Shadows in the Mist

by Jeri Westerson

  Sitting up and naked except for my grandmother’s throw in his lap, Nick swayed, clutching his head. “Oh, shit,” he sobbed. Seraphina was closest. She sat beside him and cradled him in her arms, letting him cry.

  Doc ushered the rest of us away to the dining room. “Kylie, you’ll need to get some supplies from the shop,” he said quietly. “And maybe you should grab the crossbow while you’re there. I think it’s going to be a long night. Seraphina and Jolene will have to work through most of it to make the wolfsbane.”

  “Okay. I’ll get Erasmus to drop me off.”

  The demon was still standing in the darkened corner. When I approached him, his countenance almost made him look like a stranger to me. I didn’t know how else to describe it. “I need a favor.”

  “Of course, you do.”

  “What does that mean? I’m sensing some resentment. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. You made an agreement with your constable. Why should I resent that?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Why should you?”

  “No reason whatsoever. What is the favor?”

  “As usual, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I need you to transport me to my shop.”

  “Done.” He reached out, and almost before the word echoed off my ears, we were there in a breathless wink of darkness and cold. He was gone again before I had a chance to tell him what a jerk he was being. Jealous much?

  He’d put me across the street near the woods, and it was a good thing, because Deputy George’s black and white cop Jeep was parked right next to mine in front of the shop. He and his mustache were outside the place in his heavy jacket and Smokey Bear hat, peering into the windows of my darkened place.

  I casually walked across the street and hailed him with my hand raised…and realized I wasn’t wearing a jacket.

  He shined his flashlight in my face. “Oh. I was looking for you. You know, you’ll catch your death like that.”

  I rubbed my arm while reaching for my key in my jeans pocket. “Yeah. Pretty brisk, these Maine Octobers.” Unlocking the door, I switched on the light as I let him in. “Is there something in particular I can do for you, deputy?”

  He turned the flashlight over and over in his fingers. “I was, uh, just, uh, checking.”

  Was I going to trust him? Ed did. But Ed hadn’t known about all the magic before. Of course, Nick trusted him. Wasn’t that enough to go on? “You were just checking what?”

  He sighed and pushed up his hat. “The thing of it is, Ms. Strange—”

  “Kylie, deputy. You can call me Kylie.”

  “Kylie,” he said tentatively. “The thing of it is…Ruth Russell called me and asked if I’d come over here and ask you about a gold locket…” He trailed off. Plainly, Ruth accused me of stealing it and, knowing I was seeing Ed, she called on George instead.

  That…that…witch! Except…“witch” was a relative term these days.

  “You can tell Ruth—” I started but then stopped and calmed myself. With more aplomb, I said, “George, you can tell Ruth that I haven’t seen the locket but I am still turning over my place looking for it.”

  He swiped his hat off his head and breathed heavily. “I tried to tell her that, but…” He shook his head. “She can be stubborn. And wicked mean.”

  I was glad to hear him say it. It didn’t look like he was acting to me.

  “That she can be.” Though I felt a little guilty, because we actually had stolen it.

  He’d said his piece and accomplished his mission, yet still he lingered. “Yes, George? Was there something else?”

  “I, uh…I had an appointment with Mr. Riley, and sometimes he comes here in the evenings. I was wondering if you’d seen him.”

  It was an opening staring me right in the face. But should I say? Did I have the right to involve the poor, oblivious George in all this, and effectively out Nick without asking first? But this was a matter of life or death. Things were getting decidedly serious.

  But how would he react to it all?

  He was looking at me so expectantly that I had to say something.

  Think before you leap, Kylie.

  I leapt anyway. “George—can I call you George? George, maybe we need to sit down.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  George stiffened. “What happened?”

  “Nick’s okay. But there are some things I need to tell you, to explain.”

  He wouldn’t move. He was growing tenser and there was nothing I could say that could make matters any better. In fact, I was seeing now that I was making them worse. Too late now.

  “I have to tell you some things. So…do you believe in magic, by any chance?”

  “I believe in the gospel. That Wiccan magic is evil.”

  “Well…you don’t think Doc is evil, do you?”

  “What are you talking about? Where’s Nick?”

  He was really agitated. I couldn’t blame him.

  “I know you don’t like all the Wiccan stuff Nick is involved in, but it’s real, and he’s a warlock—I guess that’s the term—but he’s only in it for good, not evil.”

  George walked in a circle, slapping his hat against his thigh. “I told Nick over and over not to mess with that stuff. Something bad happened, didn’t it?”

  “Well…yes. But let me explain.”

  “You don’t have to explain. I told him the only thing he needed was our Lord and Savior, but he just wouldn’t listen.”

  “George, you’re getting ahead of the story. I need to tell you more.”

  “He wouldn’t come to church with me. I mean, just as friends, you know. That’s all I asked.”

  “I know you’re more than friends.”

  He stopped. Without looking at me, he said quietly, “Who told you that?”

  “No one needed to tell me. Then Nick, well…”

  “Darn it!” He still wouldn’t look at me. “It’s bad enough I go around lying to everyone. It was supposed to be a secret.”

  “It is. But Nick trusted me. I’m hoping you’ll trust me, too.”

  He seemed to gird himself and pivoted to face me. “What’s happened?”

  “First, I have to show you something.” I concentrated, felt where it was in the house, and asked it to come to me. It wasn’t like when the crossbow screamed across an open space toward me. It had more of a velvet smoothness, the soft arrival of someone you knew well.

  The Booke didn’t pop into existence. It came to me as if on a breaking wave, gently flowing downstairs and across the room. It hovered in front of me until I grasped it in both hands. The sensation was overpowering. I wanted to hug it to me, but I fought it, fought the need to have it even closer.

  Instead, with much willpower, I set it on the table, pushing aside some tea strainers and teabag rests. When I looked up, George was staring at it, then at me. “It’s a trick.”

  “No. It isn’t. This is the Booke of the Hidden. I found it inside the wall of this building. It’s very old. But I didn’t know that when I opened it, I’d start a cycle of events that quickly got out of control.”

  “It’s an instrument of Hell.”

  “I have no doubt about that. You see, it let out all these creatures that I have to put back. Creatures that have killed.”

  Harsh breaths coursed from his open mouth. He stared at the Booke but wouldn’t come closer. Trembling, he slowly nodded. “And this has harmed Nick in some way.”

  He was buying it. As Erasmus had explained, those with a religious leaning accepted magic in these terms of good vs evil.

  I dared not mention Erasmus. Not yet.

  “Yes. It has. Out of the Booke came a werewolf. It first bit Jeff, my…my friend from California.”

  “Werewolves are real?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Is that what killed Karl and that cyclist? And Nicole Meunier?”

  “Those were…other creatures. But yes. They came from the Booke.”

  “And where are these crea
tures now?”

  I raised my hand; the chthonic crossbow whistled through the house and smacked into my open palm. “I killed them. With this.”

  He stared at the crossbow, eyes ready to pop out of their sockets.

  “I’ve already told the sheriff about all of this. It took him a while to believe it too, but he does now. He’s seen some of the creatures for himself. And he’s helping us stop them.”

  “So what about Nick?”

  “Well. I did kill the first werewolf, but it bit Jeff, so…so he turned into one. But he’s a good guy. We’re making a potion, more like medicine, so that he doesn’t even try to…hurt anyone. He’s safe. He really is. Except…it was an accident. And while he was protecting us from a creature, Nick got in the way…and he…he accidentally bit Nick.”

  His breath hitched. “He bit Nick?”

  “Yeah. So now Nick—”

  I hated the sound of his sob. It was a ragged, helpless sound. “No,” he said hoarsely.

  “I’m afraid he’s a werewolf now. But he’ll be okay.”

  He took a step toward me so suddenly that I drew back. “What do you mean he’ll be okay! He’s a monster now! A beast!”

  “He’s not! He’s the same old Nick. It’s just that now, he… Look, think of it as someone with epilepsy. He can’t help it, and you’ll have to take certain precautions, but he’s still the same Nick.”

  “He’s not. He’s not.”

  “George…”

  He tried to push past me, but I grabbed his arm. “If you love him, you’ll help him. He needs all our help right now. We love him.”

  “Those Wiccans.” He hissed the words, all his anger compacted into his tight stance.

  “Those Wiccans are with him right now, helping him, standing by him. I’m sure he would welcome you, too. He needs you now more than ever.”

  “But he’s—”

  “He’s Nick. Now look. I’m here to bring this crossbow and some herbs so they can make his po—uh, medicine. Will you come with me?”

  He said nothing. He seemed to have lost all momentum, hanging there as if a puppeteer had cut his strings.

  He had to decide on his own. I left him to quickly gather the herbs for the wolfsbane and put them in a small brown bag. With crossbow in hand, I walked to the front door.

  “Deputy, are you coming?”

  He stood like a stone.

  “At least see him.”

  He nodded slowly. He crossed the threshold, and I locked the door. He got in his Jeep, and I got in beside him. But he didn’t put the key in the ignition. He merely sat there, arms limp by his sides. “This is probably a mistake.”

  “You never know. I can’t believe you’d be with Nick if you really thought he was evil in some way. I’ve never met a gentler man than Nick.”

  He wiped his hand across his nose and sniffed. “Yeah.” He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “Where are we going?”

  “Alderbrook Lane.”

  “Where?”

  “Just let me guide you. It’s got a spell on it, so people forget it’s there.”

  He gave me an are you kidding me? look but kept driving.

  “It’s had the spell on it for over twenty years. I used to come here in the summers to visit my grandpa. It’s his house. But the spell makes people forget. Even I forgot I was ever in Moody Bog before.”

  “What was the name of the street again?”

  “Like that. It’s Alderbrook.”

  His lips moved over Alderbook, repeating it silently as he shook his head in disbelief.

  We almost passed it, but I told him to stop, to turn there. He looked at the street sign through the windshield and whistled softly.

  He drove up the hill and parked in front of the house. “I never knew this was here. I must have passed that sign at the bottom of the hill a thousand times. Maybe a million. Never saw it.”

  “George.” I faced him. “He might change while you’re here. You know, shift into a…into a wolf. Please try not to look horrified. He already feels like a monster. I know Jeff does. And neither of them are.”

  “I don’t know.” He ran his hands absently over the steering wheel. “Maybe I shouldn’t come in.”

  “If it were you, you know Nick would be there.”

  He nodded. His face was a mess.

  We walked in together. Nick was sitting up with the throw wrapped around him. His face collapsed when he saw George. “No! Why did you bring him?”

  “Nicky!” cried George as plaintively as I have ever heard. He lost all pretense, all stiff propriety when he lunged for him and enclosed him in his arms, sobbing on his shoulder.

  Hair all askew, Nick looked bewildered but held George tightly, before he buried his face in the man’s hair and breathed.

  Doc hovered, but I urged everyone else away. We gathered in the dining room.

  “He was at my shop,” I said quietly in explanation as I dumped the crossbow and herbs on the table. “Ruth Russell called him to search for the stolen locket.”

  “She called George?” said Ed, with a tinge of hurt to his voice.

  “I told you. He was sort of on her side.”

  “But you still brought him here.”

  “I went with my gut feeling.”

  “If your feeling is wrong, you’ve doomed us all,” said Erasmus.

  “I prefer to go with my gut. In most things.”

  “What do your intestines have to do with it?”

  “Mr. Dark,” said Jolene, tentatively pushing him out of the way. “We have to get to these herbs and make the wolfsbane potion. You can help, if you’d like.”

  “Will you help?” I asked.

  He had a sour look on his face but relented and went with Jolene and Seraphina into the kitchen.

  * * *

  Ed and I stayed out of the way in the dining room, looking back through the arch as George and Nick talked furtively together on the sofa. George never stopped touching him, his neck, his hands, resting his palm on the side of Nick’s face. Nick was starting to look better, not so deathly pale, and he hadn’t morphed at all. Maybe George’s presence helped.

  “Boy, I just never suspected those two,” said Ed. “I wonder how long that’s been going on.” He put his arm around me. “That’s a good thing you did there. Nick doesn’t look so sick anymore.”

  “I’m sure it’s the wolf in him making him stronger, but I’m also pretty sure that love and acceptance go a long way.”

  “I’m going to have to ask George about Dan Parker.”

  A pang in my chest broke the mood. No matter what George had done now, we had to clear him fully.

  “I agree. You can use a bedroom upstairs.”

  “I don’t know if I should do it here. Maybe more conventional surroundings like the station would be better.”

  “This place is forgettable. It’s safer here.”

  He considered. “All right.”

  “Besides,” I said, rolling my stiff shoulders, “I’ve got a Draugr to burn.”

  “Shit, Kylie, I’ll do that.”

  “I’ll get Erasmus to help me.”

  Before he could say that guy in that disgusted way again, I pushed into the kitchen. Seraphina and Jolene really looked like two witches, stirring an iron kettle over the stove. I guess Grandpa had practiced his share of Wicca, too, because that sure looked like a cauldron to me.

  Erasmus was overseeing them, but I had the feeling they could handle it without him.

  “Erasmus,” I said softly. “Can you help me?”

  “It’s my fondest desire,” he said in his snarkiest tone.

  He followed me out just as Ed and a perplexed George were going up the stairs.

  “You can cut the sarcasm,” I told him, grabbing my coat and opening the front door.

  “Sarcasm? I detect no sarcasm in my tone.”

  “Bitchiness, then.”

  “Do you dare—”

  I whirled on him. “Yes, I dare. Stop being an a
ss.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I didn’t break up with you in favor of him. If you and I even have a thing.” I stepped outside, shivering at the cold.

  “A ‘thing.’ Such imprecise language these days.” He adjusted his collar. “You are my lover. Is that what you mean? Is that what you…remain?” The last was cautious, tentative. He was so not fooling me.

  “Yes.”

  “And your constable…knows this?”

  “Yup.”

  “And here I thought the Netherworld was a dangerous maze to navigate.”

  “I need your help to burn the body of the Draugr.” I stood out in the yard and looked around. “Now…what happened to it?”

  He pointed. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  In the light from the house shining through the windows, I saw what was left of the Viking. Its body had completely collapsed into a foul-smelling slime. Even the armor, that had once been fairly shiny, had rusted down to mere metal fragments, sinking into the muck and the mud. A good rain would wash it all away.

  “Once it was truly dead, the magic holding it all together vanished.”

  “That’s convenient.”

  He looked down at it, sniffed once, and turned away.

  “Erasmus.”

  “Yes?”

  “What can you tell me about Andras?”

  His mood altered, anger dissipating. He seemed to remember that my life was in danger. He couldn’t seem to help himself from glancing up into the cloudy sky.

  My breath blew around my face. It was incredibly cold, like ice crystals were in the air. I fluffed my down jacket and hunched into the upright collar.

  “As I said, he is clever and determined. He won’t stop until he’s achieved his goal.”

  “Where does he come from? I mean, I know from the Netherworld, but what sort of mythology is attached to him? Can it help us defeat him?”

  He snorted. “Mythology? That’s what humans call it. We simply call it history.” His eyes scanned the skies as he spoke. “They say he once had the head of an owl, but that was only a helm in the shape of an owl—though, admittedly, he does have a distinctly owl-like quality with his wide eyes and beak-like nose. He is a slayer and fighter and once ruled over thirty legions of demons.”