The nav system guided them away from the airport, then west on I-70, which should take them directly to Idaho Springs. It was clear, thank God, and not even that slick, thanks to the bright sun shining in the clear blue sky overhead, which helped to dry out the asphalt.
There was still a good bit of traffic, though, the tail end of the morning rush hour. Michael clung to the steering wheel and told himself it could have been worse. At least they weren’t in L.A.
Eventually, though, they passed through the outskirts of Lakewood and were heading toward the mountains. Seeing them, their peaks capped with fresh snow, he felt his heartbeat speed up a little. They weren’t there yet, but at least now they had less than a half hour to go before they reached their destination.
“Are we crazy for doing this?” he asked after they passed a sign that said they were five miles from Idaho Springs. While Michael knew the general direction they were supposed to go, he hadn’t been able to find any kind of a street address for Bridger House, which meant the nav on either of their phones or in the Jeep was of no use to them. About all they could do was follow their instincts and hope for the best.
Rosemary, who’d been staring out the window — presumably at the pine trees passing by, since there wasn’t much else to look at — stirred and glanced over at him. “No,” she said at once. “In fact, the closer we get, the surer I am that we’re on the right path. If anything had felt off, I would have told you.”
Her words cheered him a little. Still, he wouldn’t be able to relax until he saw Audrey again, knew she was all right.
Actually, to be completely honest, he didn’t think he could really relax until they were back in Tucson, and possibly not even then. They still had a haunting — or an infestation — to investigate and solve in only four days.
However, he only commented, “Good,” and returned his focus to the road.
Within a few minutes, they were pulling off at 13th Street and began to cruise through the town, which seemed to have preserved many of the houses from its boom days, albeit interspersed with restaurants and grocery stores and gas stations.
“Up that way,” Rosemary said suddenly, and Michael started.
“Virginia Canyon Road?”
“Yes, that one.”
He followed her instructions and pointed the Wrangler down the street she’d indicated — or rather up, since it wound away from town and into the hills. However, it had also been plowed, so the going was smooth enough…for now. He remembered how wooded the area had been around the house in his vision, how high up it had seemed. Somehow, he doubted the roads would be in this good condition wherever they ended up.
Which turned out to be the case, because they’d only been driving for about a mile before Rosemary once again told him to turn, this time onto a rutted, muddy forest road, not much more than a track. Michael didn’t have time to check whether it even had a name or just a number, and hoped her instincts would be strong enough to guide them safely back out to the main road once this was all over with.
If anyone had been here recently, the snowfall overnight had covered any signs of their passage. He slowed down and selected the “Snow” function for the Jeep’s four-wheel drive, rather than leave it in “Auto” mode. Luckily, he was used to driving an off-road vehicle, although his ancient Land Cruiser bore about as much resemblance to this brand-new Wrangler as a bass boat did to an ocean liner.
However, despite the four or five inches of fresh-fallen snow, and despite the bumpy and rutted track they were currently traversing, the Jeep soldiered on as stolidly as though they were still driving on the highway’s smooth asphalt. Because the trees were so thick, Michael couldn’t really see much of where they were going, could only trust that if he continued to follow this track, eventually he would come out somewhere near their destination.
If not, they’d just have to turn around and try again.
In the passenger seat, Rosemary was looking a little queasy as she hung on to the door handle and watched the snowy woods pass by.
“You’ve never been off-roading before?” he asked.
She managed a wan smile. “No. I never really saw the point in tearing up the wilderness in a truck.” They jounced over a particularly deep rut, and she winced. “Right now I’m not really seeing where this is supposed to be fun.”
Despite the urgency of their mission, he couldn’t help grinning at her comment. “You don’t think it’s beautiful out here?”
Rosemary looked out the window at the snow-frosted trees and gave the slightest lift of her shoulders. “Oh, it’s beautiful. But I’m fine with someone sending me a postcard.”
He shook his head. “I guess I can understand that. I always liked it…getting out and away from other people.”
For a second, she didn’t say anything. Then she remarked, “You’ve done a lot of that in your life, haven’t you? Getting away from other people, I mean.”
Michael wanted to deny the mild accusation, tell Rosemary she didn’t know what she was talking about. However, deep down he had to admit she was right. His work required him to be around people, but he interacted with them on a surface level, dispensing his knowledge at conferences and workshops, then leaving immediately afterward so no one got a chance to get too close. There had been women, but he’d let them flirt with him, chat him up, then made sure they were out of his life before anything could get serious. If they’d even wanted to get serious. He was sure that some of them just wanted the chance to sleep with Michael Covenant, and weren’t expecting much more than that.
“I guess so,” he said. Something in his tone must have told Rosemary that he didn’t want to pursue the subject, because after sending him another penetrating look, she pursed her lips and returned her attention to the scenery outside the Jeep’s window.
Just as well, because after they came around a slight bend, the forest opened up into a snowy clearing, and at the far end of that clearing was the house he’d found during his internet search. The roof was now covered thickly in snow, and the aspens planted to either side had long since lost their leaves, but it was definitely the same place.
As much as he wanted to floor it and get inside as quickly as he could, Michael knew he still needed to be cautious in his approach. He glanced over at Rosemary. “You feel anything?”
“Not really,” she replied after pausing for a moment, probably to reach out with her extrasensory abilities and get a read on the property. “But I tend to do better at this sort of thing if I’m actually inside a place instead of a hundred yards away.”
Well, clearly, but he hated the idea of going inside without any sort of intel about what might be waiting for them. Rosemary was a strong psychic, but he didn’t know whether she possessed the same warrior spirit that had shown itself so unexpectedly in Audrey. Whatever they came up against, he had to be prepared to handle it on his own.
“Okay,” he said briefly. There wasn’t much point in pushing her, so he kept driving across the clearing, his destination a porte cochère on one side of the house. As he got closer, he could see one set of tire marks in the snow, marks that led away from the building. Had someone dropped off the fake Whitcomb and his captive, then left this morning after the storm had finished dumping its snow?
They must have, because there definitely wasn’t a car here now. As far as he could tell, the house didn’t have a garage, unless it was tucked away out back somewhere in the pine trees that came within a few yards of the back porch.
The Wrangler’s tires crunched on gravel once they were in the shelter of the porte cochère; if snow had blown in here overnight, it must have melted fairly quickly. Michael turned off the engine and looked over at Rosemary. “Are you ready to do this?”
“Probably not, but I’ll try to keep up.”
For a moment, he wondered whether he should tell her to stay here in the vehicle, to wait until he’d done a sweep of the house and — hopefully — found Audrey. However, he doubted Rosemary would agree to that pla
n, and besides, splitting up was always a bad idea.
“Here,” he said, and pulled out one of the vials of holy water he always kept in an inside pocket of his jacket. That was part of the reason why he wore a coat almost all the time — it was easier to carry all the items he found necessary for his work and still have his hands free. He handed Rosemary the vial. She took it, expression skeptical.
“Holy water? I’m not Christian.”
“No, but I am, and since I’m the one who blessed it, I know it works.” He reached for the door handle and said, “Come on.”
Although she still looked doubtful, she slipped the vial into a pocket in her jean jacket, then opened her door and got out of the Jeep. He followed suit, sucking in his breath a little at the iciness of the air. The temperature was probably above freezing…but just barely.
A path wound from the porte cochère toward the back of the house, and he headed that way, feeling the snow already begin to seep through the soles of the shoes he wore. Behind him, Rosemary muttered something under her breath that he couldn’t quite catch, probably a complaint about the cold.
It was uncomfortable, but at least it wasn’t icy…yet. He hoped they would be out of here long before the snow really began to melt and create nasty little patches of black ice along this path.
“How are we going to get in?” Rosemary asked.
Michael patted his jacket pocket. “Lock picks.”
She let out a little huff of a breath. “Is there anything you don’t have in that Swiss Army jacket of yours?”
“A gun.” He had a knife, but it was only a utility model, not something that would do any real damage in a fight.
“Thank God for that. Guns make me nervous.”
“They’re not much use against demons, so there isn’t any real point to having one.”
Now they were standing in the relative shelter of the back porch, which was brick like the rest of the ground floor of the house. Little eddies of snow covered the pavers, showing that the wind had been strong enough to create a few small drifts. Luckily, though, the snow seemed to be confined to the corners of the walled area, and wasn’t much in their way.
Michael looked at Rosemary once again. Now she was standing just slightly behind him, arms hugged around her midsection in an attempt to protect herself from the freezing air. “Do you feel anything now?”
Almost at once, she shook her head. “Still nothing.”
What if the demon had taken Audrey and left? That would explain the tire marks in the snow. Michael really didn’t want to entertain that thought, however, not after coming so far to save her.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s go in.”
The lock on the back door was a simple Schlage deadbolt. Easy enough. He put his hand on the latch and gave it an experimental jiggle, just to see how much play there was in the lock. To his surprise, the door latch pressed down all the way, and the door swung inward slightly.
Rosemary let out a surprised little gasp. “It wasn’t locked?”
“Apparently not,” Michael replied.
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
No, it didn’t. If the house had been owned by a regular human being, rather than a demon masquerading as one, then maybe it wouldn’t have been so strange for the owner to leave the back door unlocked. After all, they were out in the middle of nowhere here. Most thieves weren’t dedicated enough to go off-road for miles to rob a house, especially during a snowstorm. But this?
He didn’t know what to think.
About all he could do was shrug, then tell Rosemary, “It saves us some time, though. Just keep your eyes open.”
“Believe me, I will.”
They went inside, and he quietly shut the door behind them. A quick glance told him this was a mudroom of some sort, with an indoor/outdoor carpet, hooks for hanging jackets, and a little cabinet he thought might be for storing boots. Immediately beyond the mudroom was a large kitchen, one that looked like a time capsule from decades ago, with its chipped tile counters and ancient appliances. Clearly, the demon who owned this place didn’t care much about updating his property.
Michael paused, and Rosemary stood quietly next to him. The house was nearly silent, except for the humming of the antique refrigerator. It was also extremely cold in here; if the house had central heat, it wasn’t being directed toward this room.
“I don’t feel anything evil,” Rosemary said in an undertone. “But I think there might be someone up on the second floor.”
If the psychic could detect a presence that wasn’t evil, then maybe what she was feeling was Audrey. Please, God, let her be okay…. “All right,” he said, also in a low murmur. “Let’s go upstairs and see what we can find.”
They exited the kitchen and made their way down a hallway toward the foyer. The light in here was dim, all the heavy velvet curtains pulled tightly shut, but Michael knew better than to open any of them. While it seemed the demon hadn’t yet detected their presence, there was no need to advertise that trespassers roamed the house.
The bottom step creaked slightly, and Michael winced but kept on going. He wished he could take more time to inventory his surroundings — old houses had always fascinated him — but they weren’t here to sightsee, but to get Audrey away as quickly as possible.
At the top of the stairs, he paused for a second, waiting for Rosemary to catch up with him. Immediately to his right was a door that stood open, revealing what must be the master suite. He caught a quick glimpse of a large bed with a velvet bedspread, more dark wood wainscoting, a huge and clearly expensive Persian rug.
Then Rosemary whispered, “Down the hall. The last door on the left.”
He nodded and began moving in that direction. It was hard not to tense up, to wonder if the demon had laid a trap for them and was waiting behind that mahogany door. But they’d come this far, and he certainly wasn’t going to stop now.
Unlike the back door off the kitchen, this one was locked. However, since it was a simple pushbutton, he didn’t even have to truly pick it, but simply used one of his tools to push on the button from this side, forcing it to release. Hand still resting on the glass doorknob, he glanced over at Rosemary. She didn’t say anything, but nodded. A faint gleam from inside her clenched fist told him that she held the vial of holy water, ready to lob it at anything that attacked them.
He turned the knob, took a step into the room. It was large, with a somewhat rumpled bed off to his right, a tall window nearly opposite where he stood, and a fireplace with a marble surround over to the left. The hearth was swept clean, and clearly hadn’t been used in a very long time. Just like downstairs, the room was very cold, but with the rawness of an unheated house, not the unearthly chill that accompanied a haunting.
As far as he could tell, the room was empty. But then he saw a pair of lace-up brown boots next to the bed, and a dark blue leather jacket hanging from one of the bedposts. Although Michael knew he hadn’t memorized Audrey’s wardrobe, he was fairly certain those items belonged to her, and hope stirred within him. If she’d been able to put her things there in such an orderly way, that had to mean she was all right…didn’t it?
His gaze traveled toward the same wall where the fireplace was located. A few feet away from it was a door. Bathroom? Closet?
Only one way to be sure.
He went over to the door, Rosemary immediately behind him, vial of holy water still clenched in her hand and waiting to be deployed. Just as he was reaching for the knob, that door opened, and Audrey stared out at him. She was pale and her hair was a mess, but as far as he could tell, she seemed to be fine.
For some reason, she was holding a plastic bathroom cup in one hand, half-raised as though she’d been about to throw its contents at him. As soon as she seemed to realize who stood in front of her, she lowered the hand and somehow, impossibly, smiled at him, although that smile looked a little trembly around the edges.
“Thank God,” she said, her voice breathy, not really sound
ing like herself. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Chapter 8
Although Audrey had hoped Michael would somehow be able to find her, she still couldn’t quite believe her eyes when she saw him standing there outside the bathroom door. As soon as she’d heard the footsteps outside that door, she’d thought for sure that must be the Whitcomb-demon returning to enact some form of revenge for the injuries she’d inflicted on him, and she’d grabbed the cup of holy water she’d made to replace the first one.
But then she saw it was Michael — somehow with Rosemary McGuire standing next to him — and Audrey realized that her improbable rescue truly had happened. Still, that didn’t mean she intended to stay there a single minute longer than she had to.
“Let’s get out of here,” she told him, and he nodded. If Rosemary hadn’t been standing there, Audrey might have gone and flung her arms around his waist — and probably shocked the hell out of him, since he had no way of knowing that she’d already decided to forgive him. But since Rosemary was there, Audrey thought it better to wait. They’d have plenty of time later.
She hoped.
“What happened?” Michael asked as she hurried over to the bed and pulled on the boots she’d left there, then put her jacket back on as well. It was very cold in here, colder than it had been the night before. She wondered if the Whitcomb-demon had shut off the central heat as a final act of retaliation before he vanished.
“Too much to tell you now,” she replied. “But I brewed up some homemade holy water and threw it at the demon, and it hurt him enough that he disappeared. I’ve been hiding in the bathroom all night, just in case he came back.” She sent them a frightened glance. “Did you see him? Is he here?”
Michael shook his head. “We haven’t seen any sign of him…whatever that means.”
Unbound Spirits Page 9