by Alex Gordon
Lauren watched as Kaster reached across the table, placed his hands on Nyssa’s shoulders, and gently shook her. Then he released her, sat back, crossed his legs at the knee, and flung his arms wide as Nyssa watched him, chin cupped in her hands. Deal sealed. Achievement unlocked. We are good to go.
Lauren stared up at the milky blue sky. Shit. She watched birds flit from tree to tree. Listened to squirrel squawk. Scratched her fly bites, which had pretty much healed but still bothered her. Debated the wisdom of phoning Virginia for moral support if nothing else, and fell so deeply into thought that when she finally did hear the knock on her door, she had the impression that it had been going on for quite some time.
“You have got to see this.” Jenny had switched her bathing suit for cutoffs and a yellow tank top, and carried her flip-flops in one hand. “I have no more words.” She waited for Lauren to put on sandals, then led her down two flights and a narrow hallway to a more utilitarian section of the house.
“I’m guessing that this is the section that gets the business use write-off.” Jenny took her ID card out of her pocket and waved it in front of the reader located next to a plain panel door. “Unless they’ve figured out a way to declare the whole damn place.” When the indicator turned green and the door clicked, she opened it and held it for Lauren. “I really can’t believe some of the stuff I’m finding in here.”
Lauren followed her inside, then paused and looked around. “Are we alone?”
“Yeah. Judging from the dust on some of the furniture, I don’t think this place sees much traffic.” Jenny motioned for her to follow and led her down a narrow aisle lined on both sides with utilitarian metal shelving. “Just around this corner.” She stopped in front of a glass-topped display case set against the wall. “Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”
Lauren studied the closed book nestled beside several others beneath the glass. A grimoire, judging by the magical symbols embossed in gold on the binding.
Then she looked closer and saw that the binding, a medium brown that lightened to cream at the corners and edges, had a certain familiar look to it. The tiny pores. A scatter of fine hairs. “You think it’s human skin?” She tried to open the case, but it proved to be locked and, judging from the blinking red light she spotted near the underside of the lid, alarmed as well. “I can’t tell just by looking. I do know that some books of magic are bound in that way. Sometimes it is the skin of the author, and occasionally the binding is at the request of the author himself.”
“That’s—” Jenny winced. “How could anyone even touch that thing?”
“For some folks, it was just a way to remember dear ol’ granddad.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“I’m practicing.”
“Practice more. Only not with me.” Jenny led Lauren back the way they had come into the middle of the room. “There I was, bopping along the stacks, skimming the odd annual report, and bam, it’s serial killer time.” She stood hands on hips and turned slowly. “This place is half Wall Street Journal, half Harry Potter. Anybody comes through that door in a robe and a pointy hat, I’m leaving.”
Lauren scanned the contents of some of the shelves. The Book of Enoch, The Testament of Solomon. Histories of the OSS, the CIA. Not the titles one expected to see in a business library. “Can any Carmody employee come here?”
“No.” Jenny flopped into a leather armchair. “You have to be invited to one of the off-site conferences. Or, like lucky me, seconded for a long weekend of who the hell knows.”
“So they screen?”
“Yeah. Like I just said.”
“I’m willing to bet that, somehow, Carmody screens for talent.” Lauren pointed at Jenny. “Is it possible that something about you indicated to them that it would be safe for you to come into this room and see things like that book?”
Jenny shook her head. “Nope. Not buyin’ it. Everybody knows that Carmody’s a little weird. They put up with it because he makes them money.” She jerked her head in the direction of the grimoire. “He could stick pickled puppies in there and the financial analysts would start tracking corgi futures.”
“Now who’s the sicko?”
“Just tryin’ to fit in.” Jenny rose and walked to the other side of the room, and a table spread with several open binders. “Do you want to see what else I found?”
Lauren joined her at the table and soon found herself immersed in Carmody history, both personal and professional. Photos. Plats of sites worldwide. Self-congratulatory annual reports, bound in gold-embossed leather. But she also found information about Jericho, including albums of photographs from when it was a working settlement.
“It was never really a logging camp.” Jenny leafed through one of the old photo albums. “Mostly it served as home away from home for crews who worked at other Carmody sites in the area.”
Lauren studied the photos, comparing them with the mental picture she had retained of the ruins, their size and location. They’re not the same. Early 1900s Jericho had covered a goodly portion of the southern sweep of the mountain. It had been a self-sufficient settlement, complete with a post office, general store, quarters for families, and a school for the children.
As the twentieth century rolled on, other Carmody businesses grew in importance while timber receded. It made sense that they would tear down structures as families moved away. There was a minor boom when Steven Carmody began construction of the house in the late 1960s. Workers lived in some of the loggers’ cabins, while the area around Jericho was used as a staging and storage area for building materials. That was when the small railroad was built. It was used to transport workers and materials to the building site.
Then it all stops. Lauren closed the album. “According to this, work on the house was completed in the early seventies.”
Jenny pointed to the stack of photo albums piled at the end of the table. “No more mention of Jericho after this house was built. I looked.” She turned, then tapped the window to draw the attention of a squirrel. “So Andrew’s dad decides the family peak should serve as a retreat. Nothing wrong with that.”
“So why leave the remnants of Jericho in place to rot? Either fix it up or tear it down.”
“Why bother? It’s what, a mile and a half, two miles away?”
“And it’s warded.”
“Which means what?”
“Either they can’t tear it down, or they don’t want to.”
“Like I said.”
Jenny had picked up some of the albums and started putting them away when the door opened and Peter stuck his head in.
“We’ve been looking all over for you two.” He shouted down the corridor, “She’s up here!”
Lauren exited the library with Jenny. When she looked over the rail to the main floor below she saw Carmody and Kaster talking to a T-shirted man wired with multiple communications devices. “What’s wrong?”
“Heath’s losing his shit. Sam’s missing.” Peter motioned for them to follow and then hurried to the stairs. “You and she took a walk this morning?”
“Yes. We hiked to Jericho.”
“When did you get back?”
“Around lunchtime.”
They descended to the ground floor to find Stef waiting for them.
“Did you see anything unusual?” The woman took hold of Peter’s hand. “Andrew says that they often have to evict people who camp without permission.”
“We did find something.” Lauren described the toilet hole ring. “It may have been fairly recent, judging from the condition of the waste.” She paused as Heath approached from the direction of the bar, glass in hand and Sam’s handbag slung over his shoulder. “We checked out one of the buildings. The guard shack by the gate. We found a mound of bones inside. The remains of a small bird.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Carmody draw closer. “It looked like a ward. Flies swarmed out of it and bit her. When we tried to sweep the flies off her, we scattered the ward all over the place.”
“Flies?” Carmody stood hands on hips, eyes fixed on the floor at his feet.
“Yes, flies, Andrew, the same flies we discussed earlier, when I replayed Lauren’s extended phone message for you all to hear.” Kaster focused on her. “Mistress Mullin, is there anything else that you would like to tell the class?”
Lauren felt the man’s stare like a burn. “Some of the same flies came in my room last night. I did mention it to you.”
“Did they bite you?” That, from Carmody.
When Lauren nodded, Stef gestured toward her.
“And she’s fine.” The woman clucked her tongue. “You’re being dramatic, Gene. As usual.”
“If Sam feared being bitten again, she wouldn’t have gone back there.” Peter looked to Carmody, who took a phone from his pocket.
“I’ll notify my people. They’ll find her.” He punched in a speed dial code and was just about to speak when Lauren raised a hand.
“We’re the ones who need to look. Not civilians. Not yet.”
Peter nodded. “She’s right.” He turned to Stef, whose skirt and heeled pumps didn’t lend themselves to a tramp through the woods. “Stay here for now. If I need you to bring anything to me, I’ll call.” He bent closer to the woman as one of the security team strode past. “A safety invocation might help.”
“I’ll go get one of the trucks and meet you around front.” Carmody ran to the elevator.
“Can we do a locator spell?” Lauren flared out her fingers. “We’ve done them in Gideon. You form a ring and invoke the Lady’s light and it sends out streamers . . .” She quieted as they all stared, and wished like hell that she could have transported someone from Gideon for just five minutes. “Did someone try to call her? Did she have a phone?” She motioned to Heath and fielded a blank look already unfocused from drink. “Did she take her phone?”
“They already asked me that.” Heath shook his head. “Why would she? Just going for a walk. Why would she need a phone?”
Because common-bloody-sense. Lauren looked out to the driveway just as Carmody pulled up to the door behind the wheel of a battered Range Rover. She fell in behind the others, then slowed when she felt the pressure of a stare. She turned and saw Nyssa Carmody standing in the shadows beneath the stairs, watching them.
THE ROVER BUMPED and jostled along the trail, shaking them like beans in a can. Carmody stopped once so that Heath could get out and vomit, then hammered a rough beat on the steering wheel as the man slipped back inside and buckled himself in.
“You done?” Before Heath could nod, he hit the gas, sending stones shrapneling into the trees.
Lauren sat in the rear bench seat. More than once she caught Carmody watching her in the rearview mirror. She looked out the back window and caught sight of Kaster’s Jeep not too far behind. Not enough room, he had said. But she had sensed anger, at her for not telling everyone about the flies sooner, and at everyone else for brushing off his concerns. He wants to be alone. Given how on-edge everyone was, this was probably wise.
After a few minutes, Carmody slowed, then stopped atop the hill leading down to Jericho. Peter grabbed a first aid kit from beneath the seat and hit the ground running, followed by Jenny and Heath, who still lugged Sam’s shoulder bag like some sort of oversize lucky charm. As they hurried up the trail, Carmody caught Lauren’s eye again. “Come with me.”
Lauren followed him down the hill to the guard shack. As they drew near, she slowed, spread her fingers, and reached out her hands. Felt the change in the currents, like a chill riptide pulling her toward the ruins. “Oh, shit.”
Carmody entered the shack, and swore when he saw the scattered bones and feathers, the smashed flies. “Can we put something else in place?”
“Now?” Lauren followed him inside. “If something got out, we wouldn’t be able to shut it back in. We’d have to reopen the circle, and we don’t know what else is in here that could escape.” She hugged herself as the current widened and enveloped her and the temperature plummeted, shivered as though she stood in front of an open freezer. Turned to check the Lady’s Eye that she had etched into the doorway, and found it gone, the wood returned to its original state. “What the hell happened here?”
“We found her!”
Lauren turned to find Peter waving from the top of the hill. She waited for Carmody to answer her question but he just shook his head, then brushed past her and pelted up toward the trail.
She turned back to the bare spot on the floor. Then she looked out the rear of the ruin toward the circle of buildings, and sensed the shimmer in the air. The view altered each time she blinked, scenes flipping as though she paged through one of the Carmody albums. Immense piles of lumber. Cement trucks. A crane. Then came voices. Only men’s voices at first, barking commands, yelling, arguing.
Then, quieter voices and new scenes, which didn’t match any photograph she had seen. Men and women in office clothes, coveralls, lab coats, walking from building to building and vanishing inside. The same buildings as stood there now, but newly constructed, with steel doors secured with combination locks and bars on the windows.
She looked toward the far side of the shack and saw the translucent figure of a young man in khaki and denim, high-powered rifle slung over his shoulder, holding a clipboard and flipping through the pages. Then he tossed the clipboard atop a nearby desk and walked right through her on his way to the door. No one here by that name, Dr. Rick.
“Lauren!”
She turned to find Jenny halfway down the hill, waving to her.
“Do you know first aid? Pete could use some help.”
Lauren remained in the shack and beckoned for Jenny to come close. Waited until the other woman was within arm’s reach of the door, then held up her hand for her to stop. “Do you have your knife?”
“Yeah.” Jenny hesitated, then dug into the pocket of her shorts and pulled it out. “Why?”
Lauren took the knife from her, then opened and closed blades until she found the smallest, sharpest one. “I really need to figure out another way to do this.” She gashed the inside of her arm, then ran the blade along the welling cut and flicked the drops of blood along the floor. “The Lady’s Eye couldn’t stop you, but maybe this will. Whatever’s left here, stay here, and whatever’s out there, stay close. You come to the house, I’ll be waiting for you.” She looked back out toward the ruins just as another figure formed, then faded. A woman with long, dark hair, dressed in a short dress or slip, watching her from a doorway. Fernanda Carmody didn’t appear so pleading this time. Lauren could sense her anger like a needle through her skin.
A hard shot in the arm brought her back to the here and now.
“What the hell did you just do?” Jenny grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. “What the actual hell?”
“Just a warning to whatever is here that it should stay put.” Lauren wiped the blade on her shorts, then closed the knife and gave it back.
They ran up the hill. Then Jenny led Lauren down a leg of the trail in the direction opposite the way they had come. “They found her in a clearing near a pile of dead wood. Pete thinks she ate something.”
They pushed between two spruce, and found Peter kneeling on the ground beside Sam. He had donned nitrile gloves and begun on a physical exam, working his hands down her legs in search of injuries, while Carmody talked on the phone and Heath paced nearby.
Lauren knelt on Sam’s other side, opposite Peter. “You think she ate something.”
“That.” Peter jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of a dead stump.
“The shelf fungus?” Lauren took the phone that Peter handed her. “Would it have had an effect already?” He had opened a first aid app and started recording Sam’s vitals. She scanned his notes—pulse rate, respiration, appearance—then turned her attention to the woman. Shit. Sam’s skin was red, as though she’s been running, and felt hot and dry. Her pulse was rapid and thready, her breathing, shallow. Peter had propped up her head, loos
ened her clothing, and applied a cooling pack to the back of her neck. Lauren continued to record her vitals, and tried to keep her still and calm, gently drawing her hands away when she tried to pull at her clothes or the pack.
“That’s what I took out of her mouth.” Peter pointed to the plastic bag on the ground next to him, the gray mucuslike wad resting within. “Unless she swallowed something else beforehand. She hasn’t vomited and I’m afraid to give her ipecac to make her because I don’t know what else she ate out here.” He wrote in the air. “Add that she has a sore on her left hand.”
Lauren checked Sam’s hand, then made a note about the large black blister.
“Do any of your bites look like that?” Peter asked.
Lauren held out her hands, which were normal but for the odd pink splotch. Then she motioned to Heath. “Did she have any insect allergies? Did she carry an inhaler or an EpiPen?”
“What? Allergies?” Heath started toward Lauren. “Look at her—does that look like an allergy to you?” He stared at Sam and backed away, then returned to pacing at the clearing’s edge.
“The paramedics are on their way.” Carmody crouched at Sam’s feet. “The chopper’s almost here. It can take her to OHSU. My doctor will be waiting for her.”
“That was fast.” Peter pulled off the gloves, then rooted through the first aid kit, picking up the small bottle of syrup of ipecac, then setting it aside.
“The chopper’s always ready to go.” Carmody stood as the first rumbles of helicopter noise sounded from overhead. “And the paramedics were already here.”
Lauren looked up. “You keep paramedics on staff?”
“Yes.” Carmody’s face reddened, and he motioned to Sam. “You never know.”