by Mae Clair
Dropping into a chair, he bowed his face into his hands. He wasn’t sure how long he sat, sounds of the party filtering through the walls. Music, laughter, voices. None of it felt real. Halloween had always been a day he associated with death. The one day of the year he wanted to lock himself in a room with a bottle.
He heard the opening click of the door and glanced up in time to see his father enter. For a moment it was like being fourteen again, when his dad had come to him during that first Halloween party.
“I thought I was the only one who hid out in here.”
Caith raised a brow. “You’re hiding? I thought you liked these parties.”
“Your mother likes them.” His father crossed to the antique globe that doubled as a bar and poured a glass of fruit juice. Dressed in the full regalia of a Union general of the Civil War, he looked like a veteran commander. “I’d rather sit out back with a carved pumpkin and watch the stars. Peace. Quiet. Just a candle in the jack-o-lantern, instead of all this hoopla.” He waved a hand to indicate the extravagance taking place on the other side of the door.
Caith frowned. “I don’t understand you. I’m beginning to think I never did.” Beyond the walls of the study, the music stopped abruptly. He’d left Veronica on the dance floor with Merlin and should probably wander back. But how did he face what she’d told him: I love you? How could he answer in return?
Silencing the thought, he paced to the other side of the room and refocused on his father. “That scrap book—”
“Did you bring it back?”
“It’s in my truck.”
His father nodded. “It’s my way of not letting go, Caithelden. Of hanging onto you, even when you shut me out.”
Disgusted, Caith shook his head. He didn’t need this. It was Halloween. Veronica was in love with him and his dad was talking like he wanted to be a father again. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the onset of a headache. Through the walls, he could still hear voices, but the laughter had stopped. Coupled with the lack of music, the absence was disturbing. Now that Caith concentrated, the voices sounded off-kilter, jumbled and confused. Tensing, he stared at the door.
“Something’s wrong.”
His father scowled. “What?”
“Something’s happened.” Spurred by alarm, Caith reached for the door. It swung open before he could touch it, spilling a handful of people into the room−all three of his brothers followed closely by Veronica and Balin. Veronica looked shaken, her face a white mask. Balin hovered a foot behind, his skin a sickly shade of gray-green.
“What’s wrong?” Caith drew Veronica aside. “Ronnie, are you all right? Are the boys all right?”
“Your mother and Melanie are with Matt and Noah.” There was a tremor in her voice, barely disguised. “Caith, something terrible has happened.”
“Derry.” He pounced on the omission. “What about Derry?”
Aren gripped his shoulder. “Maybe you should sit down.”
Panic rocketed through Caith. Sheer, stark, gut-twisting panic. In the space of a single heartbeat, he knew. Every fear, every unreasonable terror he’d harbored for seventeen years, crashed over him with bone-shattering force. Rounding violently on Aren, he gripped him by the lapels. “Where the hell is my son?”
“Caith, take it easy.”
“He doesn’t know. None of them do!” Balin’s sudden wail broke over the room like a pent up storm.
“What did you say?” Through the blood pounding in his head, Caith registered his nephew’s stricken face. Balin looked ready to collapse, his skin now bleached like the underbelly of a dead fish. Galen moved beside the boy, wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders.
“Caith, he didn’t mean for this to happen. It was a mistake.”
“What mistake? Where’s Derry?”
“It was my fault. All of it. The lodge, the glue, everything.” Balin was blubbering now, sobbing in earnest as he choked on tears. “No one was supposed to get hurt. I swear it.”
“I don’t give a shit about the lodge. Where’s my kid?”
Balin appeared not to have heard. Shoulders slumping, he folded against the wall. “It was Galina…she wanted the lodge, and Kelly wanted that stupid job. I thought…I thought Kelly loved me. It-it’s why I did all those things she asked.” Choking back tears, he looked beseechingly from his father to Aren and Merlin. “She said we’d be together after Galina got the lodge. It seemed so simple, scaring people. Lance McClure helped, and Kelly dressed up as the woman at the lake.”
Caith didn’t care. None of it mattered. “Derry,” he spat. “Where’s Derry?”
But Balin appeared to be in a zone where events unfolded in a precise order, where clearing his conscience took precedence over everything else. Hitching in a breath, he looked directly at Caith. “Lance killed the dog, and he’s the one who trashed the lobby and messed with the food stores. Galina paid him and that’s all he cared about. I did the tech stuff…the hand in the fireplace, the woman on the third floor, even the sobs and the face at the window. I had copies made from Dad’s keys so we could get in. And I’m the one who put the glue in the drawer at the house and dumped it at the hayride.” His eyes darted to the side, guiltily sweeping the room as he fidgeted from foot to foot. Licking his lips, he ran a hand through his hair and plowed ahead. “I overheard Uncle Merlin tell Dad about how it does weird things to you. I told Kelly and she thought it would be a good way to mess with your head…that if you were bothered enough by what happened to you as a kid, you’d back off and leave things alone. Stone Willow would go belly up. Galina would make another offer and get the lodge. Kelly would get her job with Roth-Deckman. I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I wanted to be with Kelly. I didn’t know she was using me. You gotta believe me, Uncle Caith.”
Caith lunged forward only to be physically restrained by Aren. “You damn well better tell me where my kid is, or I’m gonna take you apart.”
Acting as a buffer, Merlin stepped between them. “Balin, tell him the rest.” Apparently, his nephew had already spilled his guts to everyone else before entering the room.
Balin sniffled, dragging a sleeve under his nose. “The other day when I stopped to pick up a book in the computer room, you were asleep at the desk. I saw what you’d been doing. All those notes on Galicorp and Galina. I figured you were getting close to working it out so I told Kelly. She and Galina…they said we had to come up with something really big. Something to make you forget about the lodge for good. Make you go back to Boston.” Balin bit back a sob. He mopped the sleeve across his face, wiping up tears. “Kelly was my date tonight, the one you saw me with earlier. She told me she just wanted to talk to Derry. I didn’t know she was gonna take him.”
“You bastard.” Furious, Caith broke free. He knocked Balin against the wall, rage and fear shattering the last of his control. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Someone locked an arm around his neck and tried to drag him backward. He thrust his forearm across his nephew’s windpipe pinning him in place, a move he normally reserved for suspects and criminals. “You tell me where my kid is. Tell me before I rip out your throat!”
“Caith!”Aren was yelling at him, Veronica pleading, Galen and Merlin fighting to break his hold on Balin.
It all happened in a blur. A dizzying tangle of sickening impossibilities that left his head reeling, his gut roiling with acid. Someone had taken his son.
“Caithelden, let him go!” His father’s powerful voice cracked over him at the same time Aren and Merlin snapped his hold on Balin. Merlin shoved him roughly backward. Red-faced, he jabbed a finger under Caith’s nose.
“Calm down, damn you. You’re not helping Derry this way.”
Caith paced in an agitated circle, stepped forward, and was immediately shoved back by Merlin. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. Someone had obviously thought to call the police before bringing him the story.
“Where?” he snapped with a hostile gl
are for Balin. “Where did that witch take my kid?”
Unable to stand any longer, Balin sank into a chair. “I don’t know. I brought him downstairs to talk with her. She sent me to get her a drink and, when I got back, they were gone. I never would have let anything happen to him, Uncle Caith, I swear. Never! I-I just thought she was gonna talk to him, tell him about what happened to you and your friend Trask. I figured she might try to scare him a little so he’d ask you to go back to Boston. I swear I don’t know where she took him. She didn’t even have a car. I picked her up before the party.”
“She’s going to deny she did anything,” Aren said with a careful glance for Caith. “We don’t have a witness who actually saw her take Derry from the house. With all these people, she might be able to convince the police Derry wandered off on his own, or that someone else took him.”
“Let me get my hands on her,” Caith snarled. “I guarantee she’ll tell the truth.” He sent Balin a scathing glare. “She probably didn’t count on her teenage lover spilling his guts about the lodge. I know one thing.” Outside the sirens fell abruptly silent, signaling the police had arrived. “I’m not leaving Derry’s fate to Duke Cameron.”
“Don’t do anything stupid,” his father snapped.
Halfway to the door, Caith glanced over his shoulder. His father’s voice was controlled but his face had grayed, nearly the color of Balin’s. “What does that mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. Do you think I don’t know what you’re feeling? Do you think I don’t know what it’s like to have my son ripped away? If you go off half-crazed—”
“Stay out of this,” Caith stabbed a finger in his direction. “You made your choices, and I’m making mine.”
“Wait!” Veronica’s voice trailed him into the hallway. He’d only taken two steps before she caught up with him, grabbing him by the arm and forcing him to stop.
“Where are you going?” There was panic in her voice, fear that he’d never heard before. Looking into her eyes, he realized she loved Derrick, too. Not just with fondness, but a crushing, consuming tenderness that brought tears to her eyes.
“I’m going with you,” she insisted.
“No.”
“Caith, I love him, too.”
“I know that.” He touched her cheek, catching a tear that spilled over her lashes. “I need you to stay here, talk to the police. If Derry gets free, he’ll come back. Or there might be a phone call. I can’t concentrate on him if I’m worried about you. Ask around, see what you can find out. Maybe someone saw something.”
“Caith.”
“Veronica, I have to go.”
She nodded, fighting for composure. “Be careful.”
She gave him a quick kiss, and he sprinted down the back hall, avoiding the crowds who lingered in the party areas. A hush had fallen over the house, voices whispered rather than raised in laughter. Cold air hit Caith the moment he stepped outside, the temperature having dropped considerably since the hours of trick-or-treat. Slipping the gauntlets over his hands, he ducked the police with ease, heading for his Explorer. Two cruisers were parked in the driveway, the bounce of their emergency lights sending red and blue flashes through the darkness.
“Caith, wait up.”
Merlin and Aren jogged up behind him as he reached the Explorer.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
Merlin raised a hand, dangling his keys in the air. “The same thing you are. We’ll cover more area with all three of us looking. Aren can head east, I’ll go west, you go north. When we’re done, we’ll meet on the south side and regroup. Assuming one of us hasn’t already found Derry.” He paused. “Galen would’ve come, too, Caith, but he needs to be with Balin.”
“Yeah.” There was bitterness in his voice, but he crushed the ugly emotion. It had been a long time since someone other than Aren stood beside him.
He looked steadily at Merlin. His brother had cast off his wizard robes and hat, but the false beard and the unnatural white dye in his hair remained.
Halloween. Damn, why did it have to be Halloween?
He swallowed a lump of fear. Just because Trask died on Halloween didn’t mean Derrick would come to harm.
Exhaling, he dragged a hand through his hair. “Thanks. Both of you. I’ll go by the Herald first.”
Aren nodded. Popping the door on the Explorer, he pushed Caith toward the seat. “Get in and start looking. We’re not going to let anything happen to Derry.”
As Aren and Merlin darted away, Caith turned the ignition. With three of them looking there was a chance Derrick would be found. If nothing else, he had the strength of his brothers behind him, something he hadn’t felt in years.
He pulled the vehicle out of the driveway and headed into town, trying to think rationally. Once he might have believed nightmares of this sort only happened to someone else, but experience had taught him differently. From the moment Derrick was born, he’d done everything imaginable to shelter his son from would-be predators. But none of it mattered now. Derrick was in the hands of a kidnaper.
Caith tightened his grip on the steering wheel until the pressure was painful. Worry over his son threatened to drive him insane. What he needed was a clear head. Sucking down a lungful of air, he pulled the Explorer onto the shoulder of the road and tried to rid his mind of distractions.
Don’t hurt him!
Trask’s voice echoed loudly in his memory, resurrecting another Halloween, another kidnapping seventeen years before. Angrily, he shoved it aside. Derrick was not going to end up like Trask. Derrick was not going to die. Not at the hands of some washed up prom queen and her VP boss.
Agitated, he drummed his thumbs on the wheel. Kelly didn’t want to hurt Derrick. Hell, she didn’t even have a car. Balin had brought her to the party. She wouldn’t have run with Derrick on foot, so she must have had someone waiting. Someone with a car who could whisk her and Derrick to a secure haven at a moment’s notice. She didn’t know Balin had spilled his guts or the police would be looking for her. She had counted on his silence. Derrick was simply a diversion to shift Caith’s attention from the lodge and send him back to Boston. By tomorrow, Derrick would probably be released, the scare alone sufficient to send them packing.
So, who would Kelly Rice employ as a driver?
She’d taken care to conceal her appearance with veils, ensuring even Derrick wouldn’t be able to identify her later. Galina Brady would never involve herself in something better handled by subordinates, which left only one person.
Lance McClure.
“Fuck.” Caith slammed his foot on the gas pedal. The truck lurched forward, exploding into the night. Veronica had told him Lance had a welding shop on the south side of town where the old rendering plant used to be. On a wild gamble, he swung the wheel around and headed south.
Slowing a block from the shop, he pulled off the road and parked beneath a willow tree. The area was dark, void of streetlights. Sprinting from the vehicle, he moved quickly through the shadows, approaching from the rear. When he was a child, deer and other wild animals struck by cars had been taken to the building for disposal. Sometimes even farm animals were carted by truck to the plant when their time expired.
He could still remember the smell. A strong odor that sweltered to an unbearable stench in the high heat of summer. Located at the farthest end of town, the building was isolated, several blocks from the nearest homes or businesses. Eventually, the townspeople complained enough that the plant was abandoned. Portions of the building remained boarded up and closed, but a hand-lettered sign with flaking paint hung over the side door: McClure’s Welding.
Caith darted past, intending to go through the rear when something caught his eye. Squatting on the ground, he bent to pick up the tiny object, a bright white marble dropped by the door.
Derrick.
His heart beat faster, accelerating in a mad rush. Pressing his shoulder against the door, he tried t
he handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Refocusing, he located a window ten feet to the rear that pried easily, allowing him to slip inside.
He found himself in an office, closeted by darkness. Images took shape gradually revealing the bare essentials of one-man operation—a metal desk, two drawer filing cabinet, and a rickety chair. A thin strip of light bled beneath a door, defining the exit. In the cramped room, his breathing was harsh, his heartbeat overly loud. It reminded him of another room, another time.
He swallowed hard, fighting to kill the images. Rather than fade, they crashed over him, propelled by a gut-twisting surge of panic.
Caith squirmed uncomfortably on the cold floor, his back pressed to a moldy block wall. He sent a darting glance to the man seated at a table near the door. For two days he’d watched Farrow assemble small plastic car models, piece by piece. The basement was cramped and dirty, smelling of wet rags and mildew. Light came from two bare bulbs dangling overhead and a small window butted against the ceiling.
Coupled with his own white-knuckle fear and the filthy surroundings, the smell of glue made his stomach churn dangerously. He’d already vomited once, retching up the cold soup and warm sandwich they’d fed him the previous night.
Richter had sworn a blue streak, cuffed him across the face, then made Farrow clean up the mess. The other man grumbled and threatened to beat him, but he’d eventually retreated to his station by the basement door. The blond man, Force, came to the room after that. Caith knew he was the one in contact with his parents and the police. Whenever he came to the room, the other two stopped what they were doing to listen.
“Soon,” Force always promised. “We’ll have the money soon.”
Caith knew the names they used weren’t real names, but he’d seen all three of their faces and that worried him. When his parents paid the ransom, would the kidnappers let him and Trask live?
Worried, he huddled into the thin blanket they’d given him for sleeping. Trask leaned against his shoulder, the two of them pressed closely together as much for comfort as warmth.