Mundanes felt a well-warded house as welcoming and secure even if they couldn’t explain why. At the other end of the spectrum, a curse would trigger an unsettled feeling. If this curse had gathered power—and the medical examiner in Austin was confident it had killed a person, so that was significant power right there—then mundanes in town would be talking. The talk might be subdued and uncertain, but chances were high that it would circle around and home in on true causes.
In popular culture, people told and retold stories of witch hunts. It was true that mob justice was seldom just, but it was also rare. Mostly people maintained healthy communities by sensing and acting against threats to it. Not acting drastically or violently, but reaching out to protect the vulnerable, strengthening existing ties, re-affirming positive values and traditions against the encroachment of evil. It was an integral part of being human.
No man is an island. Some poet had said it centuries ago. She and Shawn were here to stop the potential of plague and provide Bideer’s mundane safeguards with some magical back-up. She wouldn’t leave till the taint of death magic was eradicated.
She finished her toast and watched Shawn make himself another slice. “Mom serves lunch at twelve thirty, so we need to leave here by about twelve, and I’d like to compare notes before then.”
“Suits me. I’ll help you get the curtains down, then drop you and them in town, and pick you up on my way back from the hardware store.”
Exactly her plan. “I’ll either be at the dry cleaners, or three stores down at mom’s diner. Or I might be able to get a lift home from someone. If I do, I’ll text you.”
“No problem.” He spread honey on his last slice of toast.
Ruth sat a moment longer, although she’d finished her coffee. Through the window, she could see the blue of the sky intensifying as dawn gave way to day. It was a quiet time. Inside, the kitchen was terrible, old and blue and ugly, but it was pleasant to share breakfast with Shawn. Normally, when she visited Rose House she was alone. “Don’t buy much at the hardware store. Dad has a barn full of tools and he’ll lend you anything you need.”
“Are you sure?”
“Wait till you see the barn. It’s full of junk Granddad collected. Dad’ll be only too happy to pass some on.” She stood and took her mug and plate to the sink.
“Leave them,” Shawn said. “I’ll clean up while you dress.” In a gray sweater, old jeans and boots he was set to blend in with the other guys at the hardware store.
“Thanks.” She hurried upstairs to get ready. Jeans and boots for her, too, and a forest-green long-sleeved t-shirt for under her chunky rusty red cardigan. Thelma, at the dry cleaners, would be interested in the pattern Ruth had used to knit it, and discussion of that and choosing a pattern and wool for a new project would give Ruth an excuse to linger and chat. She brushed out her auburn hair and left it loose, curling to her shoulders.
She ran downstairs to find Shawn in the parlor, staring at the curtains.
Cleaning the curtains properly was a chore she’d put off. They were brocade and dusty, and hung from substantial and elaborate rods. The old house’s high ceilings meant the curtains were also awkward to reach.
“Do you have a ladder?”
She grimaced. “No. Dad’ll lend us one. I could put off the dry cleaner’s till this afternoon?”
“I could probably reach from a kitchen chair, but since there’s no one around.” Shawn sent a spark of magic towards the curtains.
The nearest curtain rod detached and slid its curtains gently towards them. Ruth scooped them up, as Shawn repeated the magic for the second window.
“Ugh.” She shuddered and stepped back as a spider scuttled from the top of one curtain hurrying to hide under an armchair. “I’m going to have to hoover everything.” Even the gentle dislodgment of the curtains had sent dust into the air. “And the windows are filthy. You wouldn’t guess I washed them three months ago.”
Her hands felt gritty from handling the curtains. She sneezed.
“Bless you.” He folded a curtain. “How do you want to transport these? I’d rather not have them in the cab of the truck with us.”
“Me, either. Just a tick.” She raced upstairs, found a couple of old sheets that had been in the linen cupboard when she bought the house, and which she’d washed and dried to be ready for just this sort of activity. “I’ll lay these down on the bed of the truck, then we can put the curtains on top.” Which was what they did.
At the dry cleaners, he scooped up one bundle of curtains in a sheet and she took the other, smaller one. The sheets somewhat prevented getting yet more dust on their clothes.
“Good heavens.” Thelma sneezed at the dust as the sheets fell away when they placed the bundles on the counter. “Come here and give me a dusty hug, child.”
Smiling, Ruth complied. Thelma and her gentle, humorous acceptance of life and people’s quirks, had been a refuge in Ruth’s teenage years. Ruth loved the old store which had somehow survived the explosion of online shopping with its crowded shelves of craft supplies intact.
Emerging from the hug, Ruth introduced Shawn.
“Ma’am.”
He was subjected to a shrewd assessment and evidently passed. Thelma smiled widely, displaying the perfection of her dentures. “Welcome to town, son.” The elderly woman didn’t have magic, but she had all the wisdom of her seventy plus years. “Glad to hear you’re going to be helping Ruth with her house. She’s been mighty resistant through the years to accepting any help from those who love her.”
Ruth bit her lip.
“But she’ll have her reasons.”
Shawn held Thelma’s gaze. “I reckon I met a couple of them yesterday.”
Ruth spun around to stare at him. He hadn’t just said…implied that her family kept her from Bideer?
Thelma laughed. “Couple of people told me of your encounter with Mason. Now there’s a boy who needs to—”
Ruth intervened. “Thelma, Shawn needs to get to the hardware store. He has a few things to buy, then he’s going to swing by, pick me up, and we need to be at the farm for lunch.”
“You telling me to hush up?” the older woman asked, faded brown eyes loving.
“Never.”
“Good, because your cousin might be in a wheelchair, and I feel as sorry as anyone does for him, but I never could understand how that made you the bad guy. It’s not like you poured that stolen liquor down his throat. And if Shawn doesn’t know the story, he soon will.”
“I told him last night.”
Shawn pulled a baseball cap out of his back pocket. “See you in a bit, Ruth. Nice to meet you, Thelma.” He put the cap on his head and marched out.
The chimes hanging above the door tinkled softly as he left.
“Before you ask,” Ruth said to Thelma. “We’re not together. Shawn’s a friend.”
“Seems the protective sort.”
Ruth thought of Shawn’s masked hollerider nature. “You’ve no idea.”
The doorbell tinkled again, louder than with Shawn’s exit.
“Now, that is a fine young man.”
“Cute butt.”
The Granger sisters had arrived. They burst in with their usual generous bustle and energy.
Ruth gave the two elderly, friendly gossips the hugs they demanded, and settled in to catch up on all the news, with especial interest in the “new folks down by the river”. In other words, the Moonlit Hearts Club.
Thelma cast her a sharp glance, perhaps recognizing that Ruth’s interest in the club was more than casual, but said nothing. That is, she said nothing until a lull in the conversation let her get a word in. “One of the waitresses at the diner is a member of the group. Polite young woman. Erica.”
Ruth recalled the woman. Thirty, badly dyed blonde hair. “She seemed nice.” And she’d been near Ruth last night; near enough for Ruth to perhaps detect the loneliness that had bothered her so much.
“Nice as pie,” the two elderly Granger sisters c
horused. Susan, the older by one year, continued. “Hers is a sad story. Erica’s fiancé jilted her at the altar. Left her standing there in the church, all her family and friends waiting and watching. She couldn’t get over it. Not just that embarrassment, but…she still loves the man. Can you believe it? Said she came here to heal her broken heart.”
“That’s what the leader of their group promises.” Thelma handed Ruth the docket for her curtains. “Zach Stirling.”
“Movie star handsome,” Veronica Granger interjected.
“He and his wife, Whitney, bought the old resort a while back. Moved here two months ago. They have a saying—”
“Let the gentle light of the moon heal your spirit.” Phil, Thelma’s nephew emerged from the back of the store. “It’s all rubbish, but good to see you home, Ruth.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Uncle Phil.” He was one of her dad’s friends.
With a nod to the two Granger sisters, he carried the curtains back through to the old dry cleaners. He ran a specialty service that people drove to from a few towns around. If anyone could rescue the old curtains, Phil could.
“I like Zach,” Susan said. “But his wife is too city-slick for me.”
“She’s very pretty,” Veronica said wistfully.
“They’ve gathered together some vulnerable people.” Thelma wiped dust from the curtains off the counter. “It worries me. Erica is hurting right now, but she’s strong. She’ll survive. But this Moonlit Hearts Club draws people in with the promise of healing lonely hearts. Some around town have even gotten involved. They’ve renamed the old resort Healing Hearts Ranch.” She snorted, but seemed more concerned than scornful. “Jared Hill is one of them. Do you remember him from school?”
Ruth thought hard. “He was a few years older than me. Skinny and tall. Shy.”
“He’s still all of that.” Thelma nodded. “But a nice boy. Got his heart broken in Dallas and came home. He’s working at the wood gallery, teaching whittling. Sells some of his carvings, too. I know there’s not much of a social life for young people in town. You all leave.” Thelma wasn’t complaining, just stating a fact. “But I don’t like that Jared’s taken up with the cult folk.”
Ruth jolted. It was the first time anyone in town had used the term “cult” in her hearing.
“That said,” Thelma continued. “It’s his choice. Can’t save someone from themselves.” She fixed Ruth with a learn-your-lesson look.
“Well, Ruth won’t get involved with Zach’s group,” Susan said, obviously attempting to break the tension. “She has that nice piece of eye-candy at her house.”
“Su-san Granger!” Thelma’s mouth twitched in a smile. “Where did you learn that language?”
Susan smiled beatifically. “From the dating site I joined.”
Chapter 5
Ruth and Shawn shared what they’d learned on their drive to her parents’ farm. She drove.
He rested his elbow on the open window and watched the countryside. “The men whistle at mention of Whitney Stirling, so she’s evidently easy on the eyes, but there’s a hint of unease.”
“Because they fear her husband?” Zach Stirling was the cult’s leader, if it was a cult. Ruth was curious. She hadn’t been able to get a sense of the town’s assessment of him during her time at Thelma’s shop. Or rather, she had, but she hadn’t been able to believe it.
“They like Zach,” Shawn said.
“That was what I heard, too. Do you think it’s real or a charisma charm?” People could be fooled.
“We can’t tell for sure till we meet him, but I’m inclined to think people genuinely like him. With all respect to your hometown, I thought there’d be more suspicion and mistrust of a set up like the Moonlit Hearts Club. Instead, people believe Zach is well-meaning.”
“And Whitney?”
“Could be a city wife going along unwillingly with her husband’s move to the country.”
“Or she could be the one setting the curse,” Ruth said. “Being the power behind the throne suits some people. A cult would be catnip to a manipulative personality.” She turned into the road to her parents’ farm. Now they were travelling along the edge of her family’s land. Her heart squeezed at the sense of connection she felt to it. “Thelma said the waitress who served us last night is one of the cult members.”
“Erica?”
“Yep, her.” Ruth’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. She was irrationally irritated that he remembered the woman’s name. Don’t be stupid. After all, she’d remembered it.
“Californian accent,” he observed.
She slowed the truck and turned into her parents’ driveway. It wound up to the house, currently hidden by trees. The driveway dipped down, then back up, and there was the farmhouse. It was a solid 1950s ranch her grandparents had built after a fire destroyed the original wooden house. Beyond it were the two barns and other outbuildings. She drove around to the back of the house and parked near the pecan tree, but just out of reach of late-falling nuts.
The kitchen door opened immediately and her mom stood there. “Right on time. If you just call your dad…”
“I’m here.” Joe Warner walked out of the large barn.
“Dad.” Ruth ran across and gave him a hug. She and her family might be distant, but she loved them. She’d missed them.
Her dad was an undemonstrative man, but his hug was firm, and when she drew back to look at him, she saw he was staring at Shawn. Judging him.
And Shawn was staring back, not challengingly or offensively, but with his own assessment. His hazel eyes were narrowed, either against the midday sun or in thought.
“Helen says you’ll be helping Ruth with her house,” Joe said as he shook Shawn’s hand.
“I’ll be knocking out the kitchen.”
“Ruth, you’ll have to think what you want to do with it.” Helen pushed the door wide for them all to troop in, wiping their feet on the mat first, and with Joe ambling off to wash his hands. Her kitchen sparkled. Granite countertops and subway tile splashbacks showed that she’d gone modern in last year’s renovation.
Ruth liked the clean, modern look in the farmhouse. It suited her mom who, although she loved cooking, was more about practicality than olde worlde charm. For Rose House, though, Ruth wanted an old-fashioned kitchen. Not a modern island for more workspace, but an over-sized wooden table. Something to match wooden countertops and cupboards.
“Earth to Ruth,” Shawn said. “Your mom asked you to get the bowls out, and since I can smell how good that soup is, I don’t want any delay.” He smiled to show his teasing, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes, especially when he looked in her mom’s direction.
Helen stood uncertainly by the stove, spoon poised above the soup pot, ready to go and get the bowls herself.
Ruth snapped back to attention. “Sorry, Mom. I was thinking of kitchen renovations. The soup does smell good. Is it your minestrone?”
“Yes. I thought the day was cold enough that we’d enjoy it. I made soda bread as well.”
They sat at the table, Joe said a simple grace, and the meal began.
Ruth intended to edge the conversation around to the cult.
Shawn, however, took the conversation in a different direction. “How much do you know about Ruth’s work?” he asked her parents.
She stared at him.
He ignored her and looked at Helen and Joe.
“Ruth’s a paramedic,” Helen began.
Ruth broke in. “Shawn works for the Collegium, too. He knows my cover story and the truth.” Which was why he ought to have known better than to bring it up.
“You are a paramedic, though.” Helen glanced at Shawn. “She graduated top of her class.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.” He ate some soup. “And this tastes as good as it smells.”
Helen smiled a little. “There’s plenty more in the pot. I made extra to freeze.”
“Why do you ask if we know about Ruth’s work?” Joe asked.
<
br /> “It’s her work that brings us here.”
Ruth sat back in her chair and frowned at him. “What are you doing?”
“We want the inside knowledge of Bideer. Your parents are among the few that know magic is real. I’m going to ask for their help.”
Joe put down his spoon. “What’s wrong?”
“Dad, it’s—” She stopped. She could hardly say that a potential plague was “nothing”.
“Someone’s cursing people in Bideer. It could have serious consequences beyond the immediate victims.” Shawn walked the narrow line between honesty and freaking out her parents with mention of a plague.
“Victims?” Helen put a hand to her throat.
“No one we know, Mom,” Ruth said hurriedly. “A man travelling through died a few days ago.”
“The one that had a heart attack in the bank?” Helen asked.
“It probably looked like a heart attack,” Ruth conceded, spooning up some soup, trying to look casual.
“What does that mean?” Her dad frowned at her.
She went with a literal answer. “His heart ruptured.”
Helen shuddered. “From a curse? But who in town would…those new people! The ones at the river camp.”
Ruth wasn’t sure if her mom had a touch of second sight or had surrendered to a natural tendency to blame outsiders. “It could be. We’d like to know more about them.”
“Erica, she’s a waitress at the diner, came to town to join them. Or maybe she was already a member.” Abstracted, Helen ate some soup.
Ruth nodded. “Thelma told me a bit about Erica. Thelma also mentioned that Jared Hill was involved with the club.”
“Yes. He comes in and talks with Erica sometimes. He always sits where he knows she’ll serve him. I thought it was cute.” Helen looked upset. “Both of them jilted, lonely, but finding each other. I’d hoped they’d get together.”
“Maybe they will,” Shawn said, quite gently. “The club mightn’t be the problem, and even if it is, there’s no saying that Erica or Jared are part of the evil.”
Plague Cult Page 6
