by R. L. King
Stone patted her arm. “We’ll get this sorted, don’t you worry. There’s got to be some logical explanation. But for now—” He looked back at the portal, then at Verity. “I think it’s too late to find plane tickets that will get us to Vermont by Friday morning. Maybe I should just go on alone, and—”
“No!” she said with surprising vehemence, her dark eyes blazing. “I’m gonna do this. It’s just stupid that I can’t.”
Stone’s tone was gentle. “Verity, I admire your courage, I really do. But the creatures in there know what’s going on now. If we take you through and you have another—episode—I can’t vouch for my ability to get us back out before we’re overtaken. It’s not worth the risk.”
Jason tried not to look relieved. He felt bad for his sister, but that feeling was nothing compared to the fear that gripped him at the thought of being at the mercy of those things in there. If Verity was going to draw them like cats to catnip, it was better if they just didn’t go. They’d be fine for a couple of days till Stone got back.
“What if you knock me out?” Verity demanded. “Put me to sleep or something and carry me through? Would that work?”
“V—” Jason began.
“I’m not talking to you, Jason,” she said. She looked at Stone. “What about it? Would it work?”
Stone considered. “It might. As I told Jason, that was what they had to do to get me through on my first trip. But again, I didn’t have nearly the reaction you did.”
“Are you willing to try it?” Her eyes met his in challenge.
There was a long pause. “I suppose I am,” he said at last. He looked at Jason. “You can carry her—I suspect if anything’s to happen, it will be right away, and probably not quite as fast if she’s not actively sending up flares. We should have enough time to get out if things go pear-shaped. And it might give me some more data to try to figure out why it’s happening in the first place.”
Jason sighed. He supposed he should start getting used to being overruled by the pathologically curious. “Fine,” he said. “But I don’t like this.”
“Just stay close. If something goes wrong, I might need you to help me put up a shield.”
It wasn’t hard to knock Verity out: a simple deep sleep spell did the trick, and didn’t cause Stone more than a few moments’ dizziness. He motioned for Jason to pick her up, and once again they stepped into the portal.
Jason noticed the mage moved through with more caution than before. What had started out as a simple walk in the park had now become a walk in a park full of potential attackers lurking behind every tree. They were both on constant watch as they walked forward, and Jason glanced down at Verity every few seconds, checking to make sure she wasn’t either waking up or experiencing any difficulty. By the time they emerged from the other side, both of them were taut with stress. Verity slept on, unaware.
Jason examined their surroundings, carefully lowering his sister down against a stack of old clothes. They stood in what looked like a large, wooden attic full of dusty furniture and other junk, the only light provided by the portal itself which had been carefully hidden behind some old wardrobes and what looked like church pews stacked on their ends.
“Where are we?” he asked.
Stone, too, looked around. He didn’t answer until he was satisfied they were alone. “This is the attic of an old Presbyterian church in Lowell,” he said. “It’s one of the oldest portals on the East Coast. The church’s minister is one of us.”
Jason tilted his head. “A minister who’s a mage?”
Stone shrugged. “Why not? Nobody really knows where the magic comes from—why not believe it comes from God? It’s as good an explanation as any, if you’re a believer.” He knelt down next to Verity. “Now, then. Let’s wake up Sleeping Beauty here and get on with it, shall we?”
Verity’s eyes popped open instantly as Stone released the sleep spell, almost as if she had been struggling against something even in unconsciousness.
“You all right?” Jason asked.
“Did we make it?” she demanded, looking around. When assured that they had, she let her breath out in a long sigh of relief. “I had the most horrible dreams,” she said, shaking her head. “I was screaming, and they were after me, and—I didn’t cause any trouble, did I?”
“Not a bit,” Stone said, frowning. “But the fact that you had bad dreams even as deeply as I put you under concerns me. I’ll definitely have to investigate this further. But for now, we’d best get going.”
The minister, an older gentleman named Edwin Blodgett, was on the premises, and he allowed Stone to use the church’s phone to call a taxi after expressing regret that he’d be unable to attend Eleanor Pearsall’s memorial. “Nasty business,” he said sadly as they departed. “So many horrible things happening these days, all over the country. God help us all.”
After picking up their rental car, they arrived in Woodwich, Vermont a little more than two hours later. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about it being a wide spot in the road,” Jason said, leaning forward as they rolled into town.
There was hardly any traffic, so they were able to drive the three blocks of Main Street slowly, taking in the shops. Jason watched the scenery roll by: a post office, a small market, a couple of clothing stores, a larger department store with both of its display windows covered with paper and an elaborate floral display near its doorway, two bars, a gas station, a jewelry store, three restaurants (pizza, a sub shop, and a gourmet burger place), a coffee shop, and some knickknack and candle shops that looked like they were designed to appeal to any lost tourists who managed to stumble into town. Old-style wrought iron streetlamps lined the street on both sides. Although it was midday, few people strolled on the sidewalks.
“You think they even have a place to stay here?” Jason asked. “It doesn’t look like they get many tourists, especially this time of year.”
Stone kept driving. At the far end of Main Street, after the blocks with the shops petered out, they spotted a large park on one side and library on the other, set back from the street. Jason pointed out a pay phone in front of the park, and they quickly found Woodwich’s single motel on the outskirts of town.
The grizzled old man behind the counter wiped his hands on his flannel shirt and looked the three of them up and down as they trooped in. Clearly he didn’t see groups looking like them every day. “Help ya?”
“We need a couple of rooms,” Stone said.
The man nodded. “You’re lucky,” he said, as if it didn’t matter to him one way or the other. “Only got a couple left.”
“Really?” Jason asked, surprised. “Not exactly tourist season, is it?”
But Stone caught on. “They’re here for the funeral,” he said softly.
Something flickered in the man’s dark eyes, and he looked up. “Yeah. You knew Miz Pearsall?” He looked like he wasn’t sure he believed it.
“I did,” Stone said.
“I’m Ralph Gough,” he said, offering his hand. “Miz Pearsall was quite a character.” His tone suggested that this was the highest compliment he could bestow. “Such a terrible shame, what happened.”
“Indeed,” Stone said. “Our mutual friend who called to let me know—didn’t go into detail about the circumstances.”
Jason started to say something, but decided not to. He faded back to stand next to Verity.
“Terrible, terrible shame,” Ralph Gough said again, shaking his head. “Can’t imagine what got into them boys to make ’em do such a thing. And right there in the winda of Hillerman’s too.”
“Hillerman’s?”
“Department store,” Gough said, hooking a thumb back toward Main Street. “Miz Pearsall did all the holiday displays, so she’d go in at night and finish ’em up.”
“So that was—when it happened?” Stone asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral.
“Yeah. Few days ago, night before the big sale. ’Course they canceled it after that. Only right thing to do. Store�
�s been closed ever since.” Gough looked up as if he suddenly realized he’d said too much. “But listen, it ain’t right to be tellin’ tales like this about folks when they’re gone. It don’t matter how she died, just that she was a great lady around here for a long time, and we’re all gonna miss her.”
“I quite understand,” Stone murmured, graciously accepting that they wouldn’t get any more details from Ralph Gough. “The rooms—?”
“Oh. Yeah.” He aimed a suspicious look at Verity and Jason. “You three related?” Given Stone’s obvious British accent and Jason’s just as obvious American one, he looked like he doubted it.
“She’s my sister,” Jason said, a little annoyed. “Why? Is there some problem?”
“Nah, no problem,” the man said, refusing to be perturbed. “Just don’t want no funny business goin’ on in my rooms, is all.”
Verity spoke for the first time, looking amazed. “We’re here for a funeral,” she reminded him, you old perv unstated, but heavily implied. “Remember?”
Gough shrugged. “Don’t get your wind up, miss. I didn’t mean nothin’.” He reached around behind him, pulled two keys off a wooden pegboard, and handed them to Stone along with a slip of paper. “Sign here and leave a credit card number.”
Stone, Jason, and Verity remained inside their rooms just long enough to drop their bags on the beds and freshen up a little after the drive. They reconvened near the car in a few minutes.
“What now?” Jason asked.
“Don’t know about you two, but I’m hungry,” said Verity. “Why don’t we grab something to eat and look around?”
Once again Jason started to say something and decided against it. This time, though, Stone noticed. He tilted his head. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind, Jason. Out with it.”
Jason shrugged. “I was just thinking what that old guy said made me curious about what happened. But that’s pretty tactless, since the lady was your friend.”
“Let’s walk,” Stone said. “I could do with stretching my legs a bit after that drive, and it’s not too cold out.”
As they started off, he addressed Jason again. “Not tactless at all. In fact, I was rather wondering the same thing. As I mentioned, Eleanor Pearsall was a mage. I don’t think a normal attacker would have been able to get the drop on her. And it does sound like whatever happened was quite unpleasant.”
“The guy said it happened at the department store,” Verity reminded them. “Why don’t we have lunch and then walk by there? Might be somebody around who can tell us more.”
Freed from fear of tactlessness by Stone’s mutual interest in the details of the crime, Jason put in, “He also said something about ‘them boys.’ It sounds like they’ve got whoever did it in custody already.”
“Indeed,” Stone agreed. His eyes narrowed. “I’d like the opportunity to have a few words with these ‘boys,’ whoever they are, but I doubt that will be possible.”
It was less than half a mile back to the downtown area; they decided on the sub shop for lunch and settled down at a table near the front window to eat. A few customers drifted in, ordered food to go, and drifted back out again, eyeing the strangers with a mix of curiosity and distrust. Nobody else dined inside the restaurant.
“So,” Jason said around a mouthful of roast-beef sandwich, “You say that you don’t think your friend got jumped by somebody sneaking up on her?”
Stone shrugged. “It could have happened,” he admitted. “Eleanor was in her mid-fifties, and the last time I saw her she didn’t seem like the sort who got herself into sticky situations often. But even white mages can defend themselves if the need arises, and I don’t doubt she could have dealt with an attacker if it were a self-defense situation.”
Jason nodded. “So that means they either caught her completely by surprise and overpowered her—or maybe she knew them.”
“Somebody she knew would do this to her?” Verity asked. “It sounds like people around here liked her. And I’m kinda thinking this isn’t a high crime area.”
“You’d be surprised,” Jason said. “More people than you might think are killed by people they know. And little towns like this are almost never as squeaky-clean as they look. Could be a robbery gone bad, or drugs—” He spread his hands. “Lots of things.”
“That doesn’t explain the ‘horrific’ part, though,” Stone reminded him. “You didn’t hear my friend on the phone yesterday. Whatever happened to Eleanor, it wasn’t your garden-variety murder.”
“If you really want to investigate but you don’t want to ask people,” Verity said, “we could always check the papers. We’ve got the rest of the day, and we did see a library back there.”
“Let’s take a look around first,” Stone said. “We can always check the papers later today. We’ve got some time to kill until tomorrow morning.”
After finishing their lunch, they left the sub shop and headed up Main Street toward Hillerman’s Department Store. Like the other shops on the street, it was of an old fashioned design, with two large display windows flanking front doors set back from the street. The displays in the windows were elevated about three feet from street level, both covered with newspaper so there was no way to see inside. A hand-lettered sign on the front door read, “Hillerman’s will be closed until further notice. We are very sorry for any inconvenience.” In front of the doors what they had thought was a floral display as they drove by turned out to be a makeshift memorial of flowers, a large wreath, jars of potpourri, candles, several teddy bears and stuffed cats, and some handwritten signs proclaiming things like We Miss You, Ms. Pearsall, and RIP, Dear Friend. A photograph of a plump, cheerful-looking middle-aged woman with sparkling eyes accompanied one of the floral arrangements. Many of the flowers had already begun to wilt.
The three of them stood there for a minute or two, taking in the scene. “Clearly she was well loved in this town,” Stone said.
Jason nodded. “Are there—any other mages you know that live here? Maybe if there are, they might know something.”
“No, not anywhere nearby, as far as I’m aware. The woman who called me lives about thirty miles away. She’ll be here tomorrow.”
Verity looked around, her gaze roaming over the entire area as they spoke. Suddenly she stiffened and poked Stone, who was closest to her, in the arm.
“Uh...guys?” she said in an odd voice.
“What?” Jason looked around, but he didn’t see anything he hadn’t seen before.
“Look.” She pointed down, near where the front wall of the department store met the sidewalk.
Stone too looked. “I don’t—Bloody hell...”
It was hard to see, written in white chalk on the side of the building and half-obscured by a light dusting of snow, but once they spotted it, it was unmistakable:
CHAPTER THREE
Jason stared. “Holy shit.”
They’d all seen plenty of symbols like this back in California—the hastily scrawled code the Forgotten used to communicate with each other. But to find an example in the middle of a tiny town on the other side of the country right after a murder—
“It’s not quite the same,” Verity said. “See, there’s an extra line. Do you think it still means ‘bad place’?”
“Well, this sure as hell is a bad place,” Jason said. “Question is, was it here before the murder, or did somebody put it here after?”
“That’s one of the questions,” Stone agreed, sounding preoccupied. “There are many others. Such as: who put it here? Is there a Forgotten presence in this town? And more importantly, is the Evil here?” He snapped back to focus. “We need to do a bit more investigating, I think. Such as looking around to see if we can find any more of these symbols.”
Jason was about to answer, but he looked up to see a man in a police uniform approaching them.
“Can I help you folks with anything?” the man asked.
Stone shook his head. “No, thank you, officer. We’re in town for Ms
. Pearsall’s memorial tomorrow. She was a friend. We were merely—paying our respects.”
The cop looked for a moment like he was deciding whether he should be suspicious, but finally nodded. “All right, then. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Stone nodded, looking suddenly more upset than he had a few moments ago. “I understand—you have the perpetrators in custody? The proprietor at the motel where we’re staying said something about ‘those boys’?”
“Yes, sir. Well, one of them, at any rate. The other one is beyond any sort of punishment now except God’s, of course.”
“He got away?” Jason asked.
The cop gave him an odd look. “No. You must not know much about what happened. We aren’t releasing the details, but that much was in the papers. The killers were a couple of private security guards. We found one of them dead—apparent suicide—at the scene of the crime. The other one is in custody. We’re still investigating the case, so I can’t give you any further information.”
“I understand. Thank you, officer.” Stone nodded to him and then motioned for Jason and Verity to follow him. Once they had verified that the cop had headed off in the other direction, he stopped again in front of one of the knick-knack shops and appeared to be examining the wares in the window. “Well, that got us a bit more information, anyway. Security guards.”
“Why would security guards kill somebody?” Verity asked. “Seems like people would know pretty quick who did it, if she was killed inside the department store and they had access to buildings after hours.”
“That adds another to our ever-growing store of good questions,” Stone said.
“That cop was county,” Jason said. “I don’t think he’s from Woodwich.”
“Is that relevant?” Stone asked.
Jason shrugged. “Not really, except it probably means the town itself doesn’t have a police force. Lots of towns this small don’t, especially with all the funding cuts in the last few years. They end up having to consolidate with other nearby towns, or more often just let the county handle it. So it probably means he didn’t know your friend personally.”