Our Time Is Now

by Chloe Douglas

  However, anxious to catch a glimpse of her, he’d driven to Highland House, which was set on top of a steep knoll. He parked his Lexus at the bottom of the hill.

  He peered down at the sudden rustle of shrubbery, catching sight of a large marmalade cat that immediately hunched its back and hissed at him. Richard knew from the private investigator’s dossier that Jessica had adopted a cat from the local animal shelter.

  The creature will have to be put down, he thought dispassionately, tempted to kick the cat in the face. Like women, cats were devious creatures.

  Stepping around the ill-tempered feline, he cautiously made his way to the front yard, grateful for the full moon that clearly illuminated the grounds.

  Despite the fact that they’d had no contact in the last six months, there was no doubt in his mind that he could persuade Jessica to return to him. She was, after all, malleable as clay. Moreover, she belonged to him, and Richard was intent on reminding his estranged wife of the sacred vows that they’d exchanged on their wedding day.

  Noticing the golden light that spilled from one of the downstairs rooms, he headed in that direction, keeping his footfalls as light as possible as he traipsed toward a set of French doors. Able to see Jessica, in profile, seated at a wooden desk, he came to a standstill some ten feet from the house.

  The mere sight of her caused the breath to catch in his throat.

  As he stared at the loose, auburn tresses that framed either side of her face and grazed the upper curve of her breasts, Richard became highly aroused.

  Unable to stop himself, he lowered a hand and rubbed his crotch. Stimulating himself to erection, he called to mind their wedding night. While Jessica had kept her eyes shut and her mouth tightly clenched, he knew that she’d found him virile. At the time, he’d foolishly imagined himself in love with her. This had been a short-lived belief, as Jessica soon proved herself unworthy of his affections. Too late, he’d discovered that his wife was a freak of nature, possessed of a barren womb and breasts that would never suckle a child.

  The unpleasant memory caused Richard to immediately lose his erection.

  Cursing under his breath, he glared through the glass panes, watching as Jessica speedily clicked away on a laptop computer. No doubt she was busy writing more drivel for the local newspaper. Because she had a degree in journalism, she’d always had aspirations to work as a newspaper reporter—an ambition that he intended to squash as soon as she returned to him. As his wife, her job—her only job—was to tend to his needs.

  “To love, honor, and obey me,” Richard murmured.

  Until death do we part.

  Chapter 18

  It’s a killing moon, Gideon noted as he rode across the dew-dampened meadow. The luminous, orange orb was bisected with inky bands of striated clouds, making it appear as though the full moon bled from a fatal, celestial wound. A bracing wind blew against his back, causing the leaves on the nearby trees to quiver on their branches.

  On such a night, death seemed to lurk in every shadow.

  Suddenly catching sight of twinkling lights about half a mile distant, Gideon urged his mount to quicken its pace. The mysterious lights were the first sign he’d had all night that something was afoot.

  He’d been riding for hours now and had yet to see the winged beast. Earlier, he’d gone to the abandoned saltpeter cave near Devil’s Run Creek, but had determined that Draygan was nowhere in the vicinity.

  Approaching the spot where he’d seen the twinkling lights, the only discernible illumination was that cast by the moon. Scanning the meadow, Gideon saw that the lights now beckoned from the other side of the meadow. As he gamely ventured forth, he couldn’t help but wonder if Draygan was toying with him.

  When, a few moments later, he arrived at the new location, once again the twinkling lights seemed to emanate from a different direction. Vexed, Gideon was on the verge of kicking Blaze into a gallop—determined to outrun the lights—when he saw a crouched figure standing near a towering oak tree. The lone figure immediately put him in mind of Hecate, the ancient patroness of witchcraft. Legend had it that she appeared nightly at a crossroads to aid anguished mortals haunted by the spirits of the dead.

  To Gideon’s surprise, rather than the fabled Hecate, the solitary figure turned out to be an old, white-haired woman. She was garbed in a faded dress and wore a shawl tied around her frail shoulders.

  “Have you lost your way?” he inquired, reining Blaze to a halt beside the mighty oak tree.

  “ ‘The night was dark, no father was there, the child was wet with dew. The mire was deep, and the child did weep, and away the vapor flew,’ ” the old woman intoned in a sing-songy voice.

  “Ah! You are familiar with the poetry of William Blake,” he remarked as he dismounted.

  Softly cackling, the crone peered up at him and said, “Such words are in your head, ain’t they?”

  Admittedly perplexed by her cryptic reply, Gideon unbuttoned his jacket. “It is a chill night for you to be about without a proper coat,” he remarked, solicitously offering her the tunic.

  With a shake of her head, the old woman refused the garment. “What need have I of such raiment? ’Tain’t the least bit cold.”

  Although thinking otherwise, Gideon shrugged back into his jacket. “Have you perchance seen the great winged beast that inhabits these environs?”

  “Ain’t seen Draygan tonight,” she responded. “Although I know where he be a-hiding.”

  His interest instantly piqued, Gideon asked the obvious question. “And where might that be?”

  “In your heart, boy… in your heart.” Cocking her head to one side, the old woman silently appraised him. “Most everyone hereabouts is familiar to me, but I’ve never seen your face before.”

  “Forgive my lax manners. I am Gideon MacAllister.” As he introduced himself, Gideon bent slightly at the waist. “And might I inquire with whom I have the pleasure of speaking?”

  “Folks call me Mother Maebelle.”

  Ah, yes. Miss Malone’s grandmother.

  Craning her neck, Mother Maebelle stared at the night sky. “The moon just moved into Gemini, sure enough.”

  Gideon gave the sky a cursory glance. “Is that significant?” he asked, beginning to suspect that Mother Maebelle might well suffer from an unsound mind. It would certainly explain her wandering the hillside so late at night.

  “It be of great significance to those who come a-searchin’. Are you a seeker, Gideon MacAllister?”

  “In so far as I seek the beast known as Draygan.”

  “Others have come before you, and they rued the day they set out on that ill-fated quest. Only those pure of heart can know the mind of Draygan,” Mother Maebelle informed him.

  Bewildered, Gideon shook his head. “What does my heart have to do with this matter? I only need a strong arm and a steady gaze to slay the beast.” And the silver bullet that he’d earlier cast.

  “Mark my words, you’ll need more than that. You best think long and hard before you venture into them hinterlands,” Mother Maebelle warned, pointing to the mountain in the distance. “You could lose your way if you’re not careful. Maybe even lose your soul. Draygan is only a reflection of you. What you do unto Draygan, you do unto yourself.”

  Again, her meaning eluded him. The old woman was speaking in riddles. “I do not intend to kill Draygan for the mere thrill of the hunt,” Gideon said in his own defense. “For ten days now, Draygan has been bedeviling me, insinuating himself into my waking thoughts and sleeping dreams. To free myself from this dark malady, I must slay the beast.”

  Extending her right arm in his direction, Mother Maebelle placed a gnarled hand over his heart. “There is a dark force that haunts you, but it’s one of your own making. To cure yourself, you must make amends for the sins that you committed against your beloved.”

  “It would be impossible for me to make amends… My wife is dead.”

  “Nothing is impossible,” the crone countered with a toothless s
mile as she removed her hand from his chest. “The time is now, the place is here. You must complete the circle. Kill Draygan and you will die. Learn from the past and you will live.”

  Yet another senseless riddle, Gideon silently fumed, fast losing his patience. “My course is set,” he stated, more brusquely than he intended. “I cannot change my destiny.”

  “And I say your destiny ain’t yet been revealed to you. But I’d be willing to give you a look-see,” Mother Maebelle offered as she gestured toward the sinkhole on the other side of the oak tree.

  With a wary nod, Gideon followed her to the small pond. While he placed little faith in the superstitious practice of scrying—gazing into a pool of water to “see” one’s future—he also didn’t think any harm would come of it. When she directed him to get down on his hands and knees in front of the water hole, he obediently complied.

  “This will help you see the truth,” Mother Maebelle said, retrieving a small burlap pouch from her skirt pocket. Untying it, she reached inside and grabbed a handful of dried dandelion petals, which she sprinkled over his head and shoulders. “Now hold your gaze steady and soon enough a vision will come to you.”

  Taking a deep breath, Gideon did as ordered. Uncertain as to what he would see, if anything, he stared, unblinking, into the still water.

  Just as he expected, nothing happened. All he could see in the inky surface of the pool was his own reflection, juxtaposed beside that of the full moon.

  “Keep looking, boy,” Mother Maebelle hissed. “The vision is inside of you just waiting to be conjured forth.”

  As if those words had some magical effect, Gideon’s reflected image suddenly blurred, giving way to another image in the stygian depths, that of his beloved Sarah. Although faint and diaphanous, the image was heartbreakingly familiar. Mesmerized, Gideon’s heart slammed against his ribcage.

  With a sorrowful expression on her heart-shaped face, Sarah slowly raised a framed picture of an upright triangle encircled by an Ouroboros, a dragon biting its own tail.

  Come back to me, Gideon… come back to me.

  Able to hear Sarah’s insistent plea inside his head, Gideon shuddered. In the next instant, the waters rippled and the reflection dissolved into an ever-widening blur.

  Desperate to hold onto Sarah’s image, Gideon squinted his eyes in order to sharpen the vision. Yet even as the first image faded, a new one materialized, and Gideon was taken aback to see Jessica Reardon’s image reflected in the water’s surface. As with Sarah, she held in front of her a framed picture of an upright triangle contained within an Ouroboros.

  With an expression as bleak as Sarah’s had been, Jessica softly whispered, “Come back to me, Gideon… come back to me.”

  Startled to hear the very same words spoken by both women, Gideon jerked his head. At that point, the image instantly vanished.

  Scrambling to his feet, he turned to Mother Maebelle. “What does it mean?” he asked, his voice hoarse with shock.

  The old woman shrugged and said, “Only you know what it means. The vision is yours to do with as you see fit.”

  “Admittedly, I am at a loss to understand what I just saw.” Not only was he puzzled that both Sarah and Jessica had appeared in his vision, he could not even begin to decipher the meaning of the framed picture that each woman had shown to him.

  Taking him by the arm, Mother Maebelle led Gideon away from the pool of water. “Nothing in this ol’ world is carved in stone. The Lord, he taketh, and the Lord, he giveth. You remember that, boy. You learn from your past mistakes, or the Lord, he’ll taketh all over again.”

  Gideon came to a halt, her dire warning sounding like a death knell to his ears. “Would the Almighty be so cruel as to take yet another love from me?”

  Chortling, Mother Maebelle shook her head. “There be but the one love. And she’s been with you forever and a day. Your two lives are woven together like the gossamer threads of a spider web. But you best take care, Gideon MacAllister, because that web is a fragile thing, sure enough.”

  Could the old woman only speak in riddles? he wondered, utterly confounded.

  At hearing a screech owl hoot, Mother Maebelle suddenly went as still as a megalith. Long seconds passed as the old woman appeared to listen to a silent communiqué that only she could hear. “You must return from whence you came, to the house on the hill,” she said suddenly. “There is no time to lose.”

  “Can you not tell me more than that?” he asked, alarmed by her urgent tone.

  “Go to the house. ’Tis there that the danger lurks.”

  Gideon swung himself into the saddle. “Shall I notify your granddaughter and tell her of your whereabouts?”

  Mother Maebelle shook her head. “She knows where to find me if she has need of me. Now you best hurry, boy. When the moon next enters into Gemini, redemption can be found. But only if you be of true and courageous heart.”

  Gideon doffed his hat. “I thank you for the wise counsel.”

  * * *

  Jessica worriedly glanced at the mantel clock. Gideon had been gone for hours, and she was beginning to worry about him.

  When, a few seconds later, she heard a loud rustling sound, she turned her head and peered out the window that was adjacent to her desk. On the other side of the glass pane, the full moon hovered above the tree line, shedding an eerie, silver illumination onto the landscape.

  Shivering from the autumn chill, she got up from her desk and walked over to the fireplace. Highland House had never been updated with a furnace, and while many of the rooms had been retrofitted with electric baseboard heaters, the library wasn’t one of them.

  Not particularly in the mood to build a fire, Jessica nonetheless plucked several sheets from a stack of old newspapers that she kept at the ready. Going down on her knees, she grabbed a handful of twigs and broken tree branches from the large basket beside the hearth. She placed the kindling around three sturdy logs, shoving the balled-up newspapers in between the gaps. She then struck a large kitchen match, wrinkling her nose at the sulfurous smell.

  In no time at all, she’d built a roaring fire. As she was about to close the fireplace screen, Jessica heard a loud whoosh as the French doors suddenly blew open, leaving both panels wildly swinging to and fro.

  “Criminy!”

  Lunging to her feet, Jessica rushed over and closed the doors. No sooner had she secured them than she noticed that the draft from the open doors had blown several burning embers onto the hearth. To her horror, the pile of newspapers combusted into a burst of orange flames.

  With a horrified shriek, she dashed over to the fireplace and immediately began to stomp out the flames. It wasn’t until she’d gotten the worst of it under control that Jessica suddenly realized the bottom half of her long skirt had caught fire. Panic-stricken, she frantically swished the sides of the skirt from side to side, trying to keep the fabric away from her body.

  Unable to extinguish the flames, Jessica’s terror escalated as images flashed across her mind’s eye in a rapid, almost dizzying succession. Burning embers showering her head. A bundle of hay violently igniting. Falling roof timbers creating a deadly inferno.

  Seized with a fear unlike anything she’d ever experienced, she was so petrified that she could no longer move. Could no longer breathe. She could only wait for what she was certain would prove to be a fiery death.

  * * *

  Although tempted to rush to his estranged wife’s aid, Richard Bragg stood rooted in place.

  Taken aback by the unexpected turn of events, he watched Jessica’s sudden capitulation as orange flames aggressively danced around her skirt hem. While her quick surrender was deplorable, he found himself inexplicably engrossed by the scene. Aroused even, his heart wildly thumping as the blood surged to his groin.

  It was a trial by fire for the grievous sin that she’d committed against him.

  That realization filled him with a sudden burst of euphoria. What he was witnessing—immolation by fire—was the ultimate
purification, the flames burning away the dross that had accumulated in the wake of Jessica’s terrible transgression. A fitting punishment given that she’d abandoned their domestic hearth, with the sentence perfectly matched to the crime.

  This is what happens when a wife repudiates her sacred marital vow, he told himself, tamping down on his initial impulse to go to her rescue.

  But if he let her burn at the proverbial stake, how would she ever be able to beg his forgiveness?

  Seized with indecision, Richard gnashed his teeth together. “As her husband, I must save her,” he muttered as he stepped away from the pine tree so that he could go to Jessica’s rescue.

  He’d gone no more than several feet when he suddenly glimpsed a pair of gleaming red eyes in the depths of the nearby grove. Able to smell a distinctly gamey odor, he feared some feral animal was afoot.

  When, a split-second later, he unexpectedly heard the steady pounding of hooves, the heroic impulse to save his wife was instantly doused as Richard dashed back to the sheltering pine tree.

  In the next instant, he watched as a horseman galloped past.

  Chapter 19

  Panic-stricken, Jessica opened her mouth to scream, but her terror was so extreme that her vocal cords froze up on her, rendering her mute.

  “Jessica!” Gideon shouted as he charged toward her.

  In the next instant, she felt cool water splash against her legs. Still in a daze, it took several moments for her to realize that Gideon had snatched the vase of fresh-cut flowers from the coffee table and tossed the water onto her burning skirt. Going down on bent knee, he hurriedly unbuttoned her it. Then, without bothering to ask permission, he slid the smoldering garment off her hips and tossed it into the fireplace. He wrapped her lower body with a plaid throw blanket grabbed from the couch.

  Suddenly dizzy, Jessica felt as light as the smoke that permeated the room. Wobbling unsteadily, she focused on Gideon’s broad shoulders as she pitched forward.

  Catching hold of her, Gideon wrapped his arms around the backs of her legs and hoisted her over his right shoulder. He carried her down the hallway to the living room, easing her into a wingback chair a few moments later.