She whispered back, “Mine.”
He inhaled sharply, his teeth grating. “Wait. We have to slow down. I’m not—”
She smiled. “I am. I wasn’t planning on anything, but I’m on the Pill.”
He returned her smile.
They made their way down the hall, still touching, still kissing, crashing into a wall here and there. Finally they reached her bedroom and they fell onto the softness of her bed, the robes a tangle around them. Straddling her, Malachi wrangled out of his robe and helped remove hers. He paused for a minute, and she wasn’t sure what went through his mind. She didn’t care; she rose against him, loving the feel of her breasts against the heat of his chest. Again, they kissed, still kissing as they eased back down.
She felt him slide down the length of her body. She felt his touch, so evocative, so arousing that she was nearly delirious. Her life had been the Dragonslayer and the academy for so long...but she knew that wouldn’t have mattered. Nothing would have mattered. There were people who changed reality for others, created magic for them, and Malachi was that magic for her. She had never wanted anyone so much, never felt so afire, so hungry. And his every touch fulfilled her. His intimacy brought her almost to the brink, teased her and let her slip to become almost insanely aroused again. And then, he thrust deeply into her, filled her, and his movements elicited that same fevered urgency.
The world around her seemed to spin, to disappear, and yet to become achingly real. She was fascinated by his touch. His hair, the wicked movement of his muscles. She arched and writhed against him until the fire within her seemed to explode. She felt him explode within her as well, and for a moment, she simply luxuriated in the sensation of winding down. When she did, she felt the coolness of the air around them and she smiled. Sex wasn’t new; it was as old as life on earth. And yet she couldn’t help feeling that they had somehow reinvented the wonder of it all that night.
She smoothed back a lock of her hair and curled up against his chest. “Is...was that allowed?” she asked.
She saw the curve of his lips. “I didn’t ask anyone’s permission.”
“Yes, but...”
“I think it’s okay. Jackson is with Angela. Will is with Kat. We have two other couples in the teams. Maybe it has to do with our unique talents.” He rolled so that they faced each other. “And maybe it’s because, somehow, these situations just bring us together with the most fascinating people in the country.”
She smiled again and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m fascinating?”
“Entirely.”
“You’re a bit unusual yourself, you know.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“I’d never have imagined...”
He rose up on one elbow, gazing down at her. “Actually, I’d never imagined any of this. I made a rather awkward start of it. My social graces may be a bit...lacking.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “Your other skills aren’t.”
He leaned down and kissed her once more. She’d never, ever believed a kiss could be so deep, do so much, enter her every cell.
That kiss...
They began making love again, more slowly at first, and then more frantically, and when they’d finished she lay in his arms. She thought they’d talk afterward, but they didn’t. Exhaustion must have overwhelmed her. She fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
She didn’t hear when the kitchen crew arrived in the morning.
She didn’t awaken until she felt Malachi bolt up and go running out to the living area. Then she became aware of the sound of a ringing phone.
A minute later, he returned to the bedroom, pausing naked and perfect in the doorway. His tone was strange—anxiety combined with regret. “We’ve got to get moving,” he told her. “Helen Long is conscious and talking. We have to get to the hospital.”
* * *
Jackson was there to meet them when they arrived.
“How is she?” Abby asked.
“She’s doing all right. She’s suffering from dehydration more than anything else.”
“What has she said so far?” Malachi asked.
“Very little. She’s only been conscious for a couple of hours, and David asked her what she remembered, who hurt her, but she still seemed disoriented. David thought she might be better once Abby got here,” Jackson said. “And she might have had enough time now to reorient and remember at least some of what happened.”
“Let’s hope so,” Abby said.
Malachi nodded and looked at Jackson. “Was I right about what I saw? She was bleeding in the water. I figured she had to be alive but I couldn’t see the injury. Was her ring finger taken?”
“Yes. She cried for a while when she realized that. In fact, the hospital staff had to sedate her. She’s calmer now, but still lucid,” Jackson told them. “There was a plastic surgeon on duty and he explained that they could do a prosthetic that she’d hardly notice. Then, of course, she cried because she’s grateful to be alive.” He turned to Abby. “She knows you saved her, although she can’t figure out how you knew she’d be in the middle of the river.”
“I saw movement,” Abby murmured.
Jackson didn’t question that. “Did you notice what she was wearing?” he asked.
“A lot of fabric,” Malachi said. “Let me guess—she was dressed as a wench?”
Jackson nodded. “She was wearing a costume like the one she wears when she works on the Black Swan.”
“Let’s see if we can get her to tell us anything,” Malachi said.
Helen Long’s hospital room was fairly large, which was a good thing since David Caswell, Jackson Crow, Abby and Malachi were all huddled in it, trying to be mindful of the patient but eager to hear what she had to say.
Malachi was aware of the hum of the IV monitors, of the hospital staff tending to the sick and injured. Outside the door was a chair; an officer would sit there day and night. They feared that whoever had wanted Helen dead would know where she was—and come back to finish the job.
Helen looked pale as she lay against the pillows. She was weak, but her eyes were bright and her mind seemed to be clear.
“Helen, Abby is here now. She’d like to talk to you. I know you can do it,” Jackson said gently.
Helen looked at Abby and tried to smile. “Thank you!” she whispered.
“Helen, thank you. You made it,” Abby said.
Helen’s eyes touched Malachi’s for a minute. “And thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he told her. “You’re a survivor, Helen. And we believe in your strength. You’re going to help us catch him.”
“Maybe.” Helen glanced down at her bandaged hand. It looked as if tears were welling in her eyes again but she blinked them furiously away.
Abby said, “Please, Helen, tell us—how did he get you? Or how did they get you? Please, help us catch him.”
“I don’t think you can catch him,” she whispered.
“Tell us what happened,” Malachi urged.
Helen took a deep breath and began. “I met a man on the Black Swan one day. He told me he wanted to bring a tourist attraction to Savannah. He wanted to open a haunted house. A pirate-themed haunted house. He was nice—just pleasant, not lecherous—and when we spoke, he was easy to talk to. He asked me if I could make any suggestions about properties that might be available and would work for a haunted house. I told him I knew the best guide in the city—Roger, of course—and that I knew where he might find the perfect spot. I said he’d have to follow certain historical guidelines, especially since it’s owned by a private restoration society. But the society hasn’t had the funds to restore it. Anyway, I got one of Roger’s maps and I remembered what I’d learned about the old church. Roger and I had talked about it. I had his map, I walked around, using it, and I was goi
ng to get together with the man I met on the Black Swan. It was...before Gus’s funeral, after we were all talking one afternoon—at the Dragonslayer.”
“Everyone remembers that day,” Abby said.
“Well, I thought we were meeting in the parking lot at the tavern, but I didn’t see him. Instead, there was a note on my car, along with his business card. He said to meet him at the church.”
“Helen,” Malachi asked urgently, “what did this man look like?”
“I...I don’t know. He was just a businessman. Maybe about six feet tall? I guess he was getting started early on his whole pirate-theme thing. He had long hair and a beard and mustache. Dark. You could barely see his face.”
“Did you know him? Had you ever seen him before?”
Helen frowned. “There was something familiar about him...I feel I should have known him, but I didn’t. Or maybe he reminded me of someone I knew, but I couldn’t place who it was.”
“What was his name?” Malachi asked.
Helen frowned. “Chris...Chris Condent. Christopher on the card, I think. He told me to call him Chris.”
Malachi didn’t allow a flicker of change on his face but his mind was racing. Chris...Christopher Condent. Christopher Condent had been a pirate, active from about 1718 to 1720. After taking a great prize, he retired from the sea and lived in France until a ripe old age. He’d become very rich by taking his ill-gotten gains and investing them in a career as a merchant.
“So,” Malachi said, “you found the note on your car with the man’s business card, telling you to go to the church. What then?”
“I went there—and I was surprised. The church door was open. I figured the man had gotten hold of the owners or one of the owner’s representatives and been given a key,” Helen explained.
“And then?” Abby asked.
Helen let out a long breath. “I went in.” She stopped speaking and just stared ahead.
“Helen?” Malachi said quietly.
She didn’t move; she didn’t seem to hear.
Abby moved closer and squeezed her hand. “Helen, please, go on.”
Helen shook her head. Tears gathered in her eyes.
“What?” Abby said very softly. “What happened then?”
“I don’t know,” Helen said. “I walked in and suddenly I felt a searing pain in my head. Someone or something had hit me. I didn’t see anything, anything at all.”
She fell silent again, her expression anguished.
Malachi nodded at Abby, and she understood what he meant. Helen knew her, trusted her. She was the one who could probe where the rest of them couldn’t.
“You were hit—and you were unconscious. But...you came to?”
“I was tied up. My wrists were bound. And I was in a cabin. A ship’s cabin. At least, I think it was a ship’s cabin. It seemed like I could hear water...and whistles and ships’ horns. It was dark, really dark. There were portholes or windows but they were covered and I couldn’t move to try to see out.”
Abby sat on the bed next to Helen. “I know this is hard, but it’s important. What happened next?”
“He came in,” Helen said. “He came in...and he was horrible.”
“I’m so sorry, Helen,” Abby murmured.
“He...told me I was a captive. A pirate’s captive. So I’d better be good. Captives who caused problems didn’t live very long. He said he’d put out the call for my ransom, but if I gave him any trouble, if I tried to escape...he’d kill me.”
“Did you recognize this guy? Was it the businessman you met?” Abby asked.
Helen stared at Abby. “I—I don’t know. I really don’t know if they were the same.”
“What do you mean, Helen?” Abby asked.
“It was...the pirate. The real pirate.”
“Helen,” Malachi said, “was it someone acting as a pirate? You said that this Chris Condent wanted to open a pirate-themed haunted house.”
Helen shook her head, growing agitated. “He wasn’t Chris Condent anymore. He was the pirate, the real pirate. That’s who kidnapped me. And I had seen him before. He was very big and he had dark hair. Rich, dark hair. And blue eyes.” She took a shuddering breath. “It was the pirate, Abby. The pirate from the Dragonslayer.”
She paused, as if waiting for Abby’s comprehension.
“It was Blue,” she said. “The pirate, Blue Anderson.”
9
They left the hospital soon after Helen Long stated that she believed she’d been kidnapped and attacked by a pirate who had been dead for well over two hundred years.
Because it was private and they could watch the Dragonslayer on the screens at Abby’s home on Chippewa Square, they returned there. David Caswell met with the group and they went through everything they knew.
The house on Chippewa had been built in the early 1800s and had come to Abby’s family in the 1850s. Built in the colonial style, it had a handsome porch with eight white pillars standing sentinel. The house wasn’t huge; the front door opened into a hall that stretched to the rear door and small yard. A staircase led to the second floor. There were three bedrooms and a den upstairs—a nursery in days gone by—while on the ground floor, to the left, was a large formal dining room and the pantry-now-kitchen, while the onetime kitchen out in the yard had been turned into a little summer house. The formal parlor was to the right of the front door with the old music room behind it.
Malachi hadn’t seen her actual home yet, and he was curious. It was evident that Abby hadn’t spent much time there in recent years. It was impeccably clean, although not much had been changed, the television in the old music room was as old as the stereo system. The upholstery was colonial-style, as was the furniture throughout the house, except for one massive recliner.
“My father’s. He loved it. He watched Sunday football from that chair every week,” Abby told Malachi.
“My dad had one of those chairs, too,” Malachi said. “I admit I’m fond of it. I watch football on Sunday from that chair, too. And a few other shows, of course.”
“I like the chair. Reminds me of my dad. He was great. So was my mother. They were typical parents, I guess. My mom loved to bake and cook and she had a little business making designer baby clothes. She made all kinds of things, of course, but she especially loved baby clothes. I think she would’ve liked a houseful of children.... She was always the mom in charge of food drives at school and she collected for the Red Cross. She was the epitome of the Southern lady.” Abby paused, a look of fond nostalgia on her face. “They both represented the very best of Southern hospitality. My dad worked for a tech company but he spent as much time at the Dragonslayer as he could. He loved the history, but he was practical. He used to say there was money to be made on the legend of Blue, and it might as well be made by the Anderson family.”
“But they raised a daughter intent on being a federal agent,” Malachi commented.
“They raised me to reach for whatever I wanted, whether that was a rocket scientist or a stay-at-home mom.”
“That’s the best,” Malachi said. “That’s how kids should be raised.”
She nodded. Although she’d been talking to him, she seemed distracted.
They’d left the others in the large formal dining room, where the computer banks and screens had been set up, when Abby set off to show him the rest of the house. And while she’d shown him around with casual enthusiasm, he thought it was forced.
“I enjoy hearing about your family, but what is it? What’s tearing at you?”
She frowned at him, hurt, confused, indignant. “My ancestor is not attacking women and throwing them in the river!” she said.
“Abby, we all know the ghost of Blue is not doing this,” he said.
“Didn’t you tell me ghosts...could be different? Some were shy,
some talked, some hid... So who’s to say that some haven’t gotten almost-mortal power—and the ability to hurt people. But I’m positive Blue isn’t one of them!”
“Abby,” he said, aching to draw her to him, but it wasn’t the time or the place. “Abby, I’m sure some ghosts never make contact with anyone. They might be there, but they never show themselves. Others are outgoing and curious and seek out those who might see them. Some can create cold spells or learn a certain ability to move objects. But to my knowledge, there isn’t a ghost out there with the strength or energy to physically attack human beings—to bind them with rope and throw them in the river. No one believes that Blue Anderson is after people.”
Abby let out a breath. “So, you agree it’s someone dressing up as Blue,” she said.
“That I don’t doubt. Let’s go see the others, discuss what we’re all thinking and what moves we should make today.”
Abby smiled. “It’s a good day so far. Helen’s awake.”
“It is a good day,” he said. “Come on. I have some info I should be sharing with everyone.”
In the dining room, they discovered Kat and Angela seated at the side of the room, where they could watch the screens.
Jackson was at one of the computers, a sheaf of papers in front of him.
“Where’s Will?” Malachi asked.
“He went off to spend the day on the Black Swan,” Kat said.
“Glad to hear it.” Malachi pulled out a chair for Abby, taking a seat himself.
“Anything going on at the Dragonslayer?” he asked.
“Macy’s arrived. She’s at the host stand. Looks like she’s checking reservations. Sullivan is hanging glasses. Bootsie just came hobbling in. He’s alone—no Aldous or Dirk at the moment—but David called Dirk to let him know he could see Helen, just for a few minutes. He’s not going out on any of the pirate voyages today. Will’s going to work with his cast instead,” Angela told them.
“It looks like business as usual at the Dragonslayer,” Kat said.
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 3: The Night Is WatchingThe Night Is AliveThe Night Is Forever Page 47