Winter's Shadow

by M. J. Hearle

  Blake was quiet for a moment, his expression somewhere between astounded and amused. ‘I bought a haunted house?’

  Hearing him say the phrase haunted house made Winter aware of how silly the concept was. Regardless, she decided to play along, relieved that the conversation had steered away from the awkward scene in Pilgrim’s Lament. ‘’Fraid so. Do you believe in ghosts?’

  She looked over at Blake and saw that he was trying not to smile.

  ‘I suppose I do,’ he answered, and Winter got the distinct impression he was enjoying a private joke.

  Chapter 7

  ‘This is it, coming up on the left,’ Winter said as they turned into Waverly Street. Her house was still a few numbers away, but they’d be there soon enough. Too soon for Winter. Driving through the rainswept streets, Blake had only just begun to open up about why he’d decided to move to Hagan’s Bluff to escape the city. While he seemed reluctant to discuss his profession, she got the impression that whatever it was must have been pretty stressful. Perhaps he’d been a stockbroker, or a junior partner at a law firm? He had something of that driven, hungry look about him; however, there was a weariness that crept into his tone whenever he alluded to his past. A sadness that made her both sympathetic and curious.

  Blake brought the truck to a stop at the foot of Winter’s driveway. She noted that Lucy’s station wagon was parked in the garage – she must have finished early at the pharmacy today. Luckily, the kitchen windows were drawn, so there was a chance Lucy would miss Blake dropping her off. Winter didn’t relish having to endure the inevitable interrogation that would occur if her sister caught her being driven home by a strange man.

  Blake switched off the engine. ‘Is here okay?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks for the lift,’ she said, wondering if she should invite him inside.

  ‘No problem.’ Before she could muster the courage to ask if he wanted to come in for a drink, he’d already opened the door. ‘I’ll get your scooter off the back.’

  He stepped into the rain, leaving Winter feeling like a silly girl with a crush. What was she thinking? A gorgeous guy like Blake probably had a girlfriend waiting for him at home.

  Still wrapped in his jacket, Winter quickly collected her things and followed him outside. She glanced up at her house sitting on top of the steeply sloping property and felt a pang of shame. She hoped Blake wouldn’t judge her based on its appearance. Her old home had been so lovely she wouldn’t have felt at all self-conscious about being dropped off in front of it. The best you could say about this one was that it had four walls and a roof to keep the rain off their heads. After they’d sold their old home to settle their father’s outstanding business debts, this was all they could afford: a two-bedroom grey box elevated over a small garage. It wasn’t a dump, but Winter would never be able to think of it as home.

  ‘Do you have a mechanic you can trust?’ Blake said, as he removed the chains that moored Jessie to the truck.

  Winter shrugged. ‘I trust whoever gives me the cheapest quote.’

  ‘I know a little bit about bikes. From the sound it was making as you drove away, I think you just have a contaminated filter. Shouldn’t be too expensive to fix. Don’t pay more than one-fifty.’

  One-fifty! How was she going to afford that? Deciding to worry about it later, Winter tried to enjoy the view. Shielding her eyes from the misting rain, she watched Blake set about unloading her scooter from the back tray. Despite being relatively slim, the way he effortlessly lifted Jessie from the ramp suggested he was stronger than he looked. Winter watched his arms tense and flex and couldn’t help wondering what he looked like without his shirt on.

  She was still staring as Blake wheeled Jessie over, catching herself before he noticed.

  ‘I’d get someone to have a look at it soon, though,’ he said as she took the handlebars from him. ‘You shouldn’t let these things lie.’

  A thought occurred to Winter. ‘Let me try something.’ She turned the key in Jessie’s ignition. After a few clicks, the engine miraculously coughed into life.

  Blake looked genuinely amazed. ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘I had a feeling Jessie was playing possum.’ She turned off the engine.

  He raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Jessie?’

  ‘Yes, I call my scooter Jessie, and I don’t think that’s weird in the slightest.’

  Her father was the one who’d urged her to name the scooter on the day she’d picked it up from the used car lot, telling her in that sage-like manner of his that things didn’t belong to you until you named them. Jessie had come to Winter almost instantly, though she wasn’t sure from where. The scooter simply looked like a Jessie.

  ‘Doesn’t your truck have a name?’ she asked Blake with mock surprise.

  ‘Sure. Toyota,’ he replied without missing a beat.

  There was a moment of silence as they stood looking at each other. As her gaze locked with his, Winter focused on her physical reaction, not letting herself drift away. She felt an intense wave of pleasure wash over her; her body grew hot, so much so that she was almost surprised the rain didn’t sizzle and turn to steam as it fell upon her burning skin. Staring into Blake’s brilliant green eyes, Winter felt more alive than she could ever remember. It was a deliriously addictive sensation, as though she’d spent her entire life in a dark room and had now at last experienced the warmth of the sun. To think he could make her feel this way just by looking at her!

  ‘Do you want me to help you wheel Jessie up to the garage?’ Blake said, glancing at the steep driveway and breaking the spell.

  Feeling flustered, Winter shook her head.

  ‘No, it’s fine. I’ve got it. I think you’ve done enough for me for one day.’

  She sneaked one last glance from beneath her lashes, and was curious to see that a shadow had fallen over his face.

  ‘What is it?’

  Blake seemed to remember himself and forced a not entirely convincing smile.

  ‘Nothing. It was nice meeting you, Winter.’

  ‘You too, Blake,’ she said, shaking his hand. ‘Thanks for, you know, saving my life.’

  ‘Anytime.’ There was another rumble of thunder. ‘You better get inside before you drown.’ He started moving away from her. ‘Stay out of old churches, okay?’ he called over his shoulder before he reached the truck.

  She grinned at him. ‘I’ll try.’

  Blake started the engine, threw her a quick wave and pulled back onto the street. It was only after he disappeared from view that she realised something.

  She was still wearing his jacket.

  Chapter 8

  Winter pushed Jessie up the steep incline, her thoughts racing. Had he left the jacket on purpose? Did he want to see her again or was it simply an accident? These were weighty questions and would take some consideration. The idea of seeing Blake again thrilled her, but now she was free of his hypnotic gaze, Winter could hear more clearly that small voice of caution in the back of her mind. The one that had told her to get on Jessie and drive away from the Heritage Centre rather than accept his lift. There was something different about Blake, something beyond his startling beauty. A danger. A secret.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Winter noticed the kitchen window curtain fall back into place. She sighed deeply. It looked like she’d be discussing Blake whether she was ready to or not.

  The moment she’d stowed Jessie and started up the stairs from the garage, Lucy called from the kitchen. ‘Is that you, Win?’

  Winter gritted her teeth, already irritated at the prospect of the interrogation. ‘Yeah, it’s me.’

  ‘Give me a hand in here, will you?’

  Winter trudged reluctantly into the kitchen. Lucy was bent over the stove, stirring a noxious-smelling broth in a large saucepan. She was still dressed in her green pharmacy uniform, but had tied on their mother’s red floral-print apron to protect it from splatters. She turned at the sound of Winter’s approach, beckoning her over enthusiastically. ‘Come
here – I want you to taste this.’

  Winter watched with horror as her sister dipped the spoon into the bubbling liquid and brought it up for her to sample. Lucy blew on it before pushing the stuff into Winter’s mouth. Winter closed her eyes, trying to keep her face neutral. The soup/stew/slime ran down her throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste.

  ‘How is it?’

  Winter opened her eyes to see Lucy watching her expectantly.

  ‘Delicious,’ she lied, but Lucy’s relief was worth it.

  ‘Really? I was worried I didn’t use enough rosemary.’

  ‘Nope – I think you nailed it.’

  ‘Dinner’s about half an hour away. Why don’t you wash up and then set the table?’

  ‘Okay.’ She headed out of the kitchen. Maybe she could escape before Lucy began asking questions.

  ‘So . . . new jacket, huh?’

  Winter paused in the doorway. She’d been so close! Slowly, she turned on her heels and leaned against the wooden frame.

  Lucy smirked at her. ‘Who’s the guy?’

  ‘Just a guy.’ It was difficult to keep the note of exasperation out of her voice.

  ‘Just a guy? C’mon, Win – you can do better than that. What’s his name? Does he go to your school? How did you meet? You know the drill.’

  Winter chose her words carefully. Ever since their parents’ death, Lucy had been protective of her. Protective was actually an understatement – she’d all but placed Winter under house arrest.

  ‘His name’s Blake. He’s new in town. My scooter broke down and he gave me a lift home.’ Winter thought omitting the accident would spare her sister some unnecessary stress, but apparently she’d miscalculated Lucy’s sensitivity.

  ‘He was a stranger? Are you telling me you got in a car with a strange man?’

  ‘Well, no. Not really. I mean, we kind of met —’

  Lucy didn’t let her finish. ‘What were you thinking, Win?’ Do you know how many young girls go missing every year?’ She continued her rant, reeling off a list of statistics that Winter found highly suspect. Whenever they had one of these arguments Lucy was somehow able to quote reams of statistics, though Winter had never seen her actually conducting any research to gather this information. The only literature Lucy read were the tabloid magazines she brought home from the pharmacy rack.

  ‘You’re absolutely right, Lucy. I won’t do it again.’ In situations like this it was better to placate her sister rather than argue. Winter didn’t blame Lucy for reacting the way she did. They both were still grieving and if Lucy had become a little unhinged and overprotective, Winter could understand it. Even if it got on her nerves sometimes.

  ‘I just want you to think before you take these stupid risks. I know I’m not Mum, but . . .’ Having tired herself out, Lucy seemed to regain some semblance of sanity. She crossed the kitchen and pulled Winter into a tight hug.

  ‘You know I love you, right?’ she whispered into Winter’s ear.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Good.’ Lucy let go of her, eyes shining with tears. Winter preferred her sister’s outrage to this. Before the funeral, she couldn’t remember ever seeing Lucy cry. Even when they visited the morgue to identify their parents’ bodies, Lucy hadn’t cried. She’d gone very pale, and her voice had dropped to barely a whisper, but her eyes had remained dry. It wasn’t until they’d stood in the graveyard, watching the coffins being lowered into the earth, that Lucy’s tears had come. She had wailed so loudly that Winter, though she chided herself for it, felt a little embarrassed at the spectacle Lucy was making. Since that time, her tears always seemed very close to the surface and Winter felt as if she had to tread carefully or risk setting her sister off again.

  ‘Go wash up,’ Lucy said, sniffing back her tears and eyeing Winter’s clothes critically. ‘You look like you’ve been crawling through a building site.’

  If only you knew! Winter thought as she escaped down the hallway to the bathroom. She ran the taps, splashing the refreshing water onto her cheeks. Lucy had nearly had an aneurysm because Winter had taken a ride home with a strange man – how would she react if she knew how close Winter had come to being buried beneath a ton of rubble? Winter turned off the water and regarded her freshly scrubbed reflection critically. The same plain-faced girl she’d seen in the mirror this morning stared back at her. This version was just a little damper. There was her unruly red hair desperately in need of a trim; her pale skin with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks; and her mouth that sometimes looked a little crooked.

  With a decent haircut and a few dozen tubs of makeup she might be able to scrape into the category of pretty, but it would take some work. And there was nothing she could do about her quirky mouth to make it look even remotely kissable.

  No wonder she’d felt so intimidated around the physical perfection of Blake. They might as well have been different species. He had driven her home and they did seem to have some things in common – she still couldn’t believe he knew who Johnny Winter was! There might be a chance Blake wasn’t as superficial as pretty much everyone else Winter had ever met, including herself. Perhaps freckly, crooked-mouthed girls were his type? She sighed, smiling at the foolishness of the thought.

  A girl could dream.

  Winter went to her room and flopped down onto the bed. She thought about putting some music on, but decided that the sound of the rain pattering on the roof was a fine accompaniment to her thoughts. Though she’d come very close to being killed today, that particular momentous event wasn’t the one she now turned over and over in her mind.

  It was Blake who occupied her thoughts. His hypnotic eyes shining with their own magical light. Calling to her. Drawing her in . . .

  Chapter 9

  Blake sat in the flickering dimness of the study, writing furiously in his diary. A solitary candle lit the page he was working on, but had he needed to he could have easily written without it. The absence of light did nothing to affect the sharpness of his vision. Sometimes, though, a little light was all one needed not to feel so alone.

  It had been a mistake to save Winter.

  His pen paused as the girl’s face floated to the forefront of his mind. The light in her eyes was different now, but in that brief moment when he’d caught her watching him from across the graveyard, he’d caught a glimpse of how special she was. No wonder he’d felt compelled to intervene, despite knowing the consequences of his actions. If time had taught him anything it was that he was weak in the face of such compulsions.

  It would be unsafe for both of them if he saw her again, yet she wouldn’t last long without his help. Already forces were gathering around her, forces that would soon begin to exert their dark influence. The idea of her suffering pained him – much more than it should, considering the brief time they’d spent together. She was an innocent and didn’t deserve the fate that awaited her – the fate he’d condemned her to. There was something about the girl, something more than the secret gift she possessed. She had a shy loveliness, a quality that reminded him of another . . .

  Blake wrote with renewed vigour, hoping the words spilling from his pen would exorcise some of his turmoil. Usually the act of writing calmed him, allowed him to arrange his thoughts and re-examine them with cool detachment as they lay on the paper. Tonight it wasn’t working. All Blake could feel was a growing dread in the pit of his stomach.

  He dropped the pen, exhaling in frustration. He should be watching over her right now instead of sitting here deliberating over what to do. However, he couldn’t leave the house, at least not during the night. It would be risky to leave the thing upstairs unattended. He’d made that mistake in the past and the consequences had been dire.

  Blake watched the candle’s flame twist and curl around the wick. As if sensing his master’s conflict, Nefertem crept softly into the study and rubbed affectionately against Blake’s leg. Grateful for the company, he smiled down at the cat and scratched him lightly behind the ears. While N
efertem purred with pleasure, a thought occurred to Blake. He kicked himself for not considering it sooner. He might not be able to leave the house, but there were other ways to keep Winter safe.

  Blake tensed as music suddenly began playing upstairs on the vintage gramophone he’d bought the thing a decade ago – a purchase he’d regretted ever since. A chill ran down his spine as the haunting voice of Vaughn De Leath crooning ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?’ echoed through the old Velasco place.

  It was awake.

  Chapter 10

  During the night, Winter dreamt there was a cat outside her bedroom window.

  The fat orange cat peered at her through the glass with an eerily knowing expression. Winter knew she was dreaming because despite the darkness she could see everything so clearly. The orange stripes on the cat’s fur, the fuzzy M on its forehead marking it as a tabby, the twitching whiskers and lazily swishing tail. The cat crept back and forth on the window ledge before finding a comfortable place to curl up. It watched Winter, luminous green eyes floating in the darkness like Alice’s Cheshire Cat.

  At one point in the dream, Winter saw something else moving behind the cat. Three tall figures, blacker than the night, materialised in the air over her backyard. Winter was afraid of the shapes, even though she couldn’t quite see who or what they were. She knew they were bad. They were wrong somehow. The cat seemed to sense the shapes too, and whirled around, hissing and spitting at them. The three shapes drifted away, disappearing, and the cat relaxed and resumed its watch over Winter.

  In her dream, Winter felt grateful for the cat. It was her protector.

  Her guardian.

  Siena

  March, 1879