“Oh.” Her brows drew together. “Let me think. We did bump into each other at your sister’s café. I think he mentioned a walk in the forest? Going to clear his head? I suspect he goes there a lot, poor man. You heard what happened to his sister?”
“He mentioned it.” My fists unclenched. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? That would explain why his cell phone wasn’t answering. It was easy to lose reception in the hollows and dense woods.
Sunny shivered. “I can’t imagine losing a loved one and not knowing what happened.”
I forced myself to be social. “Me neither. He told me you were part of the volunteer searchers.”
The realtor lifted her chin. “I organized it. Someone had to. The forest is too big for the authorities to cover on their own.”
“It must have been rough.”
She gestured, dismissive.
I shifted. “Well, thanks. I’ll see you around.” I turned to go.
“Give my best to your aunt.”
At the door, I paused. But I nodded and left.
If Nick had gone to the woods, he might have returned to the spring, the site of so much weirdness. I collected my car and drove home. In my bedroom, I sat on my bed and changed into sneakers. I glanced up. A Christmas photo of the four of us — Jayce, Lenore, Ellen and myself — beamed from the wall.
My shoulders collapsed inward. Those days, that family, was gone. Ugly sobs tore from my throat. I let them wash over me. When I’d calmed, I splashed water on my face.
Enough. Jayce needed help.
At the back door, I paused. I turned and grabbed my backpack and stuffed in a hoodie, two water canisters and a flashlight. It would be daylight for hours, and the spring wasn’t far. But after my last trips into the woods, I wasn’t taking chances.
Slipping the pack over my shoulders, I walked outside. I strode past my labyrinth and hopped the stile, the velvety scent of lavender and the tang of mountain sage thick in the warm air. Dried grasses leaned into the path, tickling my bare legs. Insects hummed, invisible.
I lengthened my strides, urgency driving me up the hill. At its crest, I paused and checked my cell phone.
No missed calls.
I dialed Lenore.
“Did you find him?” Lenore asked.
“No.” My throat was raw, my voice rough. “I take it he’s not at the station.”
“No,” Lenore said. “I spoke with his partner. She said there’ll be a bail hearing for Jayce tomorrow.”
“So she’s stuck in jail for the night?”
“Longer if we can’t make bail. And this is a murder trial. It won’t be cheap.”
I bit my bottom lip, thinking. “Okay. Ellen had life insurance. We can use it for bail. Check her bottom-right desk drawer. That’s where she keeps all her legal papers. Call the insurance company and tell them she’s passed. The agent might still be in his office.”
“Where are you?”
“Sunny said Nick was going for a walk in the woods.”
“Now?! Are you kidding me?”
“He couldn’t have known Jayce was going to get arrested.” I stared at a twisted oak.
“I guess not, but it is a work day.”
“I’ll call you when we return. It shouldn’t be more than an hour or so.”
“If it is, I’ll call out the search parties.”
“Right.” I laughed, unconvincing. “Bye.” I hung up and gazed at the oak-dotted, golden hill. “Listen up, woods. I’m going in, I’m coming out, and there isn’t going to be any weirdness.”
A breeze ruffled the oaks. Browning leaves drifted to earth.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I hitched up the straps of the pack and hiked onward.
The path wound up and down, through dried grasses and oaks and into glades of ferns and redwoods. Then up, up, to pine, and it dropped again into oaks. In a sense the path was Doyle, neither foothill nor alpine, but dwelling in the spaces in between.
I studied the trail, scanning for signs of Nick. But I was no tracker, and if his boot prints mixed among the others, I couldn’t identify them.
The trail sloped downward, past moss-covered tree stumps, ferns sprouting from their fragmented tops. My shoes crunched on thimble-sized pinecones beneath the cool redwoods. I paused at the top of the earthen stairs leading to the spring.
“Nick?”
I trotted down the steps. At their base, the spring burbled from the granite, forming a pool of clear water. It flowed over rocks, cutting the damp soil. “Nick!”
No response.
I edged toward the pool and glanced in. Something small moved at the bottom. Shuddering, I looked away.
I crawled up the slick rocks above the spring, pushing through whips of green brush to the other side. A filthy t-shirt, torn and rotting, lay in a puddle behind a rock. A man’s tennis shoe lay against a rock — leftover from Ely Milbourne’s encampment, I guessed.
I cupped my hands in a megaphone. “Nick!” My shout echoed off the granite.
Nobody replied.
If he’d been here, he’d gone. Or perhaps he’d searched a different trail for his sister’s remains?
I clambered over the rocks. My foot skidded from beneath me, and I bashed my shin. I yelped and slithered down the remaining rocks to the damp ground.
Peels of skin, strips of mud, and blood scarred my shin. And I hadn’t thought to stuff a first aid kit into my pack. Brilliant.
Cursing, I limped along the edge of the stream, too superstitious to stop at the pool beneath the spring itself. At a wide stretch of dirt, I stopped and splashed icy water on my shin, removing the worst of the mud.
“Nick?” I shouted. I grimaced at my stubborn refusal to face facts. Nick wasn’t here, and I wasn’t going to find him. There were too many paths. “Magic’s not going to help me here,” I muttered.
Or could it? There’d been a faint line of energy connecting me to Darla. What if I could find the line connecting me to Nick? I closed my eyes, centering myself. When I opened them, I relaxed my gaze and thought of those lines of energy.
I breathed deeply and dropped my arms to my sides. And there they were, a starburst of cords extending from my heart in all directions. I blew out my breath in frustration. I had no idea which line of energy linked me to Nick. This was as useless as trying to pick out his footprints on the trail.
Twisting, I looked over my shoulder at the lines radiating around and behind me.
The black cord was there, and I tensed. It hadn’t magically gone away, but that, at least, was a trail I could follow.
The black energy slanted alongside the stream. Suddenly angry, I strode forward, then skidded to a halt. Did I want to learn what was at the end of this line?
More cautious now, I picked my way across the damp, uneven ground. The line drilled through a redwood. I walked around the tree, and the line edged sideways. The cords were dizzying, shifting as I moved, lines overlapping, entangling. And through it all was that thick, oozing, black cable. I could smell it now, a rot rising above the vegetation.
Edging around a bush, I stopped. The black cord dove into the pool at the base of the spring.
“What the hell?”
Something tugged at my chest, and I staggered forward. “Wha—” Another yank knocked me to my hands and knees. And then I was skidding, sliding, scrabbling, a fish on a line, dragged across the damp earth toward the pool. “Stop it!”
I grabbed a branch. Leaves and bark peeled through my hands, and the branch whipped free.
I braced my foot on a rock and stiffened my muscles. “Let go!” The cord pulled me upright, and I stumbled closer to the pool. Three feet from it now, I wrapped my arms around the trunk of a young redwood. The black cord lifted me off my feet and into the air.
“I said, STOP!”
There was a snapping sound. The pressure released, and I dropped to the muddy ground.
Panting, I scrambled up the earthen steps and ran. My backpack flapped against my body, metal buckles ji
ngling.
I understood now. There were hundreds of those dark cords, attaching the spring to Jayce, to Lenore, to others. I’d felt them, cold and quivering twins to the cord that bound me to the spring. It all tied to the spring.
The redwoods fell away, and blue sky appeared above the oaks. Outside the dense redwoods, I got a sense of the hills again, the rumpled linen of their folds, of peaks and valleys and freedom. I was in the clear.
The light shifted and dimmed.
I glanced at the cloudless sky, as pale as the blue on Ellen’s bedroom wall, and looked over my shoulder.
A tidal wave of wind rampaged down the mountain like an enraged animal, tossing tree branches. I stepped back, staring, and knew the wind was for me. Seeking. Needing. Demanding.
Terror caught in the cleft behind my heart. The wind and clouds had spoken to me before. This was my magic. But this felt bigger, out of control. You think you’ve ever been in control?
Ignoring the dread pooling in my stomach, I raised my hands. I was done with fear driving me like a fallen leaf. The wind struck, kicking up dust and twigs. I closed my eyes and listened.
The wind whispered to me of a hut above a crystalline ocean, a woman chanting over a sailor’s knot. It howled of ancient races, dark and terrible. It thrummed of a golden chain, stretching from burning sands to a shingle and stone house, nestled in a crook of the Sierras.
The wind dropped, and loss flooded in.
The chain was broken.
Ellen was gone.
We’d never sit in the porch swing together, arguing politics and history. We’d never dawdle over lunch, egging each other on to go for dessert. We’d never have another Thanksgiving or Christmas together, the table groaning with food.
Gone.
I opened my eyes and drew a shuddering breath. That life was gone, but I was here and so were Jayce and Lenore. My sisters needed me. We needed each other.
And that damned spring was at the root of our problems.
I trekked down the hills to my house and toed off my sneakers on the back porch. My clothes were a muddy mess. I stripped off and showered, changing into jeans, a faded red t-shirt, and clean tennis shoes. Tying my damp hair into a ponytail, I grabbed my purse and drove to Ellen’s.
Inside her house, silence pressed upon me. I switched on the lights and hurried upstairs into the attic. The spell book lay open on the secretary desk. I flipped to the page with the story of the curse and read about the spring.
“Of course,” I muttered, reeling. “Belle wasn’t the other woman. She was a fairy. A fairy cast the curse — Belle.”
But could I believe in fairies? I closed the book, resting my fingertips on its cover. The wind had shown me humans shared this world with other beings. And that evil, black attachment had led straight to the fairy spring. And they sure as hell beat vampires.
The fairy was still out there. She or he or it kept the curse alive, making sure it struck generation after generation of my family.
Strange that there were never any Bonheim men.
I rose, pacing the attic.
But could I believe a fairy killed Alicia?
No. A human had committed that murder. It had to be a human, or I’d never be able to prove Jayce was innocent.
Pulling my cell from the pocket of my jeans, I dialed Nick.
No answer.
I thought back to our earlier conversation, and the blood rushed to my toes. “Oh, God.”
He’d figured it out. I should have understood as well. I might have, if I hadn’t been so preoccupied. But Nick had gotten there first. And he would have looked for proof.
Dizzy, I raised my head.
Nick was in danger.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Mouth dry, I raced down the steps to Ellen’s work space. Projects in various stages of completion lay scattered around the room. A half-made sweater draped over a lumpy green chair. Balls of yarn cascaded from a straw, pink beach tote leaning against a bookcase. Pastel, paper butterflies scattered across a low, black table.
Logic. I could figure out where Nick had gone. I had no other choice.
People were creatures of habit. The killer would be too. I hoped.
I hurried to Ellen’s desk and booted up the computer. The old machine flickered, slowly waking. I glanced at my watch, impatient. “Come on. Come on.” My temperature rising, I turned on the printer.
Finally, the computer played its song, awake at last. Not bothering to sit, I typed in a company name. A string of addresses scrolled down. I printed them and ran out of the house. Sliding into my car, I roared off.
The first house was obviously inhabited. A child’s rusty tricycle lay overturned on the front lawn. A dusty SUV sat parked in the driveway. I checked anyway, testing my theory, relaxing my gaze, my intention focused on those lines of energy. They sprang into view, radiating from my chest. None aimed into the house.
I drove on, my cell phone on the seat beside me in case someone called with news.
The next house was a log cabin buried in a stand of redwoods at the end of a long, winding road. The trees were so high I couldn’t see their tops. Ancient. The cabin looked abandoned, its green shutters closed fast.
I stepped out of the car, moving cautiously. No birds chirped in the redwoods. No breeze tossed the branches. No neighbors in sight. The cabin would be perfect for stashing a hostage. Or a body.
I pushed that thought aside.
Nick was alive. He had to be.
Relaxing my gaze, the lines reappeared. None flowed into the cabin. My shoulders relaxed.
I drove to the next location. Occupied, but no lines of energy. And the next. No lines. No Nick. I drove on.
My ribs felt too small, pressing against my lungs, against my fluttering heart. What if I was wrong? Maybe Nick and I had no connection. But if a line linked me to Darla, a casual acquaintance, then I had to be connected to Nick. I’d felt our connection the day we’d met. And I’d thought him arrogant, vain. My face warmed. What a judgmental idiot I’d been.
I drove onto Doyle’s Main Street, driving past the Gold Rush-era buildings. I turned left, up the hill to the old library, and parked in front of the brick building.
Grabbing my purse, I stepped from the car. I crossed the street and walked down the sloping sidewalk, fear speeding my footsteps.
Outside the white-painted home Brayden had visited, I paused at the garden gate. The scent of the garden’s flowers hung heavy in the warm air. A fat bumblebee sampled a fire-orange dahlia.
I relaxed my gaze, and the energy lines appeared.
A golden cord flowed straight from my heart and across the porch, through a closed window. Inside, its white curtains swayed. I raised my hand, touching it to the line. A tingling electricity flowed through me, a jolt of euphoria and gratitude and wholeness.
Nick.
I pushed open the gate. Striding past the FOR SALE sign, I tiptoed up the steps, tried the door.
Locked.
I peered through a window, cupping my hand to the glass. Through a crack in the drapes I saw faded furniture, circa 1970. Finished wood floors, smooth and dust-covered. A white-brick fireplace. Loose bricks and charred wood scattered across its hearth. Glancing over my shoulder, I tried the windows. Also locked.
Walking down the steps, I ambled along the gravel walk, trying to look casual. I’m not a burglar, pay no attention to me. All the while, I watched that golden cord shift as I moved, orienting on the small, white-washed house.
I walked around the corner of the building. A tall gate blocked my path. I felt over the top of the gate, found the latch, and slipped through.
The garden here was overgrown, dahlias brushing against my jeans as I crossed the paving stones.
I found a side door, its paint peeling, and tried to open it.
Locked.
Something thumped inside the house.
I banged on the door, my heart speeding. “Nick?”
Three more thumps. Silence.
I swore.
Finding a low window, I picked up a brick and chucked it. Glass shattered.
I winced. Someone had to have heard that.
Shards of broken glass made angry teeth of the window frame. Using another brick, I broke out the glass around the edge.
I took a skein of wool from my purse and wrapped it around my hand for protection, grabbed the frame. A piece of glass stabbed my palm. I winced through the pain and clambered inside. My jeans scraped on something. There was a tearing sound. “Nick?”
Another thump.
I discarded the skein on the dusty floor and opened the door to my left. It stuck, and I pushed it open with my shoulder, revealing a bathroom. Blue and white tiles climbed the wall. The clawfoot tub was empty.
I hurried down the short hall, thrusting doors open along the way. An empty bedroom. A kitchen. “Nick?”
More thumping.
My breath came quick and fast. I followed the sound to the master bedroom and a closet door. Opened it.
Nick lay on his side, his hands and feet bound with duct tape. His mouth was bound in silvery tape as well. Dried blood matted one side of his head, coating his ear, his neck. His eyes were glazed.
“Oh my God.” My knees buckled. I dropped to the floor beside him and ripped the tape off his mouth.
He gasped.
I dug in my purse and found my pocket knife, stepped over him. My hands trembled. Slowly, so as not to cut him, I sliced through the tape binding his wrists. “We need to get out of here.”
He groaned. “Karin,” he said, his voice thick. He levered himself to seating and rubbed his forehead. “Karin.”
Blinking away tears of relief, I cut through the tape at his ankles. I brushed a lock of hair from his brow. His head had stopped bleeding, but his gray-blue eyes were unfocused, the pupils wide.
I reached for my purse. “I’m calling an amb… Oh, hell.” I’d left my phone in the car. Idiot! “Can you stand?” I didn’t want to leave him here, not for a moment.
“My brain.” He shook his head and turned green. “I can’t think.”
Bound Page 25
