“How do you know it hasn’t ended with Amon?” Phaedra challenged.
“Did you kill him?”
“Of course not.” She was deeply offended at the suggestion.
“Who did?”
Phaedra glanced down at the ground and her striking red hair fell across her features. “I don’t know.”
“What do you intend to do about it?” he asked hoping she had a plan. “How are you going to protect the girls?”
“If it has ended with Amon, there is nothing to do. The girls are safe. The magus power can only be passed to males. The necromancer will move on and we can all go back to status quo and you can get out of Dark Moon Falls.” She crossed the circle, brushing her shoulder against his as she walked by. “That’s not a suggestion, by the way.”
“I can’t leave,” he said in defeat.
Phaedra spun around. “I appreciate your chivalry, but I can handle this. He isn’t going to want anything to do with the coven, and if he does, that’s my concern. Amon was the last magus. The necromancer will move on.”
“What if he wasn’t the last,” Abel said with a reluctant tone.
“He was,” she said with confidence. “Amon had no male children.” She brushed her hair over her shoulder. “Hell, both of his children are duds, as it should be.”
Abel stood silent and his eyes told the story of concern.
“Abel?” Phaedra squinted as though trying to see through him.
“What if the necromancer isn’t convinced? What if he goes after the girls anyway?” he offered as a measure to get permission to stay. “What about my son?”
Phaedra’s shoulders fell. “What do you know about him? Who else knows about him?”
“I don’t know much, but it won’t matter. If the necromancer thinks there’s a chance of Maynard having the power, he’ll try to take it.” He looked up at her with pleading eyes. “Let me stay to protect my son.”
She tapped her finger on her chin for a moment in thought. “I’m sure he’s moved on. Just like you’re about to do. No one knows about the boy…I’m sure the necromancer has moved on.”
Abel blew out a breath of defeat. “May I please stay for the funeral?” Abel was quick to add. “For the girls? For Maynard?”
She pressed her lips into a tight line and smiled. “Yes, it might be fun watching you squirm under Ayry’s hatred.”
“I’m glad I could add to your entertainment.”
“Don’t push me, boy. You’re lucky you’ll be allowed to walk out of here with your secret and your testicles intact.”
Abel suppressed a smile and bowed his head slightly. “I am grateful for both.”
“But after the funeral, you’re gone.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said watching her walk toward the back of the sanctuary.
“The less I see of you, the better. Make yourself scarce.” She disappeared around the corner.
Abel released a breath and his shoulders fell slightly, letting go of the tension of the exchange. He had three days to find the necromancer. That was his only hope of keeping Ayry and Maynard safe.
Phaedra believed the necromancer was gone, but Abel didn’t. He knew it hadn’t ended with Saul. He was close and Abel was going to stop him.
“Abel?” A quiet voice startled him out of his thoughts.
Abel searched to find the voice.
“Over here.” Candlelight lit her face as she emerged from the shadow. Straight platinum hair framed her tiny face.
“Stasia?” Abel said, puzzled. She was just a child the last time he had seen her.
“Yup, I’m all grown up now.” She smiled and shook the hair from her face. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
Abel coughed an insincere laugh and shifted his stance nervously. “I wouldn’t say that.”
She studied him intently. “You’re back for Amon’s funeral?”
The exchange grew more strained as the moments passed. He could only imagine how she felt about him. “Yes. Phaedra is being very gracious in letting me stay for it.”
An insincere smile spread across her lips, and Stasia said, “Phaedra has always been very gracious.”
“Yes, she has. I will respect her wishes and leave after the funeral.” He looked down at his hands then up at Stasia. “I’m going to go and ‘make myself scarce’.”
Stasia nodded and folded her hands in front of her.
With an awkward smile, Abel took three steps backward before turning to leave.
“You know, I don’t blame you . . . for any of it.” Her words halted him, but he remained silent. “I know what happened that night and I also know it was necessary.”
Abel was struck speechless. He wanted to inquire deeper to find out if she really did know what happened that night. “I appreciate you saying so. But I’m still sorry for what you had to go through.”
“I know you are.” She moved closer to him in a fluid motion.
He didn’t know what to do. Apologize again? Leave? Stay? “I should go before Phaedra comes back.”
“You want to grab some coffee? Hot Joy is still the best cup of Joe in town,” she offered.
“I don’t think bellying up to the coffee bar would fit into Phaedra’s idea of staying scarce. I’m going to go back to my hotel.”
“Where are you staying?” she asked.
“Outside of town.” He moved toward the door. “I gotta go.”
“I’ll see you around, Abel.” Her voice haunted him. Guilt mixed with a sense of foreboding circled in the pit of his stomach.
He got on his bike and started it up. He glanced back at the sanctuary to see Stasia standing in the doorway watching him leave. She looked almost angelic with her platinum hair and long white dress. But he knew better. Her father was at the center of all this and the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
Abel beat himself up for feeling that way about Stasia. It didn’t matter that being a necromancer wasn’t passed down from parents to children. But Saul was no good before he gained the power.
He arrived at the motel and slid his key into the lock. It wouldn’t turn or budge. He looked over toward the motel’s office and saw the monochrome glow from the television.
Abel entered the office, but Alfred wasn’t there. He hit the bell and waited for Alfred to come from behind the curtain. He grew impatient and said “Alfred! Phaedra gave me the okay to stay for the funeral. Please unlock my door.”
There was no answer, the only sound was the static from the TV. Abel took a closer look behind the high counter.
On the floor Abel saw a broken plate with mashed potatoes, corn, and some unidentifiable meat strewn about. He went on alert and sniffed the air for the scent of anyone other than Alfred and him.
Blood. He smelled blood.
A bloody handprint was smeared next the curtain that separated the office from Alfred’s living area. “Alfred?” he called out frantically.
Abel hopped over the counter and toward the back of the living quarters. “Alfred!”
“What?” Alfred snapped as he turned from the sink in the small dingy kitchen holding a white, blood-stained towel around his hand.
“What happened?” Abel asked.
“I cut my hand,” he said as he gripped the wound with his good hand.
“I was worried.” Abel gave him a curious look.
“I’m going to recover,” Alfred said and rolled his eyes.
“Do you want me to look at it? Take you to the clinic?”
“No, it’s just a little cut. Much ado about nothing, really.” He pushed past him and asked, “Did you get permission to stay?”
“I did. Phaedra said I could stay for the funeral.” Abel examined him. Something wasn’t right.
“Okay, your room should be open now.” Alfred sat at the desk and leaned over to clean the food off the floor.
“So much for dinner.” Abel recalled he was eating when he came in earlier.
“Yeah, it was good too.”
“Do you want
me to go grab you something from the diner? I have to get something to eat anyway.” Abel offered.
“Nah, I have more in the back,” Alfred said dismissively.
“Let me know if you need anything.” Abel backed out of the office, still unsure why he felt so uneasy.
When he reached his room, the key turned with ease. He fell backward on the bed and let his mind race. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right. Maybe it was just that Ayry was a few miles away and he wasn’t with her. Or that he’s just found out he’s a father.
So many reasons to feel unrest. He wanted to run, feel free and wild. Living in the city, shifting was rarely an option.
He dropped his arms backward across the bed fighting the forest that was calling to him. He wanted to run in all the familiar places, dredging up all the familiar feelings he’s been shoving down for five years.
Chapter 4
Anabelle stood in the parlor watching Ayry stroke Maynard’s hair gently. His eyes fluttered with sleep.
Ayry held her finger to her lips and mouthed, “He’s almost down.”
Anabelle marveled at how her sister had transitioned into motherhood. She asked herself how it happened in five short years, from insipid teenager to momma bear. She regretted missing it.
Ayry slid off the couch carefully and covered Maynard with the afghan that decorated the back of the couch. She leaned down and pressed a light kiss on his forehead.
She reached the door of the parlor and held her hands up, swirled them in the air, and went to the kitchen. Ayry got her favorite mug from the cabinet. A wistful smile spread across her lips as though a memory enveloped her in a hug. “Thanks for keeping this around.”
Anabelle chuckled. “Of course, why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. Maybe updating things around here?”
“Why would I want to do that? It’s perfect as is.” She motioned around the quaint kitchen. “The guests love it, the down-home small-town charm of it all.”
“And you’re too lazy to renovate.” Ayry sat at the table with her mug in hand.
“That too.” Anabelle sat down and thought for a moment. She pinned Ayry with a serious look. “When did this happen?”
“What?” Ayry sipped her coffee.
“You know what.” She waved her hands around. “That.”
“I’m not sure what you mean. It’s nothing new.”
Ayry’s flippant attitude was infuriating Anabelle. “Dad said you and I were both duds, as it should be.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure there’s anyone in Dark Moon Falls that knows how to tell the truth,” she said as her expression soured.
Anabelle rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to have this conversation again. “What about Maynard? You didn’t think to mention that?”
“Not while we were on the phone.”
“I guess you have a point, but you haven’t taught him to keep it under wraps. You know how dangerous that could be . . . You know, with Dad and all.” Anabelle shifted in her seat.
“I spent most of my life keeping this secret from my own family. Dad knew. So did Mom.”
“Wait –”
“Yeah, I manifested when I was Maynard’s age. I think of what I could’ve done if my powers had been developed rather than stuffed down and hidden, and it makes me sick. Things could’ve been different,” she said as she shook her head. “All those years lying to all the people closest to me and for what? To protect us? It didn’t protect Mom, it didn’t protect Dad. . .”
“But this is a big deal now, considering the circumstances. You keeping your power hidden is more important than ever.” Anabelle stood up and walked to the counter and braced herself mumbling.
“What did you say?” Ayry said and squinted at her sister.
Anabelle squeezed her eyes shut as she said, “This was supposed to end with us.”
“It didn’t. I thought it would end when Abel –” She stopped herself from saying the words.
“It should’ve,” Anabelle said knowingly. “But it didn’t.”
“Dad’s death?”
Anabelle raised a brow, “Do you really think Dad died of natural causes? You and I both know that a magus can live to be two hundred years old.”
“Dad wasn’t anywhere near that.”
“No, he wasn’t, and he was in perfect health,” Anabelle said as she clutched her coffee cup.
“If Saul is dead, who did it?” Ayry asked, hoping for some sort of clue to pop out of the sky. “Who would be powerful enough.”
“No idea. I thought Dad was the last of a cursed breed.”
“He wasn’t and neither am I.” Worry wrinkled her forehead.
“I know. I had no idea.” Anabelle wanted to process this new information, to ask a hundred questions, but she knew this wasn’t the time.
“Neither did I for a long time. It was important to keep it quiet and now that we know there is still a threat it’s even more important.” Ayry bit her lip deep in thought.
“I’m going to go to Dad’s while Maynard’s napping.” Ayry stood from the table.
“Why?” Anabelle asked cautiously.
“Honestly, I want to make sure the horses are okay and maybe take Powder out for a ride.” A sense of warmth came over her at the thought of riding her horse through the woods again.
“Okay, just be careful,” Anabelle warned.
“I will be.”
The energy in the house seemingly exploded and the girls exchanged a foreboding look.
“Hello!” A voice rang from the front of the house.
Ayry sprang into action and met the woman in the hallway. She slid the parlor doors closed.
“Aunt Jezabelle,” Anabelle greeted.
Ayry didn’t recognize her Aunt.
Jezabelle went straight for Anabelle, “How are you, darling?”
“I’m fine,” Anabelle said closing her eyes.
“And you must be Ayrabelle.” She threw her arms around Ayry.
Ayry squirmed to get away and said, “Nice to meet you.”
“I met you a few times when you were much younger. But you’re all grown up now.” Jezabelle looked her up and down.
Ayry just nodded. “I was just heading out to Dad’s. I’m burning daylight, so I’m going to go.”
“Oh, but I wanted to catch up,” Jezabelle said, disappointed.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.” Ayry backed away and out the door.
“Okay, dear, that sounds nice. I’m going to go up to my room and take a little nap, then.” Jezabelle walked past Anabelle as though she wasn’t there.
“Seriously, you’d better come back soon. Don’t leave me alone with her for too long,” Anabelle begged.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” Ayry said and laughed on her way out the door.
Ayry came to a stop in front of the farmhouse where she had grown up. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel a little tighter before getting out of the car.
The house looked small in comparison to what she remembered. She looked past the house to the barn that was easily five times larger. She pulled the key out of the ignition, steeled her nerves and opened the door.
Yellow police tape crisscrossed the deep brown double doors that Ayry remembered as heavy and that usually needed an extra shove to open and close.
She inhaled, lifted her hands in the air, and transported herself inside so as not to disturb the police tape. The house smelled different, felt different, kind of stale. A bluish hue made it feel as though her childhood home was nothing but the shadow of a memory that may not have happened.
She ran her finger along the mantle full of family photos of happier times she barely remembers, her mother holding her hand looking up at Anabelle riding on her father’s shoulders, the whole family whale watching at Puget Sound. She huffed a tiny laugh remembering how the rain poncho nearly swallowed her.
Dust coated her finger and she brushed it on her jeans. Dad has only been gone three days, not long
enough for this much dust to have piled on.
She took a closer look around the house and saw it was uncharacteristically cluttered, with books piled on the floor overturned and open, papers strewn about the room. A slight flicker near the window caught her eye, and she moved closer to investigate.
It was thin and barely there, the remnants of a protection that she immediately recognized as her father’s magic.
“He knew he was coming,” she whispered.
She glanced back at the books piled in front of the couch. The first one she picked up had no title, no author. She flipped through the handwritten pages and saw drawings, diagrams, ingredients, instructions, all defending against dark magic, against the necromancer.
“A bloodline can only bare one.
Until the magus are all but gone,
Balance must be stricken down,
One warrior will breed the dawn of the necromancers.”
“Ayry?”
She slammed the book shut and spun around ready to fight. “Sheriff Templeton!” Ayry absorbed the tiny bit of energy that was poised to be released. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“It’s a wolf thing,” he said as he glanced at the floor. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but I didn’t know who was in here…this being a crime scene and all.”
“Why is it still a crime scene? I was told my father died of natural causes,” she challenged.
“Standard procedure.” The lie bled through his confident expression.
“You’ve always been a terrible liar Sheriff Templeton.”
The sheriff smiled. “It is standard.”
“But you don’t think he died of natural causes?”
“I don’t know what to think and until I figure it out, this is a crime scene,” he said, motioning around the room. “Do you know what all these books are?” He pointed at the book she held clutched in her arms.
“Magic.” Ayry shrugged. “You suspect it was someone with magic?”
“I’m not saying anything until I know for sure.” He blanched when he looked at the couch.
“What is it?” Ayry asked. She peered into his mind, the memory of her father lying dead on the couch fresh and playing on repeat in his head.
The sheriff shook his head to rid himself of the image. “This never gets easier.”
Dark Moon Falls: Abel Page 3
