Eighty-four
She had heard the faraway cries of the nightflyers for several hours, and they had made it nearly impossible for Minerva Payne to concentrate on her baking. She'd burned two batches of cookies and ruined a tray of cream puffs because of the sounds, which were no less ominous because of their distance.
She'd felt great relief when John Lawson had shown up at her shop; she'd been afraid he wouldn't come. But there was no time to help him because shortly after his arrival, Minerva began feeling something else: someone- Kelly, she thought was asking for help. It was a mental scream so loud that Minerva could barely think and only Kelly Reed was capable of sending such a strong message.
But what if it's a trap? What if it's Lucy or Dashwood, trying to get me out of the way before tomorrow night?
She had to take the chance. She'd kept a low profile these last few years, casting only protection spells to keep the coven away. In fact, her spells weren't so different from the ones that Lucy and Dashwood used to keep their own presence shrouded from the minds of the townsfolk. Hopefully, Lucy and the rest didn't think of her as a major threat any longer, but as a decrepit old woman far past her prime.
Two nightflyers swooped across her path just as she reached the clearing around her cottage. They were so close she could smell their decaying scent. Their wingspans were at least six feet wide, their faces ugly, shrunken monkey-like masks, and their eyes flashed red even in broad daylight.
Minerva had re-strengthened her protection spells, and unless Dashwood and Lucy's magic was stronger than she had reckoned, the nightflyers wouldn't be able to come any closer to the cottage. She raised her arms and extended her fingers at them, reciting a few lines of Celtic magic. The things edged back over the trees. ''Be gone!" Minerva cried, mentally shooting her magic from her fingerprints into the monstrosities. ''Be gone!" The pair gave a few more feet, and Minerva walked safely into the clearing, past her gardens, and into the house. She wondered if it really was Lucy and Dashwood, not Kelly, who had called her. Imprisoning her in her own house would keep her out of the way.
Minerva! Help me!
The voice resounded in her ears, closer now, but not so close as the nightflyers circling the clearing. Nearly certain it was Kelly, she knew she had to risk a trap and find her.
The screeching of the nightflyers grew more distant as Minerva took an old Remington rifle from her bedroom, made sure it was loaded, then put extra shells in her pocket. What magic couldn't manage, a weapon could. Whispering more protection spells, for herself and for Kelly, she opened the front door, peered out, then stepped outside. She shut her eyes a moment, sensing the direction she would need to take, then set off into the woods, toward St. Gertrude's.
There were more than two nightflyers, more than she'd ever heard at once. The creatures flew above the forest, their raucous cries echoing among the trees, and she paid them no mind but kept walking steadfastly toward the source of the cries for help.
Minerva!
She paused, shocked by the voice that boomed in her head. A screech, just as loud, sounded above, and she looked up to see one of the nightflyers perched on a high limb, wings folded, watching her with bright, bloody eyes. Minerva raised the rifle, took aim, and fired.
The blast shoved the butt of the gun painfully into her shoulder, but she paid it no attention. She'd hit the creature. It rocked on the tree limb, then screamed, a sound far worse than the screeching. Minerva thought it would burst her eardrums. The nightflyer glared down at her, started to unfurl its wings.
She raised the gun and gave it the other barrel. The creature squawked angrily and swayed on the branch as Minerva quickly reloaded. Before she could raise the gun, the creature fell. She backed away and reloaded as it hit the ground, wings flapping weakly.
"Let's have a look at you," she said, as the nightflyer stilled. Glancing upward she realized the other flyers were farther away now. Perhaps she'd scared them off. She hoped so. Keeping the rifle aimed at the black creature, she came within two feet of it and stopped.
There was no blood visible on the body, only gaping holes showing dull dark red below the feathers, or scales, she wasn't sure which.
The face was out of a nightmare, with predatory, close-set eyes under heavy brow ridges. This one had no beak but a piggish snout, and the slightly open maw revealed gleaming onyx teeth.
One eye opened, blackish-red, and glared at her. The mouth moved. Without a second thought, Minerva aimed at the head and let both barrels fly.
At first, there was only a gaping reddish hole where the face had been, then the red began turning to black. As Minerva watched, the black wounds began to lighten to gray and so did the hide- the feathers or scales, or whatever they were. There was a crackling sound and the head began to break apart in chunks, then the body. After a few moments, all that remained was broken stone. Minerva remembered to reload, but couldn't stop looking at the thing. When John Lawson had suggested that the nightflyers might really be creatures that hibernated during the day and resembled stone gargoyles, she had been pleased with his open mindedness and amused at the thought. But he was right. She bent to pick up a piece of stone, thinking that she'd enjoy seeing his face when he found out they really did turn to stone. She stopped short of picking any up. The heavens only knew what effect carrying a piece with her might have; probably none, but possibly, it could prove disastrous. Perhaps she would bring the sheriff here and show it to him.
''Minerva!"
She turned at the whisper, scanning the woods. "Kelly?" she asked softly. Somewhere overhead, the nightflyers screeched. ''Kelly, where are you?"
''Here!"
The girl crawled out from under an ancient pine tree, brushing needles from her hair. She ran to Minerva and put her arms around her. "You found me. Thank heaven you found me!"
"You were hard to ignore, child." Minerva held her and stroked her hair. "I'm glad you're all right."
"They've got Sara," Kelly breathed. "We have to help her."
The nightflyers were coming closer. Minerva stepped back and looked up between the trees as a shadow passed overhead. “First we have to help ourselves, Kelly." Above, there were three cries in succession, answered by two more. They were coming for their prey. Minerva saw the fear in Kelly's eyes. "Come along, we'll be safe at my house. Hurry!"
Eighty-five
"You should, of course, ask the other sisters," Mother Lucy told John, "but I haven't seen Miss Hawthorne or your son today. Have you, Dr. Dashwood?"
"No," Dashwood said, all charm and smarm. "But if I do, I'll tell them both you're looking for them."
I just bet you will. John stood uncomfortably in Lucy's office, trying to keep his eyes off the bloody portraits decorating the walls. Being alone with Lucy and Dashwood was definitely an unpleasant experience, and he wished Thurman were here to back him up. "I've been told that Mark might be here."
''Who told you that?" Lucy asked, forcing a smile onto her brittle face. ”It must be a joke. We have no boys here, only girls. Someone was having fun at your expense."
"I can't reveal my sources," John said, "but they were quite serious."
"It's all right, Sheriff," Lucy said. "I know exactly who fed you such nonsense. That senile old creature in the woods, that Payne woman." She arched an eyebrow. "Aptly named, isn't she?"
"Do you have a problem with her?" John asked casually.
Lucy shook her head. ''No, except that she's rather senile and eccentric and has gotten it into her head that St. Gertrude's is some sort of haven for devil worshipers. Nothing could be further from the truth. We're god-fearing people."
Especially if you are Satanists. John smiled gently. "I'm sure you are. My son was sneaking around outside the gate the other day and he lost his jacket and wallet. That's why I think he may have come back."
"He was?" Dashwood asked, then broke into a sham grin. "'Boys will be boys ...' Isn't that what they say?"
“'I suppose so. Mother Lucy, he told me you chased him." J
ohn stole her gaze and kept it.
"That's absurd. Except for the photo you've been kind enough to bring, I've never seen the boy. And I doubt he's seen me, and he certainly doesn't know my name. He's imagining things, Sheriff."
''Maybe so." He almost brought up Kelly Reed, then decided not to for the girl's sake.
"You are certainly free to talk to the sisters and look around all you want," Lucy said, her sympathy as false as her smile.
"Thank you. Now, about Sara Hawthorne-"
“She didn't show up for her classes today," Lucy interrupted. "When we checked her room, we found no sign of her."
"Frankly, Sheriff," said Dashwood, "we're quite concerned. Her mental state was a little uncertain. Nerves, you know. She had convinced herself she was seeing ghosts."
"Was she?"
Lucy and Dashwood glanced at one another, then both looked back at John and laughed. "You mean you believe in our notorious ladies in white, Sheriff?" Lucy asked.
He shrugged. “Just covering the bases, Mother Lucy." There was no point in further questioning. ''Mind if I take a look around?"
''Please do. Dr. Dashwood will accompany you and answer all your questions."
"I'd prefer to be on my own," John said.
"I'm afraid the sight of a man, especially in uniform, prowling our halls might frighten the girls," Lucy said.
''Come along, Sheriff Lawson," Dashwood said, opening the door. "What's your pleasure?"
"I'd like to see Sara Hawthorne's room." He turned back to Lucy. ''Ms. Hawthorne is tendering her resignation, and I promised to pick up her personal items."
''After you check her room, the doctor will see to it that one of the sisters boxes up her property and places it by your car."
''Thanks."
They went through Sara's room, the dormitory, and the garage, all without results. "What's in there?" John asked, pointing at the old stone building set back from the school building.
"The bakery." Dashwood smiled. "It's the home of the sisters' Heavenly Mincemeat Pies. Would you care to take one home with you?"
''No thanks." He was tempted to request a tour, but it was unlikely he'd find Mark or Sara hiding in a busy kitchen. "I'd like to see your root cellar and basement area."
"Root cellar?" Dashwood asked. "We don't have one. It was filled in years and years ago. Before my time. The only basement is where my infirmary is located. You're welcome to examine that, of course."
"I've seen drawings of the abbey," John said. "There was a sub-basement under the floor where the infirmary is located."
Dashwood studied him, and John thought he saw a faint trace of anxiety in the man's expression, but it fled so quickly that be couldn't be sure. ''There was a seepage problem, Sheriff. I'd like to oblige you, but the sub-basement is entirely filled in with brick and stone and earth. There's no entrance anymore."
John nodded acquiescence and let Dashwood lead him through the school building and infirmary. Nothing seemed unusual, and he didn't spot any doors or stairs leading farther under the building. Back outside, he turned to the doctor. "One more thing I want to see, Doctor. The chapel." With those words, he turned to face the building and stared, realizing that the gargoyle he'd seen on the cross was missing.
"We don't ordinarily let any but those of our denomination inside its doors, but of course we'll make an exception for you, Sheriff."
"The gargoyle is gone," John said, as they walked toward the little church with its odd crucifix.
''Gargoyle?"
"The one on the cross."
Dashwood stopped moving and stared at the church. Finally, he turned to John. ''I believe I heard Mr. Boullan mention something about taking it down for Sister Elizabeth to do some work on. Something wasn't quite right, evidently."
"It must weigh a thousand pounds."
Dashwood smiled. ''No. Perhaps the old ones do, but the new ones Elizabeth makes are composed of some sort of plastic resin which is nearly as impervious to weather as stone."
"I see." It sounded like bunk to him, but he wasn't going to say so at this point. "Let's go inside."
"As you wish."
Dashwood unlocked the chapel doors and held one open for John. The place was dark except for the flickering of rows of votive candles and a few tapers near a covered altar. Dim light, filtered reds, blues, and greens, came in through a round, featureless stained-glass window high above the chancel.
''Would you turn on the lights?"
"I'm sorry, Sheriff. The chapel isn't wired for electricity. We prefer to keep it as it was in the old days."
John nodded absently and walked slowly up the center aisle. His stomach had knotted the minute he'd entered the building, and suddenly, he knew- absolutely knew- that he'd been here before. Swallowing hard, he stepped up onto the chancel and approached the altar.
He poured sweat. In his mind, he could hear chanting, feminine voices raised in eerie song. He looked at the altar. It was long and covered with a cloth. Greg was here. There were people singing, and they wore black robes. I was here. I had to watch while they … while they ...
"Sheriff? Is something wrong?"
John realized Dashwood was standing next to him. ''No," he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. He reached out to lift the altar cloth, but Dashwood stopped him.
"It's sacred, Sheriff. That's why we keep it covered. I'm afraid I can't allow you to touch the cloth. It's sacred as well."
John couldn't stay in this place any longer, not with Dashwood there, watching him while the memories came back. ''It's late," John said, striding up the aisle, hiding his panic under a gruff demeanor. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Dashwood. I'm sure we'll be speaking again soon."
"I'm sure we will."
Dashwood's words echoing in his ears, John forced himself to walk instead of run to his cruiser.
Eighty-six
Sara awoke in darkness, her head throbbing, her mouth tasting of earth. Slowly she lifted her head and spat dirt from her mouth. ''Oh, God," she muttered. ''What the hell happened?"
She shivered and pressed her hands against the dank soil, pushing herself up into a sitting position. ''What happened?" Faintly, she heard a voice calling, "Let me out, let me out," over and over.
Where am I? There wasn't a speck of light, only darkness so thick she felt as if she were choking on it. Dashwood. The garage. Images flooded her. She'd come to the abbey to resign, to get her things and Kelly, too. Her mind cleared further, and suddenly she recognized the voice in the distance.
"Mark!" she screamed, as loud as she could. She pushed herself to her feet.
There was momentary silence, then, "Let me out!" louder than ever.
"Mark! It's Sara," she called. "Where are you?"
"I don't know. In the dark! Get me out of here!"
"Help is on the way," she yelled, wondering who else could hear her and the boy. "You don't have to yell anymore. Just wait."
Silence answered her. Slowly, she felt her way around the low-ceilinged room. The earthen floor was damp in places, muddy in others, and the stone walls were cold and slick. She finally found a set of stairs. There were only six, but at the top was a heavy wooden door with only a handle. She pulled, then pushed, and knew she couldn't open it.
She got down on her hands and knees and pushed the caked, muddy soil away from the threshold, squinting when she saw dim light coming in from beyond the door. She couldn't see anything but a small square of brick floor outside, but when she pushed her fingers between the door and the threshold, her hand came back with a small chunk of rotten wood.
Please stay quiet, Mark. She dug out more wood, until a faint beam of light illuminated her torn, filthy hands. It wasn't much, but at least she could explore the cellar and try to find a way out.
Eighty-seven
Night lay heavily over Moonfall and the silence of his empty house lay equally heavy over John Lawson. He'd come home to catch a few hours of sleep before relieving Deputy Thurman around two in the morni
ng. He'd been the only officer on duty and John knew he was exhausted.
Mark, where are you? He fought back anger first, then tears, as he made a grilled cheese sandwich and zapped a bowl of tomato soup in the microwave.
He took the food to the table and stared at it, unable to eat. He'd spent too long nosing around the abbey and hadn't made it to Minerva's. He'd driven past her shop in the twilight, but it was closed, and he just didn't want to make the trek into the woods to see her. Not with those nightflyers screeching all over the forest. Tomorrow morning would be time enough, he told himself. Surely, if Sara or Mark had turned up at her house, the old lady would have come to tell him or brought them out. She, at least, wasn't worried about traveling the dark path from her cottage to the road. Or at least she didn't let on, if she was.
He left his soup congealing on the table and went into his office. Digging through his files, he found a Christmas card list from last year and read down to the address of Paul Pricket's parish, then called information and got the number for the rectory.
The phone was answered on the third ring. "Hello, St. Florian's. Father Pricket speaking."
''Paul," John said. Though the voice was deeper, Paul Pricket still sounded like himself. "This is John Lawson, up in Moonfall. How are you?"
"John?" Paul hesitated. "I'm fine. I was just thinking about you. You've been on my mind, though I don't know why."
''Gus is dead, Paul."
"I'm sorry- "
"He was murdered, just like my father was, and I can't find the bastard who killed him."
"I'm sorry- "
''Please, Paul, just listen. Mark is missing. I think he was taken by the people at St. Gertrude's, but I'm not sure. I've been all over the place. I know it sounds ridiculous to tell you a bunch of nuns kidnapped my son."
MOON FALL Page 36
