Not until just a bit ago.”

  “I knew when you were going to arrive. I didn’t enter a full trance until you were on the property.”

  Freddie waved a hand. “Whatever.”

  “Would you like to come in?” Mrs. Goff offered.

  “Nope.” Freddie rolled her eyes.

  Rain took a step forward. “Yeah, we would. Thanks.”

  Freddie shot him a look that could kill as they stepped into Mrs. Goff’s cramped living room.

  “I made cookies. Want one?”

  “Sure,” Rain answered.

  “No,” Freddie said at the same time.

  “I’ll just go get them.”

  After Mrs. Goff was out of earshot, Freddie punched his arm. “Are you nuts? You think the wine was bad? These cookies are the worst.”

  “Are they part of the conversion process, too?”

  “No. They can allow you to see her ridiculous visions. Personally, I think she only lets you see what she wants you to see, not the real vision. They’re never relevant. You don’t want to do it.”

  “What if it reveals something about your dad’s death?”

  “Why don’t we just ask her instead?”

  “Here we are,” Mrs. Goff said in a singsong voice as she set a plate of burned cookies down on the coffee table. “Please help yourselves.”

  “Bad idea, Rain. Terrible,” Freddie said as he reached for one.

  “She fears what you’ll see,” Mrs. Goff said, pushing the plate toward him.

  Shit, he feared what he’d see, too.

  Freddie yanked the cookie out of his hand and pitched it on the plate. “Don’t do it.”

  “You have a lot of rules,” he said calmly, picking the cookie up again. “Lots of dos and don’ts. But one of these days, you’ll figure out that I take all your warnings and rules into account, but inevitably, I do things my own way. Just like you, Freddie. It’s how I’ve stayed alive this long and how I plan to keep staying alive.”

  “That cookie’s gonna show you shit you shouldn’t see.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but I’m going to eat it anyway.”

  “Huge mistake.” Freddie sat back in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and pouted. If Rain weren’t terrified she was right and that he was making a colossal mistake, he might’ve found it cute.

  Mrs. Goff settled into her rocking chair and pulled some sewing onto her lap. It reminded him of the way Mrs. Ericksen had stitched the fabric inside the round frame at Aunt Ruby’s book club meeting. The woman’s fingers moved deftly, in and out of the fabric, while she watched him. Only she was sewing something that looked like a s
trap with leather backing rather than a pattern in a hoop.

  “Go on,” the woman urged. “The cookie only shows you what I’ve seen. It won’t cause you physical harm like the wine they gave you did.”

  “Yeah. Won’t cause physical harm but will screw you up mentally,” Freddie grumbled.

  He leaned close and took Freddie’s hands in his. “Admit it,” he whispered. “You like me.”

  “Too much,” she whispered under her breath.

  Leaning closer, he gave her a gentle kiss. “And I like you, too. But I have to do this.”

  Their eyes locked for a moment. She blinked rapidly, then looked away. “I’m not going to watch. I’ll wait outside.”

  He understood why she had to leave, but he felt safer with her near. Despite his insistence on doing things his way, this was a world he hadn’t grown up in like she had. But also, because it was so new to him, he didn’t hold any prejudices or preconceptions about it, which as he examined the ugly, burned cookie, he knew was an advantage. The front door closed with a bang.

  “Old problems, new eyes,” he said to Mrs. Goff, who looked like nothing more than a harmless old woman hunkered over some kind of sewing nonsense.

  He took a bite of the cookie, and an image flashed through his brain. It was from his perspective as he lay on his back, staring up at a cloudless night sky that seemed more blue than black, full of brilliant stars. The image terrified him for some reason, even though nothing in it seemed dangerous. As quickly as the vision came, it disappeared, leaving him confused and breathing hard.

  He opened his eyes to find Mrs. Goff staring straight ahead as she sewed.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “Can’t rightly say,” she answered, changing thread color. “That’s the problem with having the sight; interpretation gets in the way. What do you think it was?”

  “I think I was lying on my back outside somewhere, like in an open field.”

  She nodded. “Well, that probably means you’ll be lying on your back outside somewhere.” She tied off the thread and broke it with her teeth. “Here’s the thing. It’s what Petra calls a frizzy wig or a whizzy fig—something like that. It is what it is.”