by Jane Godman
Declan’s mouth dropped, and for a moment he could only gape. “So to sum up, the evil done here has turned this place evil and will bring evil to it.”
“It’s just a theory,” she said hesitantly, perhaps sensing the anger building inside him. “Are you familiar with ley lines?”
He shook his head.
“They’re invisible lines that connect ancient sites, but some believe they have mystical qualities, giving off energy possibly from magnetic fields. While this has never been verified, these straight lines do connect ancient sites like standing stones, megaliths, as well as natural sites like groves, streams and bogs.”
“You think The Devil’s Eye is on a ley line?”
“I think there is a strong possibility. Ancient societies chose these locations for their rituals for a reason, and the fifteen men found in your bog were murdered in ritualistic killings. Both your sister and Kyle Peirs claimed that Paskin and the doctor believed killing people here would keep the village prosperous.”
“Given the state of the village,” Andy cut in, “kind of makes you wonder if they were right.”
Declan rolled his eyes. “Three murderers killing people for over twenty years is probably reason enough for people to stop visiting Cragera Bay, no mystical explanations needed.”
“The Isle of Anglesey was a druid stronghold before the Romans burned them out,” Carly went on. “There are still groups of neo-druids, especially here on the island, but none of them practicing human sacrifice, and with no direct link to druids of ancient times. Their teachings were mostly oral and not believed to have survived in their original form. I wondered if the people who killed the men had formed some warped neo-druid sect, but if that was the case, their knowledge of druid lore was very superficial.”
Part of him didn’t want to know, yet he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “How can you know that?”
“The men were all incapacitated, garroted and their throats cut, the same method used on Lindow Man—one the most famous druid finds. His mummified remains were found in a bog about thirty years ago, showing evidence he suffered trauma to the head, he’d been strangled and his throat cut. This case gained a great deal of media attention, but the druids used all sorts of methods for sacrifice—fire, drowning, hanging—all dependent on the god they were sacrificing to. Though, the Paskins and the doctor must have been familiar with Gaelic celebrations. Each of the men disappeared within days of four major holidays.”
“That’s just awesome. What do you think the odds of me selling this dump will be if anyone hears that the property itself is projecting evil? As if the murders and a possible haunting weren’t deterrents enough.”
“I told you we would keep our findings to ourselves until you sold the house.”
He shook his head, a faint throb beating behind his eyes. He should never have agreed to get sucked into this, to let her onto the property. He should have gone with his instincts. “I’m sure everything will go off without a hitch, then.”
Carly nipped her bottom lip and stood from her lawn chair moving to the meters set up on the table and made notes.
Maybe he should back out of this deal with her now? Tell her and Andy to pack up and get out. It was too late. She was already here, and people knew. It’d be better to let her finish and send her on her way never to darken his door again.
He ignored the small pang of disappointment.
* * *
Carly followed the water’s edge, pretending to check equipment that didn’t need checking. But she needed a moment to gather her composure. Guilt knotted her insides, squeezing tight every time she met the accusation in Declan’s dark gaze.
She shouldn’t feel guilty. She hadn’t lied, per se, she just hadn’t given him all the details. Still, he’d been so honest when he’d answered her questions about his experiences. The memory of the naked vulnerability in his expression when he talked about his mother passing away was like a cheese shredder on her conscience. He trusted her, had been up front with her and she hadn’t repaid him in kind.
She’d make it up to him. She had no idea how, but she would.
Water rippled to her left, a faint swell that could have just been the wind. Carly turned to The Devil’s Eye. A ring wrinkled out from the middle of the bog toward the shore. Could it be a fish? It was a little late in the season for frogs.
Another soft splash, but no hint at the source.
She unclasped the video camera from the tripod and carefully stepped out onto the rickety dock. The sound was probably nothing, but just in case, she wanted a better vantage point. The rotting wood, slick from the earlier rain, creaked ominously under her weight as she edged closer to the end of the jetty.
“Carly, what are you doing?” Declan was on his feet, frowning.
“Just checking something out.”
“Be careful,” Declan said, taking a step. “That thing looks ready to give.”
“I’m all right.”
The water noises had stopped, surface smooth once more.
“It was nothing, I guess,” she said, lowering the camera to her side. She started to turn and something slammed into her back, so hard it thrust the air from her lungs and sent her flying off the end of the dock. She hit the water with a splash. Cold stung her skin like tiny, icy needles, the shock like a punch to her stomach. She kicked up to the surface, but something grabbed on to her ankles. Invisible hands grasped her coat, pulling her deeper into the murky depths.
Chapter Seven
Panic exploded in Carly’s brain. Her lungs stretched, screamed, desperate for air. She clawed uselessly at the water, and sank deeper into the cold. Not sank. Something was pulling her down.
She tried to kick free, but the weight holding her legs made her movements slow and useless. She fought against the invisible hands, tore at the water, desperate to breach the surface.
Her chest burned. Her vision grayed at the edges.
She was going to drown. She was going to die.
A strong hand thrust through the white froth, grasped her arm and jerked her up. Whatever held on to her released, and Carly kicked toward the surface, guided by the hand grasping her wrist.
Her head broke the surface and she dragged in a deep, gasping breath, feeding her starving lungs. The hand gripping her arm let her go and she nearly sank back under the black waves. Exhaustion and frigid cold left her limbs soft and weak. An arm wrapped around her waist, dragging her against a solid wall of chest.
“Are you okay?” Declan asked, his mouth brushing her ear.
She nodded, still fighting to catch her breath. “We have to get out. There’s something in here. It was pulling me down.”
But Declan was already dragging her toward the shore where Andy stood, gaping.
“What the hell happened?” Andy demanded, reaching for her hand once she and Declan were close enough.
Cold muck sucked at her feet, and she wobbled unsteadily to the shore. She probably would have tipped if not for Declan’s arm at her waist and Andy’s grip on her hand.
“Something pushed me,” she said, breathless. With her adrenalin fading, the cold air biting at her wet skin, her teeth started to chatter. “And pulled me under. It felt like hands holding on to me and dragging me down.” A shiver raced through her, this one having nothing to do with the cold. There couldn’t have been, of course. Maybe some sort of underwater plant had tangled around her legs.
“We have to get you back to the house and out of those wet things,” Declan said. He was soaked from coming after her.
“Y-y-you, too.”
“I’ll stay and pack this lot up then,” Andy said.
“No,” Declan said. “No one stays here alone. Let’s go.”
She didn’t argue, not that she could have, she was shaking so hard, but a part of her agreed. Something had shoved her off the end of that dock. Her back still ached from the force, and while her mind spun to come up with an explanation that made sense she couldn’t come up with anything. An
d if she’d been alone, if Declan hadn’t come after her, she would have drowned.
By the time they made it back to Stonecliff, Carly was shaking so hard she’d swear she could hear her teeth rattling. Declan had to be freezing, too, but she couldn’t tell. His long strides ate up the distance across the courtyard to the house’s rear door. He gripped her elbow, forcing her to keep the same fast pace.
She didn’t care. All she wanted was to peel off her wet clothes and scrub the stink of bog off her skin. And to be warm.
Declan brought her in through the kitchen. A thin-faced woman at the stove frowned at them as they passed.
“What’s all this, then?” she asked, gaze shifting from Carly and Declan dripping on the checkered board tile to Andy hanging back by the door.
“Can you make Carly something warm?” Declan asked, pulling her through the door and up a narrow staircase just past the kitchen—servants’ stairs.
He led her to a bedroom she assumed was his. A laptop had been set up on a small desk by the window, a forgotten sweater tossed over the foot of the large bed opposite a cold fireplace.
“You need to get warm,” Declan said, guiding her to a connecting bathroom.
He yanked back the white shower curtain, hooks screeching against the rod.
“Wh-wh-what about you?”
He had to be freezing. His hand shook as he twisted the faucet, his shoulders hunched as if he were physically fighting the tremors gripping him.
“There’s more than one shower in this house,” he told her, starting to leave.
“Thank you,” she said.
He hesitated by the door. “You scared the hell out me.”
“Me, too.”
He shut the door, leaving her alone in the rapidly steaming bathroom. She stripped out of her wet things, stepped into the tub and pulled the plastic curtain closed. Hot spray stung her chilled skin, and slowly her flesh thawed. She tucked her chin to her chest, letting the warmth sluice over her shoulders, down her back until the last of the shudders left her.
A wire basket hooked on the rim of the tub didn’t offer much selection of toiletries—a single plastic bottle of which claimed to be both shower gel and shampoo, and not a bottle of conditioner in sight. Still, it had to be better than eau de swamp.
She flipped the lid and spurted a blob of neon blue gel into her hand, then lathered it over her skin. Declan’s fresh clean pine scent teased her senses.
He’d saved her life. If he hadn’t jumped in after her, she wouldn’t have been able to kick free from whatever had been holding her.
Hands. Icy hands pulling you down.
She didn’t know that. There was no proof what had been gripping her. She couldn’t let history and legend influence her. Still, she might have been able to convince herself that whatever had taken hold of her had been naturally explained if it hadn’t been actively pulling her deeper.
A shudder gripped her in spite of the warm water.
She switched off the water, stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in a fluffy white towel draped over the rack mounted on the wall. She cracked the bathroom door and poked her head into Declan’s bedroom.
There was no sign of him, but someone had set out a pair of gray jogging pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. She slipped from the room and dressed quickly in the clothes left for her, presumably Declan’s. At five-nine she was tall for a woman, but the pants he’d left for her covered her feet and slipped over her hips. She’d never be able to keep them up without holding on to the waist. The T-shirt reached midthigh, the sleeves falling past her hands. Still, too big or not, they certainly were better than having to put her own bog-soaked clothes back on.
A light knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” she said.
“Open the door,” the woman from the kitchen—Mrs. Voyle—said flatly.
Carly hurried across the room, gripping the waist of her pants to keep them from falling down, and opened the door.
The woman scowled, gripping a tray with a teapot and cup in both hands. “Where would you like this?”
Carly shrugged. The woman’s clipped words and sharp tone had caught her off guard. “Anywhere, I guess.”
Mrs. Voyle swept past her. The hem of her navy skirt hissed against her beige stockings with every step. She set the tray on the table between the two armchairs facing the hearth.
“Where’s Declan?” Carly asked.
“He and that man you came with have gone back out.” Her thin lips pursed.
Back to The Devil’s Eye on their own? Her pulse jumped.
“I’ve heard about you,” Mrs. Voyle said, narrow face tight with disapproval.
Carly smirked. “I’m sure you have.”
“A lot of nonsense,” the woman said with a sniff. “Mr. Meyers has many more important matters to see to than your foolishness.”
“You’re the housekeeper here? How long have you worked here?”
She blinked as if the sudden shift in conversation surprised her. “More than twenty years, and I know rubbish when I see it.”
Was the woman referring to her work or to her? She probably didn’t want to know.
“In all the years you’ve worked here you’ve never experienced anything unusual, anything you couldn’t explain?”
“Of course not.” Mrs. Voyle dropped her gaze and smoothed her skirt, then the pile of Carly’s wet clothes on the bathroom floor caught her eye. “And I suppose I’m to deal with this, then.”
She marched into the bathroom and scooped up the stinking, soaked fabric.
“Just leave it,” Carly said, but the woman ignored her, bustling out of the room. Probably off to burn her clothes, because somehow she just didn’t imagine the cantankerous housekeeper laundering them for her.
She sank onto the edge of Declan’s bed and flopped back, sinking into the soft covers. Her muscles ached and a wave of tiredness washed over her now that her adrenaline had dissipated. She sagged against Declan’s mattress, eyes closed, his scent wrapping around her.
A light flutter tickled low in her belly, and if she could have opened her eyes, she would have rolled them.
Admiring him, appreciating his face, was one thing, but even toying with the idea of acting on that attraction was something else altogether. Besides his integral involvement in her work—no longer merely the man who owned the location she needed access to, but a test subject himself—her theory about his property being evil really hadn’t endeared her to him, and he had no respect for her work. She’d grown up watching the damage done when one spouse didn’t respect the other in her parents’ marriage. She wouldn’t make her mother’s mistakes, wouldn’t give up everything that mattered to her to appease a man’s ego, only to be left with his disdain in the end.
The door clicked open and she scrambled up off the bed, snatching the pants before they could slip down.
Declan entered the room, a frown marring his features as if he’d guessed where her thoughts had drifted. Her face heated. He’d showered and changed, his hair damp and unruly. She struggled against the urge to push it back from his forehead.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “A little tired. You and Andy went back to The Devil’s Eye without me?”
“He didn’t like leaving what was left of the equipment out in the open on its own.”
“That’s right. I lost that video camera.” She’d have to pay to replace it. Her feelings on the investigation were mixed. She’d certainly experienced phenomena, but how much of it could she document, she didn’t know. She would have to review the evidence first to be sure.
“Andy’s waiting for you downstairs,” he said.
She blinked. He wanted her to go. There she’d been talking herself out of an attraction, and he couldn’t see her off soon enough. It was almost funny in a way, but she didn’t feel like laughing.
“Right. Your housekeeper took my clothes—I’ll have to return these to you later.” She hesitated before asking
her next question, afraid of what the answer would be. “Can we come back?”
Declan snorted. “To return my clothes? Sure.”
“To complete our investigation?”
He turned away, shaking his head, and shot a hand through his hair. “You could have died today, Carly, and you want to go back there?”
Eventually, she would have to. Try to recreate some of the phenomena—maybe not her nearly drowning in the bog, though. For now, it might be better to come at the investigation from another angle. At least until she’d had a chance to review all the evidence.
“I’d like to try an experiment with the shadow man here at Stonecliff,” she told him, watching carefully to gauge his reaction.
He leaned back against the wall and slipped his hands in his pockets “That sounds great. What did you have in mind?”
“While interviewing your sisters and other witnesses, there was a common thread that the shadow man only seemed to appear to your sisters. There have been other witnesses but one or both of your sisters were present at the time. The shadow man also ignored other witnesses, focusing on Brynn or Eleri. Given you’ve already had an experience with this shadow man, I would like to see if your presence would draw it out again.”
A single brow shot up. “You want to use me as ghost bait.”
She tilted her head and started to fold her arms over her chest, but her pants slipped the moment she let go. She reached and grabbed them up again. “The scenario is slightly more involved than that. It would be in a controlled environment. I would be with you to see if I could engage with the entity also, that’s of course if anything even turns up at all.”
“You believe this thing is a manifestation of evil, of the men murdered here?” Declan asked.
“It’s one possibility. If we are able to draw it out, we can note our feelings, our experiences separately, then compare. We can also compare them to the other witnesses and find similarities to see if there is any sort of pattern.”
“This evil that you believe could possibly be here. Could it turn someone?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t seen evidence to suggest that. Your sister Eleri lived here all her life, and I’ve met her. She seems perfectly lovely.” A little quiet and suspicious at first, but with her history Carly could understand why. “I do think that evil is attracted to this place. Dark deeds drawing dark people who will commit more dark deeds.”