Goldenseal

by Gill McKnight

  Leone didn’t show up for supper. Instead, Amy and Marie opened a chilled Semillon to enjoy with the fish. Part of Amy was relieved not to have to face Leone so soon after their sexual friction. Another part wanted to know how it had affected her. Only now did Amy feel distanced enough to examine the afternoon’s standoff. It all was immaterial anyway. Leone had sloped off, and Amy had come here tonight to ask an entirely different set of questions.

  “Marie?” Amy broached the subject that had been bothering her since last night’s editorial meeting. “I looked at some of Connie’s previous work in the older almanacs. I found an illustration with similar marks to the ones you wanted me to add to the goldenseal paintings.”

  Marie glanced over, immediately engaged. “What illustration would that be, Amy? Can you tell me the year?”

  “Umm.” Amy had not expected the question. “The plant was angelica, and I think it was ninety-seven. Why do you need to know?”

  Marie shrugged. “Just trying to recall if I can remember anything unusual about that year, but I’m afraid I can’t think of anything offhand.”

  “So, what are these marks about? And don’t tell me it’s cataloguing or a form of Connie’s signature, because I won’t buy it.”

  Marie carefully pushed aside her plate. “I can’t say I fully understand the system. It’s a form of classification that will allow us to pull together an anniversary almanac at some point in the future. Hence asking you the year of the angelica marks. It’s important to Leone that the goldenseal illustrations are treated in the same way. I’m sure there’s nothing more to it than a special Garoul almanac edition.”

  Amy still looked skeptical.

  “Come here.” Marie stood and moved toward her office. “Let me show you what Leone’s working on aside from this year’s almanac.”

  Amy rose to follow her into the small back room. Marie’s desktop computer was shut down but Leone’s laptop sat blinking. Marie tapped the keyboard and Leone’s screensaver flared. Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights danced before them.

  “What are we looking at here?” Amy asked.

  Their heads met over the screen, Marie’s hair cascading forward in a dark wave. She reached up and twisted it into a more manageable knot behind her head. Amy glanced over, eyes widening. Marie’s neck flashed through the swirl of hair. Dark red scratches ran from her hairline to under the loose collar of her shirt. They disappeared in a flash of ebony and silver so quickly Amy thought her eyes had deceived her.

  “God, Marie—” she blurted before she could stop herself. It was none of her business. She blushed wildly as Marie stared at her with guarded eyes. “What is it with the Garouls and that pig-ugly painting?” She waved a hand at the Bosch screensaver.

  Her awkward save worked. She received a rueful smile and shrug from Marie before she clicked to pull out some document folders for Amy to see.

  “This is a mock-up of the four hundredth anniversary edition to come out two years from now,” Marie said.

  “Wow, four hundred years. I never knew the Garoul Press went back that far.”

  “Further, if you count the French Garouls who arrived in New France in the late fifteen hundreds. In old Europe they were a publishing family, too. The Garouls have been around forever in one shape or form.” Marie smiled proudly. “But this almanac is to celebrate our migration to the Americas and the eventual formation of a new Garoul Press.”

  For the next hour they discussed Leone’s anniversary edition ideas, and the history of the Garoul Press on this side of the Atlantic. Yvette Garoul had arrived disguised as a man in the early sixteen hundreds. She had become a fur trapper and traveled across the continent, eventually arriving in the Pacific Northwest. There had been some interbreeding with the local tribes, and before long she had claimed the Silverthread valley for her growing family. It was an amazing story that Amy never tired of hearing. It had snared her imagination as a child and never let go. The original French family had faded into obscurity a long time ago, though Marie believed direct descendants were scattered all across Europe and beyond.

  Amy checked her watch and stood. “I’d better go. It’s much later than I intended. I had hoped to work in the studio for a few hours tonight, but I’m too tired now.”

  “Rest and get an early start in the morning.” Marie accompanied her to the door.

  “Get those scratches seen to. They look mean.”

  “I’m going to jump in a hot bath with some alder bark and vinegar. With a night’s good sleep I’ll be fine.” Marie looked out across the compound, a faint frown creasing her brow. “I wish Leone had been here to explain everything. She’ll be annoyed she’s missed you.”

  “Oh, there’ll be other times.” Amy was diplomatic; perhaps it was best not to mention she’d seen Leone earlier that afternoon and as usual they’d sparked hard enough to be a fire hazard. All she wanted to do now was to relax with her library codebook and mull over what Marie had just told her about an anniversary almanac. It felt as if she had another part of the puzzle in her hands, but she was not sure how it all fit, at least not yet. With time it would. Amy was nothing if not tenacious. She stepped down from the porch toward the path home.

  “Thanks for supper, Marie. I’ll drop by tomorrow after I get caught up on my work. Good night.”

  “Good night, Amy. Sleep well.”

  With a snifter of cognac Amy settled on her couch to read for an hour or two. Reading always calmed her down. It had been a strange evening, and she didn’t know what to make of the deep scratches on Marie’s hands and neck. There was a residual sadness about Marie these days. Amy could understand that. She must be missing Connie dreadfully, and worried sick. But she had to look after herself, too. Neither Amy nor Leone would want Marie falling sick as well.

  Amy set her troubling thoughts aside and picked up her library book. She was soon absorbed in the rudiments of code making, cipher breaking, and all manner of locks and keys. It was a fascinating subject, and she was determined that this was what Connie’s superfluous marks were all about. There was some sort of message hidden in certain illustrations. But why, and what did they mean? In what way did they relate to the anniversary edition?

  Again she brought down a few random almanacs and carefully scrutinized the pages. She found nothing, but knew it was only a matter of time before she did. It was all to do with familiarity. She had recognized the first set of sigils through her knowledge of the angelica plant. Soon she would find other specimens she knew well that had the additional marks, too.

  Once again she idly browsed through the Wiccan book of love spells, just in case there were any clues in Connie’s other work. There were none. So it was all related to the Garoul Press projects.

  At a chapter on incense spells something caught her eye. Scullcap. Wasn’t that the stink Leone had burned to scare off the termites?

  Scullcap. Burn this incense in the presence of your lover to strengthen commitment. Let it burn slowly into her heart.

  What is that big lunatic doing burning it in Connie’s cabin? If anything, it might attract the freakin’ termites—Oh…oh!

  Amy blinked. Oh?

  She looked off into the middle distance with a glazed stare. She was being wooed? With witchcraft! Leone was casting love spells?

  Exasperated, she put the book down and sat back to think. She didn’t know what to make of it. Did Leone wanted to reconcile? But why? Why move backward? It was ridiculous. And using magic? What nonsense. A small smile crept across her lips. She couldn’t contain it. She felt amused and curiously…what? Powerful?

  Her smile was soon followed by a frown. Forewarned was forearmed. Amy would have to be careful around her would-be suitor. Leone knew all Amy’s weak spots, and blindsides, too. She could easily run snapping at Amy’s Achilles’ heels. For Leone there was very little difference in love and war, there was only winning what you wanted. Amy knew that of old.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was nearly midday and Amy and Elicia s
trolled along laughing and planning what to make for lunch, eventually deciding to eat at Jori and Elicia’s place as it was closer. They’d had a lovely morning wandering along the riverside looking for a bitter cherry for Amy. Elicia had watched fascinated as, page after page, Amy filled an art block with skillful sketches and precise color swatches. In a few hours they were done and heading back.

  Amy looked at the overcast sky. “Here comes the rain. I’m glad we got an early start on the day.”

  “Come on. Let’s try and outrun it.” Elicia lead them on at a quicker pace.

  After about twenty minutes Amy stopped to look around. “Are we on the right track?”

  Elicia hesitated. “I haven’t been paying attention. I thought this was the trail we came by.” But the Silverthread was no longer to their left. Somehow they had managed to go deeper into the forest.

  “No, there are a few hunting trails leading off it. I think we’re on one of them because I’m not seeing anything familiar,” Amy said.

  “Okay. Let’s turn around and go back the way we came. Guess we won’t beat the rain now.”

  It was a sensible plan until they came to a fork on the path.

  “Crap. Where did that come from? We must have missed it on the way up,” Amy muttered. She was becoming totally confused with a network of paths she’d have once sworn she knew well. She had no idea where Elicia had led them. “So, left or right, any ideas?”

  “Mmm, I remember something about always turning right and you end up where you started?”

  “Like back to the river? I don’t think that’s true. I can’t even hear it now.” Amy was very skeptical. “You weren’t a Girl Scout, were you?”

  “Yes, I was.” Elicia defended herself. “Okay, so I never got my Orienteering badge. But I do have several Cookie Activity pins.”

  “Great, we can spell out SOS in gingerbread for the air rescue services.”

  “Hey, it’s easy to criticize. What’s your clever suggestion?”

  “My clever suggestion is let’s keep to the right, like you said.” Amy looked at the forked path before them. “I mean, it’s a fifty-fifty choice.”

  It was the wrong choice. That became apparent after another twenty minutes when the surrounding trees became denser, and the light gloomier. They came to a halt in a small circular clearing to work out their whereabouts with Amy’s little handheld compass.

  “Oh, I don’t like this. It’s creepy in here.” Amy looked around, suppressing a shiver. “How the hell did we lose the river? I mean, it’s friggin’ enormous.”

  “I blame you. You’re the one who agreed with me to turn right— What was that?” Elicia suddenly looked over her left shoulder, very ill at ease.

  “Huh? What?” Amy found herself almost whispering, totally spooked.

  “I thought I heard something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Dunno. Just a noise.”

  “Shh. Let’s stand still and listen.” They did, and heard nothing alarming. In fact, they heard nothing at all.

  “Crap, I hate it when the birds stop singing. It’s all they ever do around here,” Amy said. As she spoke she felt the hairs on her neck rise in what she now realized was a calling card. Oh no, not that spooky bear thing again.

  “Amy.” Elicia’s voice grew as small as her eyes grew large. She was focusing on something over Amy’s shoulder.

  “What?” Amy was frozen by Elicia’s wide-eyed stare. Please don’t let there be a bear coming up behind me. Please, please.

  “Look at the trees,” Elicia whispered.

  Slowly, Amy turned her head as if she were in a neck brace that might snap at any sudden movement. At first she didn’t see anything, because in reality she was expecting a rabid grizzly to be standing right behind her. Her shoulders relaxed when there was nothing there. “What about them?”

  “Look. Look at the bark.”

  And then Amy saw it. All around them in the small clearing, nearly every tree was lacerated. Torn apart by long, vicious clawing. On some the bark hung in shreds, the gouging going deep into the living wood. Others had huge patches of bark totally missing, the raw wood a madding crisscross of frenzied slashes. Amy swallowed hard as she absorbed the brutality. It was so unnatural, so destructive and sinister, the air in her lungs reduced to a sickly unbreathable syrup of pure horror.

  “That is so not right.” Elicia was in awe, totally dismayed.

  “The poor trees.”

  “It’s very high up.” Elicia managed to croak. She looked shocked at the devastation. “Whatever did this was very tall.”

  “Like a moose?” Amy squeaked, not caring for her “bear thing” theory anymore.

  Elicia shook her head. “No, those are claw marks. This is vicious, Amy. Totally insane and vicious.”

  “Oh.” Amy found Elicia’s words curious. No matter how nasty it looked, it was still just an animal, granted a humongous animal, sharpening its claws. What concerned her more was the stillness in the forest surrounding them. For her that meant something else, something much more sinister. “Let’s just go. We need to get home,” she said.

  “Which way?”

  “I don’t care. Let’s just go.”

  They started to move back the way they’d come. Amy still felt that claustrophobic tightness in her chest that screamed danger was nearby. She wanted to get away quickly but not alarm Elicia, who seemed oblivious to the sensations Amy was picking up on. Maybe it’s just me? Maybe I’m losing my marbles.

  A silken blur melting from tree to tree caught the edge of her vision. She squinted into the murk, but there was nothing solid, nothing she could define. Her breathing hitched. It was not a bear. Bears didn’t move like that. Bears scratched trees, they didn’t gut them. Not like back in the clearing. Elicia was right. That was insane. That was something else. And whatever was stalking them now was big. Big and clever. And it wants me to see it. It wants me to know that it’s out there.

  “Let’s just get back as fast as we can, huh?” She kept a wary eye on where she’d last seen the flicker of movement.

  “Left here.” Elicia had moved on ahead, taking charge of their retreat.

  “Are you sure?” Amy frowned, but followed anyway. The last thing she wanted was to freak out Elicia, especially if she was pregnant, but they needed to get the hell out of here right now. Hopefully they’d soon see the river sparkling through the trees.

  After several minutes of quick paced tramping Amy blurted out, “Where the hell are we going?”

  “Toward the river.” Elicia kept the pace going strong, moving determinedly forward. She obviously had some sort of plan.

  “I think we’re lost again.” Amy came to a halt, growing more confused with the path they were on. She didn’t recognize anything.

  “It’s only a few more minutes along here.” Elicia paused impatiently. “Come on, Amy. Follow me.”

  “Are you sure? The forest’s getting denser, not thinning out. You’re a teacher. Don’t you teach the kids about geography and moss growing on the north side of trees and stuff?”

  “I teach kindergarten. I’m a failed Girl Scout. My mind is so freaked by that tree mauling back there, the only thing I can think of right now is ‘The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round.’” Elicia kept up her pace, looking determinedly forward. “You’re the wildlife illustrator. You’re the one meant to be in harmony with nature. You do something.”

  Amy looked at her in consternation. “Me?” Glancing around, she suddenly pointed. “Oh look, it’s Trillium ovatum.”

  Elicia scanned the forest floor, trying to see what Amy was pointing at, then spotted the timid groundcover plant. “I see it! What does it do?”

  “Maybe it can grow feet and run for help?”

  “You’re such a bitch, Fortune. I really thought you had a plan,” Elicia huffed. But she dithered, no longer forging ahead. She slowed and seemed to hesitate.

  “Hey!” a voice hailed them.

  “Jori.” Elicia broke into
a run. Jori stood on the trail several yards up ahead so deep in shadow they hadn’t seen him until he moved forward. He wrapped his arms around Elicia protectively.

  “Where were you? I made lunch…but no you?”

  “We took a wrong turn and got lost. Come and see this.” Elicia turned back the way they’d come.

  “See what?” he asked, following.

  “Do we have to go back?” Amy said. Now that they had been more or less rescued, she was anxious to get the hell out of this creepy part of the valley.

  “Yes. Wait ’til you see this, Jori. The trees back here are mangled.” Elicia dragged him along by his shirtsleeve, braver now that he was with her.

  “It was only a moose. Let’s go home,” Amy whined, still facing the way home.

  “No way was that a moose and you know it,” Elicia said. “Come on, Fortune. Or we’ll leave you standing there like a jar of honey.”

  Amy quickly caught up.

  All along the route back to the clearing she kept glancing from side to side, expecting her spectral stalker to reappear. Only Amy had been aware of it. Elicia hadn’t been spooked. All Elicia had done was quicken their pace after seeing the claw marks. Fortunately, she’d managed to lead them straight toward Jori.

  Now Amy stood again in the small clearing looking at the wanton damage surrounding her. Her blood ran cold. It was unnatural and crazed to her eyes. What sort of animal did this?

  Jori stood silent, taken aback.

  “See, see. Look what’s wandering around your valley.” Elicia waved an expressive arm around her. “You have to sort this out, Jori.”

  Jori didn’t respond at first. He stood tense and still, as if picking up a subtle vibration. His chin lifted slightly and his nostrils flared. Watching these tiny details with morbid fascination, Amy was reminded of a hunting dog picking up a scent. The moment passed and she shook herself out of her stupidity. She was here to cover Connie’s project, not get distracted by all this “it’s a bear, it’s not a bear, what is it” nonsense. At least there were now witnesses to what she had experienced. That was good; on some level she needed the validation.