Passage (Soul of the Witch Book 1)

by C. Marie Bowen

  Amy smiled. “I never saw him. I hoped he would come.”

  “He was angry about the wedding announcement.”

  Amy chuckled and shook her head. “Did you tell him about Clemens?”

  “Yes.” Nichole paused to choose her next words. “We talked about White Eagle and the things he said about me. Merril knows I've been different since the accident. I told him that I remember things that don't belong to me—to Nichole.”

  Amy stopped and stared at her. “He knows you aren't you anymore?”

  Nichole blinked and caught her breath in astonishment. She’d only begun to wrap her mind around the possibility that something inexplicable had happened, yet Amy seemed willing to accept the miraculous. “Doesn't that frighten you?” Nichole whispered.

  “Heavens, no! I like you more now than I did before.” She paused and raised a brow. “Do you know if—should I call her ‘old Nichole’—if she died? Is that what my vision foretold?”

  “No.” Nichole shook her head. “She's not gone.”

  It helps to talk with Amy.

  Amy gaped at Nichole. “What do you mean?”

  Jim had returned to the wagon with the horses, and the women turned around and headed back.

  “I'm still me, in one sense. Half of the memories that come back are familiar. I still feel like me,” Nichole answered softly. “It's the other memories that confuse me. They're mine too, but they don't belong here, or maybe, they don't belong to now.”

  Amy arched one brow at Nichole. “Fascinating.”

  Nichole's serious face broke into a huge smile as she stared back at Amy.

  “What?” Amy grinned at Nichole in confusion.

  Nichole shook her head and chuckled. “It's nothing. I'm just glad you're not freaked out.”

  “Freaked out?”

  Nichole laughed again. “Yeah, you know, hysterical and terrified.”

  Amy made a funny noise and waved her hand. “I guess not much freaks me out, then.”

  When they reached the buckboard, the horses were hitched and ready. Jimmy helped both women up to the high seat.

  “I hate this seat,” Nichole commented as Jim mounted his mare. Both he and Amy laughed.

  “No, seriously. It should be padded and have an awning over the top to keep the sun off our necks.”

  Jim chuckled as he rode ahead.

  Nichole turned to Amy who also had a strange smile on her face. “What's so amusing?”

  “You just described the carriage you asked Jason to order for you. You and Jason discussed at length whether you needed a one, and how well it would hold up on these roads.” Amy hesitated, then added, “It's the carriage that overturned when you were injured.”

  They reached the outskirts of Denver late in the afternoon. As they passed the first few buildings, Nichole breathed a sigh of relief. The long ride was almost over, and Merril would be waiting for her.

  The street was powder-dry, and a dust cloud hung in the air along the roadway, kicked up by horse and wagon traffic on the main thoroughfare. Nichole gazed spellbound at the storefronts as shoppers, soldiers, cowboys, and fancy women moved along the street.

  Jim rode slightly ahead of the wagon. At a diagonal cross street, he turned right, and Amy followed him.

  “We’re almost there,” Amy commented as she turned the team right again.

  Without the busy street and shops, it seemed to Nichole as though they were heading out of town. Then they passed several houses, and she realized they were in a new residential area.

  “We're home, gals,” Jimmy called back. He rode up the street, then stopped and dismounted in front of a narrow two-story red brick house.

  Amy pulled the reins and brought the team to a stop before the residence.

  Nichole stared at the finely carved 'H’ on the front door.

  So this is home. I don't remember it.

  “Here we are.” Amy dropped the reins and stretched her tired back with a sigh.

  Jim dusted his pants with his hat and then slid it onto its resting place. “Why don't you ladies go on inside? I'll take the team around back and take care of the horses. I'll bring our things in when I'm done.”

  “That sounds marvelous, Jim,” Amy replied with a quick smile. “I don't know about you Nicki, but I need a bath.”

  “Merril said he would be here.” Nichole reminded them as Jim helped Amy down from the seat, then came around to help her.

  “The house is locked up.” Amy opened a pouch she had tied to her skirt and removed a key. “He couldn't get in. He's probably in town and will be along soon.”

  Jim led the team and his mare around the side of the house.

  Nichole climbed the steps to the covered front porch. Alone at the door, she turned around to find Amy.

  Amy remained at the edge of the street looking up at the house.

  “Is something wrong?” Nichole asked as Amy continued to search the windows.

  Nichole returned to Amy and looked up at the house. The windows were closed, and the curtains were drawn. She glanced at Amy who still gazed up, key in hand.

  “What’s the problem?” Nichole asked again.

  “Nothing.” Amy shook her head. “I don't know.” Amy continued to the front door, inserted the key in the lock, and opened the door. She looked back at Nichole who followed her onto the porch.

  “I saw damage to the window upstairs, but when I looked again, everything was fine.”

  “A premonition?”

  “It could mean anything.” Amy shrugged. “Or nothing. Come in. I'll show you the house.”

  Nichole followed Amy's example and removed her hat, hanging it and her wrap on decorative wooden pegs near the door, and looked around.

  “The receiving area.” Amy gestured to the front parlor with one hand, as she closed the door and turned the bolt. A double-cushioned love seat faced two matching chairs across a small table. If the curtains had been open, the windows would look onto the porch.

  They walked through a small dining room to the back of the house and into the kitchen. Amy pushed back the curtains, and they could see Jim busy with the horses in the carriage house.

  “The privy is out the back steps to the left. We can bathe at the foot of the stairs, near the fireplace over there.” She pointed to a small area near the stairs. “There's a curtain for privacy. The bedrooms are upstairs.”

  Nichole nodded and started up the narrow stairs. With the curtains drawn, the upper floor was shadowed.

  Amy followed her, and at the top, directed Nichole to a room facing the street.

  The tidy bedroom was empty of personal effects. A large wardrobe stood to one side, and a quilted blanket was spread neatly across the bed.

  Amy crossed to the windows and opened the curtains. She checked the latch, then looked at the sill on both sides.

  “Is that the window you saw?” Nichole asked. Amy nodded and turned back to Nichole—then froze.

  “Welcome home, ladies,” a menacing voice taunted from behind them. “I been waitin' for you all day.”

  Nichole spun around and took a step back.

  Blackie Jones stood in the doorway, with a revolver pointed at her. Bareheaded, his thin, greasy hair was pulled across his forehead and secured behind his ear. He was in stocking feet with his belt and pants undone.

  “You.” He indicated Amy with his gun. “I got no quarrel with you.”

  “Then let her go,” Nichole begged. She reached back and clasped Amy's hand.

  Amy's grip was strong, but she was shaking.

  “Can't do that. She'd go for help, and what I have in mind may take a while.” Jones grinned at Nichole and spat into the hall. “I don't want to be interrupted.” He ran his tongue over his yellow-black teeth and smacked his lips.

  He looked around the room, then reached over and opened the wardrobe door. The end of the gun moved from Nichole to Amy.

  Jones lifted his chin at Amy. “Get in there.” He waved his gun in the direction of the open cabin
et.

  Amy released Nichole's hand and stepped around the bed closer to Jones. She bent her head and squeezed into the closet, and then cried out as Jones slammed the door shut.

  Nichole winced at the sound. Her mouth had gone dry, and her heart pounded in terror.

  “A snug fit,” Jones commented with a chilling laugh.

  With the gun pointed at Nichole, he picked up a candleholder from the nightstand and shoved it through the wardrobe handles locking Amy inside.

  “Now, you.” He advanced on Nichole, gun first, then reached out with his other hand and grabbed a handful of her hair just above her ear. “I've been thinkin' about this all day.” He holstered his gun, punched Nichole in the stomach and slung her down hard on the bed.

  * * *

  Merril Shilo

  The horses trudged forward with their heads down. Their breath labored. Pressing them to greater speed proved useless—they had nothing left to give.

  Merril had tried to keep them at a slow trot, but Jason kept riding ahead. He had to remind Jason to slow down. Not that he wanted to go slower; he understood Jason's terror. Shadows were long, and he needed to find Nichole.

  Precaution didn't matter. Just before they reached the small livery near the house, Sadie stopped walking altogether. Jason dismounted and coaxed her forward, but she wouldn't move. Head down, she had bloody froth at her mouth and was blowing hard.

  “Leave her,” Merril said. “We can send someone back from the livery.”

  Jason tossed down Sadie's reins, grabbed his rifle, and ran up the street.

  Merril urged Midnight past Jason and dismounted at the stable. Midnight hung his head blowing hard. Merril patted his neck and yelled for assistance.

  A boy of about twelve came out at a run. When he saw Midnight's condition, his eyes grew large.

  “There is another one down the road that needs care.”

  The boy nodded his head and watched as Jason ran past, turning down Pence Street.

  “We'll be at the Harris house. You know the place?” Merril's skin crawled. He needed to run.

  The boy nodded again. Merril handed him Midnight's reins just as the horse dropped to his front knees.

  “Damn,” Merril muttered. His heart broke for Midnight. When he looked up, he noticed a Shilo-branded pony in the corral and his heart filled with dread. He pulled his rifle from its sheath and ran after Jason.

  “He's here!” Merril yelled to Jason as he passed him with his long stride.

  The house looked empty. Merril leaped the front steps, tried the door and found it locked. He turned and motioned to Jason, who had just made it to the yard.

  “Go around back. This is locked.”

  Jason nodded and ran along the side of the house. Merril hopped the porch rail and together, they raced into the back yard. As he rounded the corner, Merril spotted Jim near the carriage house with Amy's trunk in his arms. Both Merril and Jason came to a stop and struggled to catch their breath.

  “Where's Amy?” Jason panted, hands on his knees.

  “Jones is here,” Merril gasped at the same time.

  At Merril's words, Jim raised his eyes to the balcony. The big man let out a growl of pure rage and tossed the trunk aside. In two strides, he crossed the yard and put his shoulder to the latched kitchen door. It opened with a crash. Without pause, he turned and ran up the stairs with Merril and Jason at his heels.

  * * *

  Blackie Jones

  Blackie Jones punched Nichole hard again and waited for her to whimper. He’d worked her over pretty good. Her nose was bloody, and her lips torn and bleeding. One eye had swollen closed. He could hear Amy crying softly in the wardrobe. It was so good. Now that the fancy little bitch was put in her place, it was time for the main event.

  He reached down and tore her blouse open, then ripped her chemise down the middle. He laughed out loud when her breasts were exposed.

  Nice.

  He squeezed them hard with both hands, but the bitch didn't make a sound. That was all right. He was almost done.

  He freed his erection from his trousers and pushed her skirt up, spreading her knees wide with his own.

  The loud crash at the back door startled him. He paused, crouched over Nichole, as he fumbled for his gun. Just as he drew it from his holster and pointed it at the door, Jimmy Leigh was on him, screaming like a banshee.

  Jim wrapped an arm around Jones's chest and lifted him clear of Nichole. His forward motion and mass propelled them both across the room, against the far wall, and out the window with a crash.

  Jones pulled the trigger as they fell.

  * * *

  Amy Harris

  Crouched inside the wardrobe, Amy heard a bang downstairs. It shook the house. Then the thumping of boots on the stairs.

  Jim's coming.

  An instant later, she heard Jim scream—a bloodcurdling battle cry that filled her heart with something inexplicable. The house shook again. Into the sudden silence, she heard the sound of falling glass.

  “Help me! Jim, are you there?” She pounded on the inside of the cabinet. Powerless and blind, terror consumed her, and she succumbed to panic. Yet, part of her mind remained calm, almost observant—a part she couldn't reach. Blood drummed in her ears like a kettledrum, and she gasped for air as terror threatened to suffocate her.

  It felt as though she’d been trapped in the darkness, listening to Nichole cry out and Jones's snickering, for an eternity.

  “Let me out!” she rasped as she pounded on the door again. She stilled when she heard a scrape on the wall outside her prison, then light and fresh air rushed in as the doors opened wide.

  Jason gripped her arms and pulled her from the cramped interior.

  Crushed to the safety of Jason’s chest, she sobbed and held tight to his shoulders. Her back ached, and her legs buckled, as though they couldn't support her weight any longer. Something inside her remained disconnected. Watchful.

  Her head came up over Jason's shoulder, and her eyes grew wide. “Oh, no!” The window and a good portion of the wall were gone.

  “Nichole? Oh, sweet Jesus,” Merril's cry filled the room. He turned from the gaping hole in the wall and fell to his knees beside the bed. He pushed the blood-soaked hair from her face and ran his hand down her neck. “Nicki, I'm so sorry. Please don't go—stay with me.” His voice was choked and broken. “Amy—she's not breathing!”

  Merril's cry galvanized Amy. She tried to push Jason away, but his arms locked around her. “Jason, let me go.”

  “I need to know you're all right.”

  The terror in Jason's voice reached her, and she looked up at her husband's face. She placed her palm on the side of his cheek. “Yes. I'm uninjured, but you need to let me go. I have to help Nichole.” She shoved at him again, and he released her. “Go help Jim. Merril and I will take care of Nichole. Hurry!” Amy pointed toward the door.

  Jason took a step back, then turned and ran from the room.

  Merril wrapped the quilt around Nichole. He sat on the bed and pulled her into his lap. He whispered into her ear as he searched for a pulse. His face crumbled, and he shook his head at Amy. He hugged her to his chest as grief overwhelmed him. “No, no, no!”

  “I need you to lay her down. Merril, listen to me.” Amy gripped his arm. “Unwrap the blanket and lay Nichole on her back.”

  Merril looked up at Amy, confusion and grief etched on his face.

  “Do it now. There isn't much time for this to work. I don't even know if I can, but I have to try. It may already be too late.”

  “For what to work, Amy?” He laid Nichole on the bed and ran both hands over his face.

  Amy stepped in front of him and opened the quilt. She turned Nichole's head to the side.

  Nichole's eyes were partly open and dull. Blood oozed from her open lips. “Try to get the blood out of her mouth.”

  Merril pulled the handkerchief from his neck and wiped Nichole’s mouth clear of blood.

  Amy climbed on to
p of the bed and straddled Nichole's hips. She placed one hand between her breasts and one on her abdomen. Her hands trembled as she pushed her sight into Nichole.

  A golden aura shimmered around her hands and bled down onto Nichole's skin. Amy could see inside Nichole. Lungs filled with blood. A broken rib’s jagged edge pierced her lung. The liver bruised—the spleen torn—her heart still.

  Anguish filled Amy's chest. She could see the damage with her Earth-Sight, but she couldn't mend the bone or spark her heart. She couldn't fill Nichole's lungs with air. She knew she couldn't. She’d tried to heal before and failed.

  The part of her she had sensed, the calm watchful presence in the wardrobe—moved. It twisted around Amy, inside her, then reached through Amy's connection to Nichole and began to mend the damage. The Entity straightened the rib, removed it from Nichole's lung, and knitted the shattered bone. The liver healed, and the tear in the spleen mended.

  The presence nudged Amy, and somehow, she understood. She widened her vision. Nichole's bruises were touched, her loose teeth reset. Lastly, a fiery spark shocked Nichole's heart, and air pushed the remaining blood up and out through her mouth.

  Amy watched her heart falter, then begin to beat on its own.

  Nichole struggled to take a breath.

  Without breaking the connection to the other presence, Amy opened her inner vision and found a translucent mirror. The face reflected was her own, but she knew it wasn't her. The Entity mimicked her face and gazed back at her. The moment seemed suspended in time as she stared into eyes identical to her own.

  Slowly, the Entity pulled away. It whispered into Amy’s mind.

  I will find you.

  Then, it was gone.

  Chapter 39

  Courtney Veau

  Present-day – Denver, Colorado

  Courtney blinked, and the attic came into focus. Cobwebs hung like wraiths in the beam of her flashlight. The old photo frame lay in her lap. How long had she sat in the dust remembering her short time as Nichole? She looked down at the sepia-toned photograph, and her fingertips caressed the curved glass above Merril's face. “I'm sorry, my love.”