Dream Under the Hill (Oberon Book 8)

by P. G. Forte

  Scout’s eyes locked with hers and she smiled. It was a sad smile, infinitely weary, but it was a smile, just the same. “Yeah, we’re good.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Adam snorted, “sure we are. We’re great.” But then his expression softened. “Welcome back.”

  “Hey, cut it out,” Lucy snapped. “Stop whining, for God’s sake. We’re all here, aren’t we? We’re all in one piece? No one’s dead? The way I look at it, that puts us ahead of the game and one up on the last time.”

  * * *

  Dawn was staining the sky when Ryan got home. He’d called to say he was on his way, so Siobhan was expecting him. Still, she felt weak with relief when he finally arrived, when she watched him actually walk through the door under his own power. No crutches, no limping. She didn’t even see a bandage. Safe. Thank God.

  Determined not to let him see how worried she’d been, she stayed where she was and forced a casual smile. “So. You’re back.”

  Ryan nodded wearily. “I’m back.” He slung his vest over a chair and reached for her.

  “Everything go okay?” she asked as she snuggled against him. “Bad guy all locked up again?”

  “Yep. No one died.”

  Siobhan sighed deeply. “Good.” He smelled tired. He smelled of earth and sweat and smoke. He smelled faintly of something brackish and burnt. And, even more faintly, of blood. But, as long as it wasn’t his blood, she didn’t care. “Why don’t you take a shower?” she suggested. “Do you want something to eat? I could fix us some breakfast, or something.”

  “A shower sounds good,” he said as he let her go. “But, then I want to go to bed.”

  Bed. Not sleep. Siobhan thought about that while she waited for him to come back. She was pretty sure that meant what she thought it meant. At least, she hoped it did.

  Her eyes fell on his vest and she contemplated whether or not to hang it up. She tried never to touch it. It had been another present from Sinead – given only half in jest—and Siobhan hated it. She couldn’t stand touching it, or looking at it. Even thinking about how much he might really need it, how often it had already come in handy, turned her stomach.

  Reluctantly, she picked it up and looked at it. Her eyes immediately registered the new mark it had gotten. Great. Just great. She dropped it back on the chair, just as Ryan re-entered the room. His eyebrows rose in faint surprise.

  Siobhan stared at him. “About last night, was there anything else you wanted to tell me?”

  A faint smile curved Ryan’s lips as he walked over to where she stood. He buried his hands in her hair and kissed her neck. “Yeah, next time we see your sister, remind me to thank her.”

  Siobhan turned her head away, squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to cry, tried not to scream. Fey, she reminded herself, as she had on their wedding day. My husband is fey.

  “Don’t worry so much,” Ryan murmured as he gathered her against him. “Okay? It’s not my time. I’m gonna grow real old and die in my bed. I promise.”

  “Oh, you promise? Oh, well, that’s different then.” Definitely fey. And there wasn’t a damn thing you could do with someone like that except love them and pray for them. And join them in their madness. “I think you mean my bed, though, don’t you?”

  Ryan chuckled softly as he scooped her into his arms. “Your bed, my bed, our bed—what the hell’s the difference? As long as we’re both there together, you can call it whatever you want. I’m easy.”

  “No, you’re nuts,” Siobhan replied shaking her head. All those years she’d thought she was the crazy one. It figured she’d end up married to a real nutcase. But, on the other hand, who was crazier? The nut, or the nut who loved him?

  “Honey, I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” Ryan said, as he carried her toward the bedroom. “After all, you’re the boss.”

  The boss? Not even. If she was the boss, she could make rules and people would do as she wished. And I sure don’t see that happening. But, on the other hand, would she really want someone like that? She didn’t want someone she could order around, she didn’t want another child, or someone who only wanted her to mother them. She just wanted Ryan, fey and all, exactly as he was.

  “Oh, shut up and kiss me,” she ordered, lifting her face expectantly.

  Laughter gleamed in Ryan’s bright eyes. Laughter and love. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter Forty

  My friend had a vineyard on a fertile hillside;

  He spaded it, cleared it of stones,

  and he planted the choicest vines;

  Within it he built a watchtower,

  and hewed out a wine press.

  For the vineyard of the Lord of Hosts

  is the house of Israel.

  Canticle of the Mass

  For Holy Saturday – The Paschal Vigil

  Seth stood in his old room Saturday evening, feeling lost and out of place. He’d lived here from as far back as he could remember. Up until six months ago, when he’d suddenly ended up with four dogs to care for, instead of just one, and his parents had surprised him by going along with his idea that he move with them into the apartment over the garage. He should feel at home in this room, but he didn’t. He didn’t feel like he even had a home anymore.

  All his old stuff from when he was a kid was still here. Today, while he’d been at the funeral, his parents had moved some more of his things back from the apartment. Stuff like his TV, his desk, his computer.

  He supposed they’d done it to be helpful, but he kind of wished they hadn’t bothered.

  There was a knock on his door but, before he could reach it, it opened and his mother entered with a tray of food. Seth wished she hadn’t bothered with that, either. He didn’t care about food. He wasn’t hungry. He didn’t feel like eating and maybe he never would again.

  And the reminder that his life was no longer his own – that he could no longer just lock his door and get a little privacy from time to time – well that was something else he could have done without. If only they’d all just leave him alone. But, he couldn’t see that happening. Just like he couldn’t see himself moving out of here. At least not until after high school.

  “I thought you might be hungry,” his mother said. As if the fact that she’d emptied out half the refrigerator and piled it on a tray for him didn’t give that idea away pretty quick.

  “I’m not,” he said, turning away, pulling off his shirt, starting to change his clothes, hoping she’d get the message that he was busy and leave. Yeah, right. As if.

  Instead, she sat down on his bed to talk. “You know Seth, I know what you’re going through.”

  Well, that was bullshit. Seth snorted. “I don’t think so.”

  “No, I mean it. I lost one of my best friends when I was even younger than you. Lisa. Scout’s sister. She was killed too. Although, at the time, we all thought she’d run away. She disappeared and we never saw her again. I felt bad and guilty about that for years.”

  Seth shook his head. “A friend who disappears isn’t the same as one who…as one whose blood you’ve stepped in. Or, whose eyes are staring at you. Or, or—No, Mom. It’s not the same. Not at all.”

  “I didn’t say it was the same,” his mother’s voice was very quiet. “I just, just... ”

  Ah, shit. He’d made her cry. He loved that – not. Wearily, Seth sat down on the bed, and rubbed her back. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he muttered. He stiffened when she reached out to hug him, but eventually he leaned against her and let her hold him.

  “I just wish there was something I could do for you,” she murmured, as her arms tightened around his shoulders.

  “I know, Mom.” Problem was, he didn’t want her to do anything for him. He didn’t want to be held or fed or talked to. He just wanted to be left alone. He wanted to lie down, curl up, go to sleep... and never wake up. He hated that Ray was dead and he was alive. He’d trade places in a heartbeat. It’s just not fair!

  “Your father moved your things for you – your computer and, and the TV a
nd your desk.”

  Seth nodded. “I saw.” It would’ve been pretty hard not to, after all.

  “And your sister connected everything and plugged everything in and set things up so that it all works.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “We’re just trying to help, Seth. We’re here for you. You know that, right?”

  “I know,” he said. Somehow that didn’t seem like enough. “Thanks.”

  They sat like that for a couple minutes longer, with his mother stroking his head and trying her best to comfort him. But he didn’t want to be comforted. He wasn’t a kid anymore, despite what everyone seemed to think. She couldn’t make things all better for him with a kiss. No one could. Maybe no one ever could again.

  “Is there anything I can get you?” his mother asked after a little while. “Anything I can do?”

  Seth shook his head. “I’m just tired.”

  “I bet you are.” His mother pulled away and looked at him. “You’re probably exhausted. Maybe you should take a nap or something. Do you think?”

  A nap? What am I, three? No way. He nodded. “Yeah, sure, Mom. That sounds good. I think I will.”

  “Okay,” she said as she stood up, “I’ll leave you alone then.” She looked at him uncertainly. “Unless you want me to stay?”

  Oh, please no. Seth shook his head again. “That’s okay. I’m just going to sleep for a while.”

  But it was several minutes longer before she left. After more questions. And a bunch of good advice – the kind he could’ve done without.

  “You have to take care of the living, Seth,” his mother told him. “That’s what I learned from Lisa’s death. The dead, well it’s not that they’re gone, but they mostly don’t need too much from us. It’s the living, the ones left behind, that we have to think about. They’re the ones we need to help. And who can help us, too, if we let them.”

  “Yup,” he repeated endlessly, faking a yawn from time to time, hoping she’d get the message. “Yup. You’re right, Mom. I know.” Until she finally ran out of steam.

  After she was gone, Seth lay on his bed, staring into space. After a while, his glance fell on his computer.

  He thought about turning it on, maybe playing some games, but he didn’t think he could deal with that. He felt so alone, all the more so because there was no one he wanted to reach out for. Despite what his mother thought, there was no one who needed his help. And, certainly, no one who could help him.

  Deirdre, his mind whispered tauntingly. Yeah, and wasn’t that a joke? Her image on his computer screen was what got him through that night. Her face, her smile, that’s what he’d clung to. First, sitting there on the floor beside Cara, bullying and pleading and, finally, when he felt her start to slip away, begging her to stay alive.

  Then, later, when the paramedics arrived and he was shunted aside – but not allowed to leave. It was Deirdre’s face he’d concentrated on, to shut out the rest of what was happening. Not that it worked.

  God, he hated being so young. It totally sucked. If Cara had been just a few months older, or if her asshole father were still around, they wouldn’t have used that collar on her.

  It was a hard, plastic collar, and its only purpose was to stabilize her neck. But there was nothing wrong with her fucking neck, so why’d they think she needed it? The fucking assholes, they’d admitted that she didn’t. And, as anyone could tell just from listening to her, it clearly hurt like hell. But even though he’d asked them and begged them and yelled at them to stop, they used it anyway.

  Tears slipped from his eyes as Seth pounded his fists on his bed and ground his teeth together to keep from sobbing. Those bastards, those fucking, God damned bastards. They’d used it anyway.

  He knew the sound of her screams – if you could even call them that, so strangled and raw – would stay with him for a long, long time. And, the image of Deirdre’s face, which had brought him so much comfort then, and so much joy before, would now forever make him think of that, of the sights, the sounds, the sorrows of that night.

  * * *

  “How’s he doing?” Dan asked, when he met Lucy in the hallway, outside Seth’s room.

  She shook her head. “He says he’s fine. But he’s not. I know he’s not, Dan. I can tell he’s hurting, but he won’t let me help him.”

  Dan smiled, sadly and pointedly. “Gee, I wonder where he gets that from?”

  Lucy, who knew damn well he was talking about her, was not amused. “It’s not the same,” she grumbled, even though she knew that, probably it was. Dan held his arms wide and she snuggled into his embrace. “This sucks, Dan. I hate not being able to do anything.”

  “It will be okay,” Dan murmured as he held her close. “Things will get better. You’ll see.”

  “How can you say that?” she asked. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because it has to. Because it always does. Doesn’t it?”

  Lucy sighed. “I guess. Maybe you’re right.”

  “Maybe?” Dan pulled away a little, lifted her chin on his hand and gazed at her with mock surprise. “Only maybe? Of course I’m right. I’m always right.”

  Despite herself, Lucy couldn’t help smiling. “You’re always right?” That was her line, and he knew it. “Since when, Cavanaugh?”

  “Since today,” Dan replied, eyes gleaming. “Since right now. You’ve been right for the last twenty years or so, now I figure it’s my turn.”

  Lucy looked at him. He was steady and sturdy, dependable and sweet, still the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on, and she loved him to death. So, if he wanted to think he was right for a while, what would it hurt to let him? “All right, Cavanaugh, you’re on. It’s a deal.”

  Dan’s eyebrows rose. “It is, huh? Ah, now, woman, you’re just trying to butter me up.”

  Lucy sighed. Her heart still felt heavy, she still felt like crap and there was a sadness hanging over the house that no amount of teasing could dispel – not yet, anyway. But this did make it easier to bear. “Well, what can I say to that, Dan? When you’re right, you’re right.”

  * * *

  “So, is that the end of it?” Sam asked after Marsha had finished wrapping up the last of her tools.

  She nodded. “I think so.” Lord, she was tired. Three ceremonies in three days, that would knock anyone out. But, it couldn’t be helped. The moon was full now. If she’d waited, she’d have had to wait an entire month. Anything might happen in that time that would require some kind of ritual, although she sincerely hoped nothing of the sort occurred.

  If it did, she suspected she’d be on her own. She’d have a hard time selling anyone on the idea of assisting her with anything of the sort, probably for a good long time. Lucy, Scout, even Sam appeared burned out and disenchanted at the moment.

  “Well, someone looks happy,” Sam observed, gesturing toward the cat.

  Ah, yes, Marsha thought studying Moondance thoughtfully. The cat. She’d been aware of the creature as it sat, just outside her circle, the whole time she’d worked; purring quietly. “I’m sure she is. I mean, he.”

  Sam looked at her curiously. “That’s about the fourth or fifth time you’ve done that in the last couple of days. What’s going on? You’ve never had trouble remembering his gender before.”

  Marsha smiled. Well, at least she knew she’d never be able to accuse Sam of ignoring her. He might be mad as hell, but he still didn’t miss noticing a thing.

  “I know,” she admitted. “You’re right about that.”

  “Care to tell me why?”

  There was an edge of annoyance to Sam’s voice. Marsha heard it and it grieved her. If she told him what she thought would he believe her? Or would he start to wonder if this whole aspect of her life was nothing but superstitious nonsense – just like he’d originally thought.

  “Well, you know, Sam,” she said at last. “I’ve thought for some time now that there was something a little... different about that cat.”

  “You said you thought
he was possessed,” Sam replied, still sounding unconvinced.

  Marsha nodded. For a moment she said nothing and they both watched the cat, who stood and stretched; arching his back, kneading the grass with his paws, purring even more loudly—almost as if he were laughing at them.

  “I think I know by who now,” Marsha said at last. “I think it’s Celeste. You know, my friend who died? I think she did it as a way for her to keep an eye on us all. Especially Jasmine.”

  Moondance turned his head to look at her, eyes narrowed, ears twitching; and if ever a cat had looked smugly satisfied, he did now. Took you long enough, his look seemed to say.

  “You’re talking about the woman who originally owned him?” Sam asked. “Why do you think that all of a sudden?”

  “It was something Lisa told me.” Something I should have thought of on my own.

  Sam sighed thoughtfully. Another silence fell between them, and once again they both seemed focused on the cat. Finally, Moondance scampered off, apparently chasing something in the growing darkness.

  Although, it was more likely he was merely giving them some time to themselves, Marsha couldn’t help thinking. “So how long do you think you’re going to stay mad at me?” she asked Sam.

  He looked up at her, eyebrows raised. “Did I say I was mad?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Did you really think you had to?”

  A reluctant smile crossed Sam’s lips. “Actually? Yes, angel, I did think that might be the case.”

  Marsha ducked her head and sighed. “I know. I can be a little obtuse, at times.”

  A little? Lisa had glared at her when she’d admitted the same thing to her. At times? You think?

  “You take too many risks,” Sam told her. “And you never count the cost.”

  Marsha looked at him in surprise. “But, that’s not true, Sam. I do. I think about everything that might happen, and I don’t always like the odds. But there are some times when–”

  “No,” Sam interrupted, shaking his head emphatically. “You might think about what could happen to you, but you don’t ever count the cost to me. You’re not on your own anymore, Marsha. You have a husband now. Me. And, occasionally– No, try once. Just once, I’d like to get the sense you view us as a team.”