by Jane Hinchey
“No, Duke, heel!” I yelled, but it was too late. I watched in horror as the detective pointed the medallion at my dog and Duke’s body was flipped over and over until he crashed down onto a kitchen chair, the wood splintering and breaking, the sickening sound of it piercing his flesh, his yelp of pain. My heart constricted in my chest. “Duke!” Please let him be okay, please, I prayed. Amongst the carnage Duke turned his head to look at me, mouth open, tongue flopping out, blood staining it. He tried to wag his tail. Once. A strange groan left his throat and he stopped moving.
I skidded to his side, lifted his head into my lap, but it was too late—he was gone. Throwing back my head I screamed. No. Not my beautiful Duke. I couldn’t believe he was gone, killed by the detective. The campion. Behind me, I heard Jase rouse and with trembling hands, I settled Duke’s head back onto the floor. “I’m sorry, boy,” I whispered, tears streaming so hard and fast I could barely see. This was all my fault. We should have left Duke at the kennels where he’d be safe, only I’d selfishly wanted him with me.
“Del?” Jase groaned, wobbling, trying to make his way toward me. The detective stood in the doorway and laughed. Then with another burst from his hand, a broken piece of wood from the chair flew across the room and into Jase’s chest. I gasped, hand flying to my mouth.
“Nooooooo!” Scrambling to my feet I ran to him, clutching him as he fell to his knees, a look of surprise on his face.
“Del?” he gurgled, blood dribbling from his mouth, then he toppled sideways. I tried to catch him, but he was too heavy and he fell to the floor with a sickening thud, his eyes open, unseeing.
“You bastard!” Throat hoarse from screaming, I sprang to my feet and faced him. “You think killing everyone I love will make me give you the shard? Think again, asshole. Now I’ve got nothing to lose!” I wiped my snotty nose on the sleeve of my hoodie, uncaring of the smear of mucus. Things were about to get a whole lot messier.
I could feel the shard in the pocket of my hoodie where I’d tucked it. It emitted a comforting warmth and I tucked my hand into my pocket, wrapping my fingers around it. It was definitely warm to the touch, and getting hotter.
“Hand it over,” the detective snarled.
“Come and get it!” I taunted, pulling my hand free of my pocket, holding the shard up for him to see. He took a step toward me, then stopped. “Come on then,” I growled, beckoning him. I could feel the power within me. Whether it was my heightened emotions or a benefit of the shard, I couldn’t say, but I could tell the detective was wary of me. Did I pose a risk to him? God, I hoped so. I wanted to crush his soul for what he’d done to Duke and Jase.
Still, Myers stood, dark eyes staring at me. Then he lunged, only to fly back as if he’d hit an invisible wall.
“Ahhhh, you can’t take it from me, can you?” I nodded my head in understanding. The shard had to be given, not taken. If he killed me while I held it, it would never be released. He needed me to either put it down or give it to him of my own free will. Neither of those things was going to happen. And clearly the shard was protecting me, offering up some sort of shield, but I didn’t want to be shielded. I wanted to fight; the anger and pain thrumming through my veins demanded it.
With a feral yell, I launched myself at him. Snatching up the flashlight from the table, I drew back my arm and swung with all my might. The flashlight connected with the side of his head with a satisfying thunk. With the shard clasped in my left fist, I swung, punching him in the stomach. Of course, it was as effective as a mosquito bite. Roaring in outrage he retaliated, grabbing hold of my wrist and swinging me into the wall. Pain ricocheted through me, vibrating my bones, but I didn’t drop the flashlight or the shard. I squinted at him, delighted to see blood trickling from a gash near his temple. Another half a dozen solid whacks and I might bring him down, I told myself.
I didn’t know if it was luck, skill, or the shard, but I was clamped to his back, my legs linked around his waist, my arms around his neck, squeezing, and he was spinning like an out-of-control top trying to dislodge me, his hands reaching back over his head, clawing blindly at me. Then I saw the medallion—he only just maintained his grip on it. Removing one arm from his neck, I plucked the medallion from his grasp. The second he realized what I’d done he froze, but it didn’t matter, it was too late.
Jumping down from his back, I quickly backed away, holding the shard in one hand, the rest of the medallion in the other, and as I watched, magic crackled in the air. The medallion glowed and then whipped the shard out of my hand to neatly slip it into its rightful place with the rest of the medallion. Oh shit. Did this mean the gates of Hell were now open? No, I reminded myself, this was the key. I had no idea where the gates of Hell were, or how to use the key to open them, but now the key was whole again, I knew I needed to keep it safe from the likes of the detective who was now trembling in rage before me.
He launched at me, hands going for my throat, and I held out the medallion as I’d seen him do, smirking when a wave of magic shot out, somersaulting him head over heels until he struck the wall, much like Jase had done. His head hit with an audible crack and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.
With my adrenaline rush on the decline and the grief of losing the two most important things to me in this world on the rise, I sank to my knees between Duke and Jase on the floor. How could I go on without them? I thought my life had been bad before—before coming to the island, but now? Now I didn’t want to go on, it hurt so much. Tears trickled silently, wetting my cheeks and dripping onto my hoodie, unheeded.
The storm outside picked up intensity, the wind howling, thunder cracking loudly. The cabin shook, then shook again, harder. The window smashed and I ducked, trying to avoid the shards of glass. Everything was shaking and vibrating and I pressed myself lower to the floor, listening as the cabin creaked and groaned in protest at the violent weather outside. I screamed when the roof suddenly ripped away. Rain pelted inside, the table overturned. Glancing up I saw the dark angry clouds spinning around and around. Was it a tornado? Unheard of in this part of the world. But the storm had suddenly turned into something very dangerous and sinister.
On my belly, I reached out a hand, grasped Jase’s wrist, and tugged his body toward me. When he was close enough that I could hold him in one hand and Duke in the other, I laid my cheek on the floor, closed my eyes, and prayed. An eerie silence descended and for a second I thought my prayers had been answered when suddenly I was whipped into the air. Refusing to let go of Duke or Jase, I dragged their bodies with me, my shoulders screaming at the weight, the rest of me screaming in terror as I was sucked up into the night sky.
8
Smoothing my hands over the silky red fabric of my dress, I stood in the foyer of The Towers. The time for the five-star extravaganza my mother had planned for her birthday had arrived. The lift pinged and Jase stepped out, stealing my breath. He filled out a tux to perfection, the black suit, crisp white shirt, black tie. And he was clean-shaven—this had to be the first time I’d seen him without stubble on his cheeks.
“You look amazing. Beautiful,” he growled, crossing to my side, dropping a kiss on my cheek while his eyes devoured me. It had been six weeks since he’d died. When I’d been swept up into the storm, taking Jase and Duke with me, I thought for sure it was the end. I’d woken on the floor in front of the fire in my living room, Duke tucked in against my belly, Jase tucked in against my back. Both alive. Both healed. I’d cried and cried, my relief beyond measure, beyond words. We’d gone back to the cabin to find it perfectly intact, undamaged, no sign of the detective. It was as if nothing had happened there. The massacre at the Police Station? Never happened. I still didn’t understand it.
Unfortunately, Father Jack Sullivan was still dead, as was Billy Travers. Detective London Myers real identity had not been uncovered, nor his whereabouts. Both cases were still open and I suspected they would never be solved. The Detective, or whoever he really is, was in the wind.
“You
don’t look so bad yourself.” As I raised my hand to touch his cheek, a small woof got my attention and I glanced down at Duke, laughing when I saw Jase had decked him out in his own dog version of a tux. “Mom’s going to have a fit that we’re bringing him in here.”
“He’s a service dog. He’s wearing his jacket,” Jase protested. It was true. Duke’s black tuxedo vest had the words “service dog” emblazoned in rhinestones on the back. It came in handy being best friends with a vet who could sign off on the necessary paperwork. I gave Duke’s ears a rub, my heart full to bursting that I had my two best friends back. Since that night I’d taken to touching them both, a lot, as if to reassure myself that they were real, that they were here, alive and well. Neither of them seemed to mind my touch.
“Shall we go in?” Jase inclined his head toward the double doors in front of us. We were late, of course. Another strike against me with my mother, but I no longer cared. I had all I needed in my life; my mother’s approval was a moot point.
“Let’s.” I smiled and his eyes dropped to my mouth, lingering, before meeting my eyes again. “I have never seen you so beautiful,” he murmured, neither of us moving. I guess the dark kohl on my eyes and red lipstick had paid off, for he certainly looked enchanted.
Our bubble was burst by the door opening and a tuxedo-clad man stepping through, phone to his ear, negotiating some sort of business deal by the sound of things. Entwining my fingers with Jase’s, I turned to the door and together we stepped through, Duke on our heels.
It was a magical fairy tale inside. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, sparkling resplendently in the evening light. The ceiling had been decorated with swathes of white fabric and fairy lights, and podiums heavy with white roses were bountiful. It really was spectacular.
“Wow,” Jase muttered, squeezing my hand.
“Indeed,” I agreed. “Drink?”
“Definitely.” We moved together toward the bar, Jase handing me a flute of champagne. We clinked our glasses together and I’d taken a sip of the bubbly sweetness when I heard her.
“There you are!”
I turned and watched my mother approach, stunning in a champagne-colored ball gown, cinched in tight at the waist, flowing out in wave after wave of tulle to her feet. The bodice was covered in shimmering diamantes and on her head, a tiara. It was a celebration fit for a queen and she’d dressed appropriately.
“You look lovely, Mom.” I kissed her cheek, stepping back, feeling Jase’s warmth behind me.
“Mrs. Devereux, you look stunning,” Jase said, leaning forward to kiss her other cheek.
“Thank you.” She beamed, a hand coming up to play with her hair. Then she looked at me, her eyes traveling from my hair, piled in artful curls on top of my head, to my halter-neck red dress, hugging my figure all the way to my toes. The only way I could walk was with the thigh-high split on one side.
When she didn’t say anything, I brought my champagne to my lips for a sip. Usually, I’d be nervous, fixing for a fight at this point, but not anymore. She either liked my dress, or she didn’t. Our tastes were opposite, what she liked I didn’t and vice versa, and finally, finally, after all these years, I’d figured it out and come to terms with it.
“What have you done?” she suddenly whispered in horror, eyes on my wrist, hand snaking out to grab my arm and turn my wrist so she could see it clearly. “You got a tattoo? How could you?” Her voice was cold and angry. I looked down at the mark on the inside of my wrist. It was the medallion. When I’d woken up on my lounge room floor I’d discovered the mark, the tattoo. It was dark, almost black, but it had a golden glow about the edges and, to be honest, I liked it. It was the full design, round with what looked like the tree of life depicted in the center, and some old text that I’d yet to decipher.
I shrugged, pulling my wrist out of her grip. I didn’t owe her an explanation and I didn’t feel inclined to give her one now. One day perhaps, but not today.
“And you!” She turned her attention to Jase. “How could you let her defile her body this way?”
“She’s a grown woman, more than capable of making her own choices.” He smiled, sliding his arm around my waist. “And as a matter of fact, I like it. It’s very sexy. It makes me want to do this every time I see it.” He raised my wrist to his face and pressed his lips to the tattoo. Sparks shot down my arm from the contact and warmth pooled in my belly.
“Works for me,” I murmured, eyes meeting his. Mom was still talking, ranting really, but I tuned her out, my focus on him and him alone—the way his hazel eyes changed to green, the way his lips parted when he looked at me, the tug of his hand at my waist, pulling me in closer. It was just the two of us in a crowded ballroom, music playing in the background, mother yapping away by my side. But eventually, that too stopped and she must have moved away, annoyed at being ignored, yet still, Jase and I watched each other, lost in our own world.
“Dance with me,” he murmured.
“Yes.” I could barely breathe, let alone speak. He took my champagne glass and placed it on the bar. A quick command to Duke to stay and then we were on the dance floor, dry ice sending soft clouds of mist around our feet. I couldn’t tell you what song was playing, only that it was perfect. Held in his arms, pressed against him from chest to hip, my arms twined around his neck, this was where I wanted to be, where I’d longed to be for so long. The music changed, song after song, and still we swayed, moving in small circles to the music.
“Del?” His lips were against my temple and I closed my eyes.
“Mmmmm?”
“It’s time.”
“It is?” My eyes popped open and I pulled my head back to look at him. “Time for what?”
“For dinner.” His grin was wolfish as if delighting in my dazed expression. I glanced around to discover everyone was taking their places at the tables around the edge of the dance floor. My cheeks heated and he chuckled. Clasping my hand, he led me off the dance floor, signaling for Duke who trotted to our side.
“That animal shouldn’t be in here.” Mother sniffed. I was seated to her left, Jase on my other side. Duke nestled between our chairs at our feet.
“Where I go, he goes.” It was non-negotiable and on that, I’d stood firm. We had all the necessary papers for Duke, again thanks to having a best friend who was a vet, so that he could accompany me virtually anywhere. When we weren’t together I felt a physical reaction, like a tugging of my soul, and the further apart we were, the further that connection stretched, aching and uncomfortable until we were together again. It was the same with Jase. I’m not sure if it was my grief when they were killed, relief that they were brought back, or some sort of post-traumatic separation anxiety type situation, but I only felt at ease when they were both by my side. So I tried, as often as possible, to have them close to me. Nights were the worst when Jase was at his home and I was in mine. I’d see him frequently throughout the day though and that made it bearable.
The evening passed in a blur. Lots of good food, delectable wine, and dancing. I’d given a speech, wishing my mother a happy birthday, and she’d beamed at me. Her three-tier birthday cake was over the top but somehow it fit. As far as I could tell, the evening was a success. I was more than ready to leave when Duke nudged my leg under the table.
“Bathroom break, boy?” I asked, peering under the tablecloth at him. He whined in response, tail thumping.
“I’ve gotta take Duke outside.” I interrupted Mom, who was talking with the guest sitting next to her. “And then I think I’ll go up to my room. It’s been a great night, Mom.”
“Thank you, darling.” My jaw almost dropped. I didn’t think she’d ever called me darling in my entire life. But then she’d downed a few champagnes herself and was nice and mellow. “I’ll see you tomorrow for brunch.”
“See you then.”
Standing, Duke’s lead in my hand, I headed to the bar where Jase was leaning, chatting with a group of men, his eyes darkening as I approached.
“Ready to go?” he asked, straightening and putting his drink on the bar.
“Duke needs a potty break and then I think I’ll call it a night.” I smiled at the other men in greeting.
“Sounds like a plan.” Together we headed outside, stood waiting while Duke peed on every tree and shrub in the hotel garden, then headed back upstairs. Outside my door, we stopped.
“Thanks for a great night—” I started to say, but he cut me off.
“Can I come inside?” he asked, “I’ve something to show you.”
“Sure.” Leading the way into my room, I sank down onto the sofa in the small living area, bending to take my shoes off. Jase freed Duke from his doggie tux and gave him a playful belly rub. I watched them, smiling. These two were my world, but a worry niggled at me. Things were fine now, but what happened when Jase started dating again? He was spending a lot of time with me now, but that would change once he met someone new, and no girl wanted her man hanging out with another woman, even if they were just friends. I sighed, pushing down my dreams of happy ever after with Jase. If he were interested in me romantically he’d have made a move by now, and despite all the touches, hand holding, and slow dancing, he hadn’t made a move. And there was no way I was going to. I couldn’t take the pain of being rejected, not by him.
Glancing over at me, he must have sensed my change in mood, for he gave Duke one last tickle, then, removing his jacket and tossing it over the back of the sofa, he sat by my side.
“It’s time you knew the truth,” he said.
“What truth? What are you talking about?” I frowned, worried.
“I need to tell you about the night I died. About what I saw, what I learned.”
What on earth was he talking about? He’d never mentioned anything about this before. His afterlife experience. I’d asked him and he’d said it was nothing, he remembered nothing. Just dying and the pain, then waking up in front of my fire. He’d lied. I could see it in his face now, the sheepish look he was giving me, the way he grabbed hold of both my wrists to stop me from moving away.