Joe dug his feet into the mulch and tried to push it open. Nothing. He motioned for me to stand back. “I’m going to shoulder bust it.”
“Just be careful.”
He inhaled deeply, blew the air out of his lungs, then lunged at the door with his shoulder. I heard a nasty “crack” as he bounced back, cursing a blue streak. One of the Will o’ the Wisps broke off and buzzed his shoulder. A bright flash illuminated the basement and Joe yelped and dropped to his knees.
“Babe, are you okay? What happened?” I knelt beside him, flashing the light in his eyes, which just made him swear louder. “Oops! Sorry.”
He winced as I encircled his waist with my arm and helped him stand. “Jeez, that thing stung me! And the door must be made of ironwood.” He stretched his neck to one side, then the other. The lights swirled around us and—not thinking—I turned on them.
“Back off, you buggers!” Even as I shouted, I realized that perhaps this wasn’t exactly keeping the low profile that I’d suggested earlier. But they retreated. “That’s better. Just chill out.”
Joe snorted through his pain. “You know, I love you. You’re such a firebrand.” He grimaced again. “My shoulder feels like it’s been stung. There’s no chance I can get through that door with brute force, Em. But before we leave, why don’t you listen at it first; see if you can hear Sammy?”
I reluctantly left his side and slogged my way through the leafy debris until I was next to the door. I pressed my ear against the wood, straining to hear any sound that might be on the other side. As the night settled around my shoulders, I heard the faint shuffle of movement. A step? A cough? A meow? There, yes, the faint meowing of a cat coming from the other side of the door.
“I think I hear her,” I called softly over my shoulder. “Sammy? Samantha?” I waited, listening, and once again, heard a soft cry.
Joe frowned as I hurried back to his side. “If she’s there, she had to find a way in, but I don’t see how. Maybe there’s an underground opening or some vent we haven’t seen. That’s entirely possible, you know? Some of these old houses had basements that weren’t finished. I wish I could pick the lock, but I’m not very adept at that sort of thing. How about you?”
“What? You think I can pick locks? How about safe-cracking, while we’re at it?” I shook my head, wondering just what other skills Joe thought I had up my sleeve. “Not one of my multitude of talents, babe. But Murray might be able to help us out. Or a locksmith.”
Joe nixed the latter thought. “I can’t bring a locksmith on this property until I talk to my lawyer. Remember? I may not actually own this place. Technically, we’re breaking and entering right now, though I imagine we could talk our way out of it. Whatever we do, we have to be discreet.”
“I don’t see why—nobody’s been in this basement since the house burned down.” At his firm but patient look, I caved. “Okay, no locksmith. But let’s call Murray, please? If Sammy is in there, I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave her. Irena Finch can kiss my ass on that one.”
He nodded. “Okay, let’s get the hell out of here. This place gives me the creeps and I’m hurting like a son of a gun.”
I let him go first. Who knew what the Will o’ the Wisps might do to an injured man trying to climb a flight of stairs in the dark? I wondered if they were like bees, who swarmed when their attack pheromones hit the air. But they left us alone. As we ascended I glanced over my shoulder, back at the door that waited, silently locked against time. Mist rose into a pillar, swirling as the lights fluttered around it, and I could almost see a figure dancing within the flowing streams of fog. With a shiver, I turned and hurried up the stairs, back to the welcoming light streaming from my kitchen window.
THE KIDS WERE hovering by the door. I hushed them before they could overwhelm us with questions. “We need to make a few phone calls, and Joe needs a bandage.”
They recognized my tone and obeyed without question. When we had stripped off our coats on the back porch and burst through into the kitchen, I turned to Randa.
“Kettle on, please. We need tea. Orange Spice would be lovely.”
She gave me a quick nod, filled the kettle and set it to heating. “What teapot do you want to use, Mom?”
I winked at her. “Your choice. And thank you, sweetie. Kip, bring me some bandages and the antibiotic ointment from the medicine cabinet, would you?” He dashed through the arch leading to the living room.
I forced Joe to sit down at the table. “Shirt off, mister. Right now.”
He grinned. “Shouldn’t we wait until the kids are asleep?” he murmured under his breath. I glared at him, trying to staunch a smile that welled up in spite of myself.
“You know what I mean. Off with it.”
I saw the look of pain that crossed his face as he lifted his arms over his head. Shit, what the hell had he done? As he stripped off his shirt, I examined his right shoulder. A dark bruise covered the side of his upper arm from where he’d shoulder-butted the door, along with several lacerations that looked like they might have come from a jellyfish stinger. Well, hell. Not good.
Kip came running in with the phone. “Mom, did you find any trace of—” he asked, breathless, but he stopped abruptly as he caught sight of Joe’s new body art. “Whoa… what happened to you?”
Joe glanced down at his arm, cautiously lifting and turning it so he could get a good look at the bruises and the lacerations. He blanched, looking slightly queasy. “Ugh. That looks nasty.”
I coughed. “Yeah, I’d say so. Randa, bring me the aloe out of the fridge, please. Kip, we may have heard Sammy over there, but can’t be sure. We’re going to try to get into that room, but I want you and Randa to make me a promise on your word of honor. I mean it. You break the promise, you’re in deep shit. Understand?”
As Randa handed me the bottle of cold gel, she caught my gaze and I saw a flicker run through her eyes. “Mom, what’s going on over there?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know yet. Which is one of the reasons I want you and Kip to promise me this: Neither one of you—together or alone—are to set foot in that lot again until I give you permission. I mean it. Not even if you see Samantha. I miss her too, but there are dangers over there. Those lights, for example. From what I can find out so far, they’ve been known to lure people into harm’s way. I’m talking about end-up-in-the-hospital trouble.”
Kip plopped down in a chair, his aura flaring. “And Sammy is over there with them.”
I sighed and placed the aloe on the counter, then knelt to stare into my son’s face. Tears were hiding behind those big brown eyes. “Sweetie, we’ll do our best to bring her home. It may take a day, or maybe a week, but we’ll keep looking until we find her. You have to trust me. You have to let me and Joe do the work. Will o’ the Wisps have been known to kill people by hypnotizing them and leading them into trouble. I can’t let you take the chance. Not even to save Samantha. Do you understand?”
He sniffed and dashed his sleeve across his eyes, trying so hard to maintain control, to avoid breaking down in front of us. “Okay.”
I reached out, intending to give him a hug, but he slipped out of my embrace and ran off. I could hear his feet as he thumped up the stairs in defeat. Not anger, like when I’d banned his friend Sly from the house, but disappointment. Randa stared at the floor for a moment, then, without a word, followed Kip upstairs. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what she was thinking.
I finished smoothing aloe across Joe’s bruises, silently ruminating on what we were going to do.
Joe seemed to sense my mood. He stared out the window. This had to be hard for him too. He’d been so excited when he told me that he’d bought that lot. We’d actually started making long-term plans, something I never thought I’d do again with anybody. I put the aloe back in the fridge and dialed Murray’s number, calling her at work first. If I remembered right, she was on duty this evening. She answered on the second ring.
“H
ey babe, listen, things have taken another turn.” I filled her in on the day’s events. “We need to get into that room, to see if Sammy’s in there.” I avoided mentioning that Joe wasn’t sure about his ownership of the property. What she didn’t know, she couldn’t object to.
I could hear her tapping her pencil on the desk. “Em, I wish I could get out there tonight, but I can’t. But…” She lowered her voice. “If you really need somebody to break into the room, call my house. Jimmy’s there and I happen to know for a fact that he can pick a lock.”
“He told you that?” I asked, grinning for the first time that evening.
“Nah, it’s in his rap sheet.” She coughed. “Anyway, give him a call. Maybe he can come over. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning if you want me to show up.”
I put in a quick call to Jimbo and went through the whole story again. All it took was a “Can you help?” and he was out the door and on his way over.
“You know, Jimbo has proven himself to be one hell of a guy,” I told Joe. “He dropped everything without a question and he’s headed over here right now.” I started to wrap my arms around Joe’s shoulders, but stopped when I remembered his bruises, and kissed him instead. “I’m so glad you two finally became friends. Especially with Murray dating him.”
Joe flashed me a look of love and patience and exasperation all rolled into one. “Em, I have to tell you, it was hard for me to forgive him for what he did to you. The man threw a brick through your window with a nasty word written on it. He hit on you at a restaurant and you had to head-butt him into submission, for cripes sake.”
“He apologized, and he paid for the window. And most important, he helped me when I had no other place to turn. That kind of friendship you can’t buy.”
I had never whitewashed the way Jimbo behaved toward me when we first met, but I’d let it go, learning to value the diamond-in-the-rough biker who’d been thrust into my life. And now that he and my best friend were in love and struggling to make their way in a world that didn’t want to accept their union, I wasn’t going to nitpick over actions that no longer held any meaning for me. Joe had made a valiant effort to become friends with Jimbo and it had worked. They found more in common than they expected to find.
Less than ten minutes after I’d called, Jimbo was standing on my doorstep, all six-foot-three, two-hundred-twenty pounds of him. He winked. “I’m all set, O’Brien. Let’s get this show on the road.”
The lights were nowhere to be seen as we passed by the hedgerow but the moment we approached the basement stairs, they flickered into view again. Joe warily glanced around. “What the hell is going on? I can’t see anything, but I can feel something here.”
“There are faeries out here,” I said. “Dangerous ones. Just follow my instructions, even if you can’t see them, because I can.”
“Do what she says,” Joe told Jimbo. “Those things bite. I know.”
Jimbo’s granny was a hoodoo woman, and that’s how he viewed me. God only knows what he called Mur. The nimbus of his aura glittered with protective energy. Oh yeah, Jimbo had his guard up, even though he didn’t realize it.
“Shit.” He glanced nervously at his shoulder. I could see an orb dancing around him. “There’s something there, right?”
“You have good instincts.”
“Well, how do I make them leave me alone?” He batted at the air, like he might try to ward off a bee. “You said these things are out of some sort of fairy tale? Like Snow White?”
“Not out of a fairy tale. We think they’re a type of faerie,” I said. “Will o’ the Wisps, also known as corpse candles.”
“I don’t like that name,” Jimbo grumbled.
“Neither do I, but it’s fitting because they’re supposed to be connected with the dead. Dangerous critters if you don’t take care. Just ignore them and I’ll tell you if you need to do something or move out of the way.” I pointed toward the basement. “The door’s down there.” I held up the light and pointed the beam toward the bottom of the stairs. I could tell Jimbo was spooked; his energy flared as I took the front, leading the way down into the darkened maw. Jimbo followed and Joe flanked the end.
I sucked in my breath. Put me in front of a thug or a mugger and I’d run away faster than you could say “scram.” Drop an eight-legged beastie on me, and my screams would bust your eardrums. But spirits and their ilk? While I preferred to avoid tangling with them, at least I usually had some idea of how to cope with such situations.
We slogged through the mulch to the sounds of our breathing, the foliage shifting beneath our feet as the faint buzz of the Will o’ the Wisps danced through the basement. As we came to the door, I stepped aside to give Jimbo room to work, holding the flashlight on the lock.
He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. “Old lock,” was all he said as he pulled out a small tool kit and flipped open the lid. Asking Joe to hold the pouch, he selected a thin tool that looked something like a dentist’s pick and knelt down to gain better access. I kept an eye on the lights, which were hovering in a semi-circle around us, having ceased their continual movement. Did they mind us intruding? Were they here to warn us off, or encourage us onward?
Shivering, I pulled my jacket tighter around my shoulders.
“O’Brien, hold it steady, would you?”
I straightened the light so that it was shining on the door again. Jimbo played with the lock a few more moments, then jiggled the door handle and, with a low creak, it slowly swung inward. A gentle breeze rushed past, as if the room inside had awakened, taking its first breath in almost fifty years. I glanced at the men; both silently awaited my cue. This was my territory and neither one seemed eager to interfere.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the darkness. As I entered the room, a soft whisper echoed past, and thin fingers of a breeze raced through my hair, lifting it gently before rushing by. The wind, I told myself. Only the wind. I took another step, swinging my light from side to side as I tried to illuminate as much of the room as possible.
To my right, I could make out a bed—a small cot against the wall, with a nightstand beside it. To the left, there appeared to be a writing desk and a chest of drawers. I took another step forward, my breath coming in shallow gulps. The energy here was thick, dank, and dark, in hiding from the world for half a century’s cold slumber. Cold as frost on the window, cold as bones in the earth.
Jimbo stepped back, letting Joe slip in ahead of him. With the addition of Joe’s light, we were better able to see what we were dealing with. This had once been a bedroom, that much was obvious, though it looked sparse and utilitarian for such an influential and well-placed family. The bed frame was rusted, iron-wrought, and simple. The clothes and mattress had decayed enough to be disgusting, but not enough to hide a simple floral pattern. I exhaled as I reached out and touched the cloth.
When my fingers grazed the material, it was as if I was touching a shroud. The feeling of death and decay and of long nights waiting in the cold. I shuddered and Joe rested his hand on my shoulder, steadying me. I blinked, turned, and found myself staring into Joe’s eyes.
“Em? Em? Are you all right?”
I nodded, “I picked up something from the cloth—psychometry. Nothing specific, just a feeling of loss and death.”
Jimbo wrangled a flashlight out of his jacket and entered the room, starting the hunt for Samantha. “O’Brien, sometimes you scare the piss out of me. Let’s find your cat and get out of here. I think it’s time to blow the joint.”
Despite my nervousness, I laughed. “Babe, you are a breath of fresh air. But save the dynamite. I had quite enough of your lovely explosions, and I’m not helping you blow up any more of my china. Don’t worry, we’ll make it home in one piece, Will o’ the Wisps or not.”
We began searching for Sammy, calling for her. I thought I heard a cry under the bed but when Jimbo got down on his knees to look, there was no one there. I was poking around near th
e nightstand when I noticed a framed picture on the wooden table. A lovely young woman stared at me, frozen on film in a single moment of time. She was willowy, with long red curls, and she held a tortoiseshell who looked a lot like our Sammy. A dreamy, lost look filled the woman’s eyes, and as I stared at the photo, I recognized her. I’d seen her the night before—outside Randa’s room.
Goose bumps rose along my skin. Whoever she was, she’d been visiting in my house. I tucked the picture in my pocket.
“Look at this!” Joe held up a faded journal. The pages were damp, but most of the writing was still readable. He held the flashlight steady while I examined the diary. The front flap identified the owner as “Brigit.” As I gingerly accepted it, the same flow of energy tingled through my fingers that I’d felt from the picture and the cloth. Brigit.
My red-haired ghost had been a woman named Brigit who had been staying with the Brunswick family. Whether she was a relative or a friend, I couldn’t tell. I slid the journal in my pocket next to the photograph.
Jimbo hauled a suitcase out from the closet, along with a few dilapidated dresses. Functional but not pretty. “Tag on the luggage says that this belonged to Brigit O’Reilly. Looks like she came from a place called Glengarriff, Ireland.”
I decided to wait before telling them that Brigit was my ghost from last night. After all, she hadn’t been antagonistic, and I wanted to get a better feel for what we’d discovered before I threw another iron in the fire.
“I don’t see Samantha anywhere,” I said as we made a last sweep around the room. “Do you?”
Both Jimbo and Joe shook their heads. As we took one last look around the perimeter of the room, Joe flashed his light over the back wall. I gasped. It was covered with murals; the paintings had faded but were still in relatively good condition. Though they were difficult to make out in the dim light, I could see a castle, white and rising into the sky, and a parade of knights on horseback headed toward the fortress. We closed in, concentrating our flashlight beams to better take in the panorama of murals.
A Harvest of Bones Page 8