Abigail sniffed. “All our troubles started with the news that they were coming to town and got much worse after they arrived.”
Leah guided the horse around a corner and onto the brick-paved street where Genevieve Wirth lived. “Our troubles started when Beth and Nora Farley frightened Ed into running away and told lies about him. No magic was involved.” She pulled back on the reins and brought the carriage to a stop, relieving Abigail of the need to explain that it was her note to Councilor Hardwick about the wonder workers that had set everything in motion.
She’d never told Leah about that note. She had no time to do so now, though it strengthened her argument that the wonder workers were to blame for everything.
It also added to her own guilt, but she refused to think about that.
As she and Leah climbed from the carriage, Orville Hardwick stepped from the shadows at the side of the house and came to meet them. Abigail’s heart lurched when she saw the pistol in his hand.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Hardwick said, tipping his hat. “Might I ask what business brings you here?”
“A social call, Council Master,” Abigail answered, summoning her dignity. “We want to pay our respects to Genevieve.”
“This social call wouldn’t have anything to do with that wonder worker’s crazy warning, would it?”
“I wanted to wish Genevieve well in her new endeavor. I thought perhaps she could use some of the school materials we no longer need.” Abigail marveled at how adept at lying she had become.
But Hardwick wasn’t easily fooled. “That’s considerate of you, Miss Abigail and Miss Leah. I know Genevieve will be grateful. But she’s resting, and I can’t let you disturb her. I’ll be happy to pass on your good wishes, and I don’t think she’ll be needing any of the materials. She’s bought new supplies. Too bad about your school, but I warned you often enough about that simpleton. If you’d listened, none of this would have happened.”
Before Abigail could speak in Ed’s defense, Leah said, “Have you told Genevieve of Kyla’s warning, Councilor?”
His eyes narrowed. “So you did come about that foolishness.”
“We don’t think it’s foolishness,” Leah said. “We believe the danger to Genevieve is very real.”
He snorted. “I was right. You are in cahoots with those witches.”
“We never saw them before last night,” Abigail snapped.
Leah added, “I’m sure they aren’t witches. They really are trying to help your daughter. You need to listen to them and let Genevieve hear what they have to say.”
“I’m here to see they don’t come near her,” Hardwick thundered. “I’ll not have her exposed to their nonsense. They’ll not talk to her, nor will you.”
“How could they talk to her when you have them in custody?” Leah asked thoughtfully.
His grip on the pistol tightened. “They can’t and you won’t. Get out of here. Now!”
“Would you really shoot us, Councilor?” Abigail asked, not moving.
“I’d shoot anyone those witches have contaminated. I’ll do whatever needs to be done to restore sanity to this town.”
Leah grasped Abigail’s arm. “We’d better go.”
“I want to see sanity restored as much as you, Councilor,” Abigail said, shaking off Leah’s hand. “They’ve set things in motion that must be stopped. That doesn’t mean we can ignore a warning of danger. You’re putting your daughter’s life at risk by not telling her—”
“Go!” He raised his pistol and cocked it.
Knowing she’d lost, Abigail gathered up her skirt and climbed into the carriage. Looking relieved, Leah climbed in beside her and took up the reins.
When they’d driven out of earshot, Leah said, “They’ve escaped. They must have. Why else would Hardwick be guarding Genevieve?”
“How could they have? You’re reading too much into—”
“No, they’re free. I’m sure of it. They’ve used their magic. And they’ll use it again to protect Genevieve, you’ll see.”
“I hope you’re right,” Abigail sighed, not believing it but wanting to be relieved of the responsibility of dealing with Genevieve and with Veronica. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, suddenly dizzy with weariness and fever. Images of death filled her mind. She began to shiver.
When they reached the house, Leah had to help her inside. She collapsed on the sofa, unable to climb the stairs.
Leah tucked blankets around her. “I’m going to fetch a doctor,” she said.
Abigail meant to beg her not to leave, but only a rasping sigh came from her hot, dry mouth.
“I’ll be right back,” Leah promised.
She was alone with the images. Edwin’s bloated body, decaying at the bottom of the creek while fish nibbled at his flesh. Genevieve burning, melting, crumbling to ash. Kyla and Marta hanging from twin gallows, their tongues protruding from purple lips, their faces swollen. Veronica pelted with stones, falling, bruised and bloody, her head smashed with rocks. Leah shot by peacekeepers, collapsing onto the ground, her life’s blood pouring out to pool around her body.
“No,” Abigail croaked. “No, no, no.”
She tried to rise, fell forward, sprawled face down on the sitting room floor. “Evil.” The word echoed through her fading thoughts. “Evil magic. Evil.”
Ed didn’t return quickly as he had said he would. The roofless section of building where Jerome waited was now entirely shaded. The fallen stones combined with shadows to give the place an ever more eerie appearance. Jerome’s nervousness increased. He was angry with Ed for leaving him alone like this. The fool, going into a pitch-dark ruin. He might get himself killed. He might never return.
Jerome considered going back to the strip of trees and its small stream. He might be safer there, if he could be safe anywhere in this crazy land. But if he left, Ed might find the way home and go without him. He wouldn’t put it past the sneaky fool.
A scuttling noise sent him whirling around. A large lizard perched on a nearby stone and flicked its tongue at him. His relieved sigh was cut short when a sleek black shape darted in front of him and skittered into an opening in a pile of fallen rock. His heart began a frantic pounding. A rat!
He hated rats. He had to leave. But if Eddie came back and found him gone, he wouldn’t know where to look for him.
A rock crashed to the ground beside him. Another inch and it would have struck him. He looked up at the building wall and saw what had made it tumble. A large crow perched on the top above the entranceway. It gazed back at him, head cocked, then slowly and deliberately pecked at another stone, loosening it.
“Hey!” Jerome scooped up a handful of pebbles and hurled them at the bird. It gave the stone a final shove, sending it hurtling downward. As Jerome leaped aside, the bird flew away, its mocking caws trailing behind.
“That does it, I’m going.” Jerome walked to the doorway through which Ed had disappeared, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “You hear me, Ed? I’m not waiting here any longer. Find me or go on by yourself. I won’t wait for you!”
A thunderous crash sent him wheeling around. The section of wall above the entranceway had fallen, blocking the opening. He cursed. That damned bird by loosening two stones had weakened the crumbling structure and caused a major cave-in. He wasn’t trapped. He could climb up and over the debris, but the climb would be dangerous with the remaining wall so unstable. He’d have to choose his footing with great care, not easy in the fast-gathering dusk. Damn Ed for leaving him in this predicament!
“Ed!” he yelled again. “Get out here!”
No answer, only the echoes of his own voice fading hollowly into the darkness.
Slowly, resolutely, Jerome walked to the fallen stones, marked out a route, and began to climb.
Stones shifted beneath his weight. He scrabbled for more secure footing, found it, moved higher. His hands, slippery with sweat, sought handholds that crumbled and slid beneath his grasp. He braced his kn
ee against a section of wall, tested its strength. It seemed firm enough. He reached upward, took hold of a broken corner, and lifted his foot to a higher step.
His foot slipped. His full weight shifted to his hand and knee. The wall folded in on him. Heavy stone blocks tumbled past, scraping skin from his arms and legs, knocking him from his perch. His body fell backward, but his feet wedged between blocks, leaving him hanging suspended, head down, bruised, battered, and unable to free himself. He hurt all over, but the sharp pain in his right ankle screamed of a broken bone.
The dust that swirled around him from the fallen wall brought on a spasm of coughing. He could choke to death if he couldn’t free his feet. But if he dislodged them too suddenly, he’d fall on his head and quite likely break his neck.
He tried to reach upward and bend to grasp the stones that held his feet. He nearly fainted when the movement made the pain in his leg flame up to his thigh.
When the dust settled and he could breathe well enough, he shouted several times for Ed, but expected no answer and got none. Dizzy from the blood rushing to his head, he hung helpless, tears of fear and pain trickling from the corners of his eyes and coursing into his hair.
A rat scampered up the rocks and thrust its face near his. He tried to twist away from it and paid the price with stabs of white-hot agony through his leg and foot. Wanting but not daring to shut his eyes, he was forced to let its beady little eyes examine him, while its fetid breath blew against his face. Terrified, he batted at it. It retreated only a short distance, but the motion of his hand swung his body against the rocks, adding more bruises. He screamed at the agony radiating from his broken ankle.
Maybe he fainted. The voice he heard couldn’t be real. It spoke into his ear, yet it echoed as though coming from a great distance. It was not a voice he recognized, and its peculiar timbre offered no clue as to whether the speaker was male or female or even human.
“Use your power,” it said.
“Power? Wh-what power?” He wasn’t sure he’d spoken aloud. He couldn’t hear his own voice. Yet he heard the stranger’s well enough.
“You have power,” it said. “Have you not known it?”
He had. He had not known what it was, that tingle he got at times, the one he’d felt around Kyla and Marta. Until the night …
“She bound your power. She did not want you to discover it. She feared you.”
He remembered sitting beside Kyla in that hot, airless room, the feel of her fingers around his wrist, the heat that flowed up his arm. So, she had worked a spell, as he’d suspected. She’d stolen—
“Not stolen, only blocked,” the stranger said. “It’s within you as it has always been. Shall I open the channel she closed?”
“Yes!” That word he did speak, shouted, into the gloom.
“There is a price,” the soft voice said.
There was always a price. He was in no position to bargain. “What price?” he whispered.
“A blood price,” came the answer. “The blood of those you call the wonder workers.”
“Kyla and Marta? You want me to kill them?”
“Them and all those corrupted by them.”
“Like Ed?” He scarcely breathed the question. “I tried, but …”
“You had no access to your power. When you do, you’ll find it easy. But it will not be Ed only.”
“Wh-who?”
“Others. You will know. Will you pay the price?”
“I … y—”
“No!” a new voice thundered. The ground shook, the remaining walls swayed, more rocks fell, and somewhere nearby a rat squealed. Pain speared through Jerome’s body; a scream tore from his throat.
“No,” the new voice repeated—loud, angry, distinctly male. “Be gone, meddler. You deceive this poor fool. You cannot buy his power.”
“I have no need to buy it. It has always been mine,” the first voice answered; then emptiness filled the place from which it had spoken.
The new voice said, “How easily you bargain away the lives of others.”
“I’m dying,” Jerome rasped. “I was only trying to save myself.”
“At the expense of others’ lives. Including that of your own mother.”
“My m-m-mother?”
“She is among the others whose lives you would have sworn to take.”
“I didn’t know.”
“There is much you don’t know.”
“Free me, and I’ll do whatever you say.”
The voice chuckled. “Still ready to bargain. You’ve learned nothing.”
“Show me. Get me down. Help me.” His pleas came out as rough breaths more than words.
“Free yourself,” the voice said. “You have the power.”
A melody as of a shepherd’s pipe floated around him and wafted slowly away into silence.
It was night when Abigail woke to find Leah seated beside her, holding her hand. A thick aroma of cloves and other spices hung in the air. An oil lamp burned on the bedside table. Looking around, she discovered she was ensconced comfortably in her own bed, though she recalled having been in the sitting room and falling onto the floor when she'd tried to rise from the sofa.
“What time is it?” she asked, not sure why the answer mattered. "And how did I get up here to my bedroom?"
“Nearly midnight,” Leah answered. “The doctor and I carried you up here. He said this infusion of yarrow and boneset with cloves and ginger would bring your fever down. It’ll be bitter, but the spices will make it taste a little better. Drink all of it, please.”
She helped Abigail sit up and held the cup to her mouth so that she could sip the hot liquid. It was bitter and peppery despite the cloves and ginger, but she forced it down and lay back. “I’ve had such dreams, Leah. Terrible, terrible dreams. About Edwin. And Veronica. And you!”
Shuddering, she recalled the vision of Leah shot by peacekeepers, her blood soaking the surrounding ground. She began to weep.
“There, now, it’s all right, Abbie. You’ve been delirious, that’s all.” Leah’s cool hand stroked her forehead, pushing back her damp hair, soothing her.
She lay still, savoring Leah’s gentle touch, calmed by it. Leah’s presence banished the nightmares.
They were nothing more than nightmares, weren’t they?
Her forehead puckered; Leah smoothed it. Leah was so good, so kind, so patient.
Guilt surged through Abigail at the thought of all she had concealed from Leah. The finding of the spell book, the spell she’d tried, hearing Ed’s voice from beyond, the visions she’d had of Veronica, of the wonder workers, of …
“Leah,” she reached up and clasped her friend’s hand. “Leah, I must tell you—”
“Hush, Abbie. You aren’t going to tell me anything right now. Just rest and lie still. I’ll bring you a cup of hot broth. You haven’t eaten all day.”
“No, Leah, we have to talk.” Abigail struggled to rise.
“Not now, Abbie.” Leah put her hands on Abbie’s shoulders, preventing her from sitting up. “Lie here and rest until you’ve had that broth. I’ll be right back with it. After you’ve drunk it, I’ll let you talk all you want. Promise to stay in bed until then.” She pressed her hand over Abigail’s mouth, forestalling another attempt to speak.
Then she hurried from the room. Abigail heard her clatter down the stairs and rush to the kitchen.
She’d keep her word and be right back, with hot broth. She was right: Abigail needed the strength the broth would give. Then she’d tell Leah everything.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to relax, to wait, to be patient.
What was that? Someone tapping at the front door? She strained to hear, thought she heard the door open and shut. A low murmur of voices. Then nothing.
Whoever it was, Leah would send them right off. “Abigail—Miss Dormer—is ill,” she’d say. “She can’t see you. If it’s important, come back in the morning.”
She’d do it politely, of course. Leah was alwa
ys polite. But she’d send them away with as much dispatch as courtesy allowed, and then she’d bring Abigail her broth, and they would talk.
She waited with growing impatience. In another minute she’d fling off the covers and drag herself downstairs to see what was going on.
She was saved from making that effort by the sound of footsteps on the stair. At last!
But there were two sets of footsteps. Leah came into the room and said, “Abbie, we have company. Look who’s come!”
The wonder worker, Kyla, followed her into the room.
A sense of betrayal struck Abigail like the lash of a whip. Leah knew how she felt about the wonder workers. How could she have brought this woman here? It ought to be clear to her that I’m not up to having a visitor—above all, not this visitor.
She closed her eyes, but not before seeing the spell book clasped firmly in Kyla’s hands. She’s done it to spite me, because I refused to give the book back to them. But I was right—I should have destroyed it while I had the chance.
“I’m sorry to disturb you like this when you’re ill,” she heard the woman say. “I came here because I need your help.”
Abigail turned her head to the wall. She would not answer. She would try not to hear.
“Abbie, Kyla wants to reach Genevieve, but Hardwick’s men are after her. We have to help her if she’s to save Genevieve—and Veronica.”
The vision of flames engulfing Genevieve, of Veronica’s expression turning from rage to horror and terror invaded Abigail’s mind and refused to be dismissed.
“Leah tells me you tried to warn Genevieve, so you must believe the danger is real.”
So they were on a first-name basis now. It was “Leah” and “Kyla.” And Leah had given her the book and told her all they’d done.
“Please, Abbie. I know you’re ill, but Kyla says this can’t wait.” She paused, waiting for a response, but Abigail pressed her lips together tightly.
Let them go make fools of themselves, explaining to Genevieve that she was in danger. The “vision” had been nothing more than delirium from the fever, shaped by Kyla’s wild claims. She could see that clearly, now that the fever was gone.
Bringers of Magic (Arucadi Book 2) Page 20
