(Moon 2) - Edge of the Moon

by Rebecca York

  If you let him get me, you and your family are all dead. The words were very faint, only an echo in his mind. Maybe he'd made them up, but he didn't think so.

  "Why did you let him get her? You could have stopped him," he shouted.

  No. Too weak. You must do it.

  Jack cursed, then braked as the rod clamped in his fingers turned to ice.

  KATHRYN sat with her head pressed against the wall, the hard surface anchoring her to sanity. Her bound hands were crossed in her lap; her heart was pounding.

  She'd gone from calm acceptance to pulsing fear and back again. She'd helped Jack tie her up. She'd volunteered for this. Now she was covered with ice-cold perspiration and wondering about her own sanity.

  Except that she saw no alternative. She couldn't let Gwynn use Lily in his ceremony.

  But, oh God, now what?

  She had to think. But her brain felt like a big bowl of rice pudding. Closing her eyes, she listened to the sound of rain drumming on the roof as she ordered herself to take shallow, even breaths.

  Stay alive, Jack had said, stay alive.

  If her hands and feet hadn't been tied, she might have jumped up and run like hell.

  But that wasn't an option. She had volunteered to come here, and she couldn't leave.

  So how was she going to keep this bastard from killing her? By being docile? By fighting him? By talking back? Stroking his ego? She didn't know what approach was best.

  Above the roaring in her ears, she thought she heard footsteps splashing through the rain outside, and her eyes snapped open.

  She was looking into the gray eyes of Simon Gwynn, and down the barrel of a gun.

  Except for the wig and mustache, he was the man she had seen at the hospital. Instead of a white coat, he was wearing a black silk shirt and black trousers.

  She wanted to tell him that black was the wrong color for blonds, but she decided to keep that observation to herself.

  Somehow she held her gaze level, somehow she kept from clenching her bound hands as every rational thought fled from her brain.

  He studied her for painful heartbeats, the silence making her skin crawl. "So good of you to sacrifice yourself for the child," he finally said. "But then I thought you would. Gary told me so much about you—how nicey nice you were, how you were always so concerned for Heather DeYoung. You know, the irony is that it was you I wanted all along. But I had to be careful. I couldn't take another redhead so soon, so I decided Heather would do. And Swinton made it easy for me. All I had to do was offer him a lot of money, and he drugged her and brought her right to me. And he kept you distracted by those nasty pranks of his, like the trick with the fishing line." He laughed. "Of course, he did it because he hated your guts. He told me all that when he was trying to get me to let him go—instead of using him in that nasty little ceremony where I drove Detective Thornton off the road. And now you're here because you think your detective is going to come back and rescue you? Well, you'll be long gone from this place before he gets back."

  She couldn't stop her throat from closing, and she knew he sensed her fear.

  He stared at herv and she tried to read the expression in his cold gray eyes. Should she keep him talking? Flatter him? Beg? She canceled that. One thing she knew—begging wouldn't work.

  "Jack thinks I'm on his side. I could… you know… change sides…" she heard herself saying. "I want a strong man. You're stronger than Jack."

  He laughed. "That's right. But I don't believe you. You're like Patience."

  "Who?"

  "The girl who tricked me so long ago. You look a lot like her with that pretty red mane."

  She struggled to hold back a moan as he hunkered over her and wound his ringers in her hair, holding it up and letting it fall back into place, before he slapped a piece of duct tape over her mouth. Next he pulled a hood over her head, and she was thrown into terrifying darkness.

  JACK went back to the crossroad and howled in agony when the damn thing stayed icy. Then he figured out he'd turned the wrong way.

  Five minutes later, he was driving up another rutted lane—his tires sinking into puddles as he skidded to a halt. Throwing his door open, he dashed through the cold rain and charged into another abandoned farmhouse.

  His wet shoes almost sent him sprawling on the wooden floor as he sped through the house. He found Lily in one of the bedrooms, curled on her side, sleeping. She whimpered when he picked her up and gathered her close with his good arm, crying out his relief as he rocked the precious bundle against him.

  He had her. Thank the Lord, he had her. He slid down to the floor, cradling her in his lap as he took a colossal risk and called Ross, praying that the magician was too busy now to be monitoring phone calls.

  Jack gave Ross his location and asked him to come get Lily. Hanging up, he leaned against the wall, holding his daughter in his lap, trying not to weep. He was stroking her silky hair, listening to the sound of her breathing, when Ross charged through the door.

  Lily stirred against him, and Jack tensed. But she didn't wake. He was torn. He wanted to talk to her, assure himself that she was all right. And he knew she would want him there when she woke. But he couldn't have everything.

  "Take her to the hospital. Make sure she's all right. And call Emily, get her to meet you there," Jack said, stroking his lips against Lily's soft cheek, then lifting his head, his gaze burning into Ross's. "I'm going back for Gwynn."

  His friend gave him a critical look. "You're in no shape to go after him on your own."

  "Granger's on the way. You take Lily."

  "Okay."

  Ross picked up the child, cradling her in his arms. Jack stood with his shoulders pressed to the wall, trying to catch his breath, taking one last look at his sleeping daughter before trotting back to the car.

  For a time, the magic wand shoved into the wet fabric of his sling had been just a hard rod of plastic. Now it burned his flesh again.

  He started the car, heading back toward Logan Road.

  When the phone rang, he pulled onto the shoulder and answered as quickly as he could.

  "Hello."

  "Your daughter is at 9037 Carter Drive."

  Pretending he didn't already have Lily, he shouted, "You're not lying to me?"

  "Go pick her up."

  I already did, you bastard. And now I'm coming to get you, if Granger isn't already turning in to the drive.

  Jack drove as fast as he could through the pounding rain—one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped around the magic wand. It was hot again, and this time it was directing him toward Kathryn.

  Only he didn't need magic. He knew where he was going to find Gwynn.

  Just a few more miles, he kept chanting in his mind. Gwynn wasn't expecting him to have picked up Lily and come back so soon.

  The phone rang again, and he cursed as he pulled to the shoulder so he could answer.

  It was Granger. "Jack, I'm sorry. The house your friend sent us to is empty."

  "Empty!"

  "He's cleared out."

  "God, no!" he shouted into the phone. He had been so sure that, with his head start, he could get back to Kathryn before Gwynn took her out of there. He'd been counting on that advantage. He'd been wrong.

  Granger was speaking, and he realized that he'd missed part of the conversation. Then the phone went dead.

  "Fuck!" He stared at the instrument—pressed buttons. Nothing happened, yet the battery showed enough of a charge to receive a message. If he'd been in his unmarked, he would have put in the spare battery, but he was in Kathryn's car. He opened the glove compartment, rummaged through gas station slips and her owner's manual, but found nothing useful.

  "Fuck!" he said again, because there was no other way to deal with his frustration.

  Then he forgot about the phone as the magic wand flared hot, then went ice cold, then hot again.

  "What the hell?"

  You must go to her. Hurry.

  "Did you turn off my phone?"


  Yes.

  "Jesus, what are you thinking? You think I don't need Granger's help?"

  You must do it by yourself.

  "Why?"

  No others may see.

  He shouted out another oath, then pulled back onto the road and pressed his foot on the accelerator—following the heat of the wand.

  HE was strong. Kathryn had found that out when he'd picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, and carried her to a car. She lay there on the backseat in her damp clothing, forcing herself not to scream when he tightened the knots on her bonds.

  Cold and shivering, she heard him talking to Jack—telling him where to pick up his daughter.

  A scream bubbled in her throat.

  Jack had to go get Lily now. Then he'd come back to the farmhouse, and it would be too late for her.

  Jack. Oh God. Jack, find me. Please, find me.

  The phone call was over quickly. He clicked off, drove on. All too soon they were slowing down again. Cutting the engine, he climbed out and opened the back door, and she steeled herself to feel his hands on her again.

  If she could have screamed, she would have. But the duct tape kept her terror locked in her throat.

  He picked her up, carried her through the cold rain, then under some kind of shelter.

  A porch? She heard a key turning in a lock. A door opened, then slammed behind them as he walked across a hard floor that magnified the sound of his footsteps.

  Then they were going down a flight of steps.

  Her heart pounded. The spit in her mouth had turned to stone.

  Another door opened. Seconds later, he laid her on a hard surface. She felt him cutting the cord that bound her legs, and kicked out at him.

  "Is that how you plan to help me?" he growled as his fist pounded into her stomach. The pain made her gasp. By the time she could breathe again, he'd secured her legs to rings at the end of the table.

  It was all happening too fast, and there was no way to fight the terror.

  He fingered the cord on her hands, then pulled them above her head and secured them to a metal ring.

  When she was immobile, he pulled the hood off her head, a smile flickering on his lips as his gaze swept over her.

  The breath froze in her lungs as she stared up at him. When she'd told Jack she would change places with Lily, she had never in her imagination thought that she would end up strapped to a table.

  She was going to die here. She knew that now. Unless…

  Please, she silently begged. Please take the gag off my mouth.

  "You just relax," he said. "I must purify myself for the ceremony. I'm sorry you can't see the chamber in my primary residence. This is just a poor substitute—a room I fixed up in case I needed a cozy place to work away from home." He stopped and laughed, reaching out to stroke his fingers against her hair.

  "Such beautiful hair," he murmured. "I love red hair—like Patience. Since we broke up, I've had a thing for redheads. I was going to take you that morning—before I caught you and Thornton on the lawn. But now everything's worked out the way I wanted."

  His hand moved down to her cheek, and she struggled not to cringe.

  "Heather had a pure white ceremonial gown. I don't want to take a chance changing your clothes. Not when I already have you tied down. But that wet shirt and sweatpants certainly don't look appropriate for an important ceremony."

  He turned from her, and when he pivoted back, he had a knife in his hand, the knife she'd seen in the dream.

  She gasped behind the gag and tried to twist away, but her bonds kept her in place.

  He inserted the knife tip in the damp fabric of her shirt, ripping a line down her side, parting the material and pulling it away. He cut other slashes in the knit, cut the shirt away from her body, then severed her bra straps. In moments, she was naked to the waist.

  "Nice," he murmured, looking down at her, tracing the curve of her breasts with his finger.

  Unable to stand the look of satisfaction on his face, she squeezed her eyes shut.

  When the knife blade touched her thigh, she couldn't hold back a whimpering sound. But he was only cutting away her sweatpants and panties, leaving her naked on the table.

  His hand skimmed the triangle of hair at the base of her legs. "It's a shame we don't have more time," he murmured. "But since time is of the essence and you came to me of your own free will, I'll make it easy on you. We'll do it as soon as possible. You won't have to wait too long for me to plunge my knife into your heart."

  As she listened to him, every muscle of her body felt like it was fighting an electric current. Then he was gone, and she flopped back against the table.

  Jack had told her to stay alive. It didn't look like she was going to manage that. She felt tears stinging the backs of her eyes, but she was too proud to let them leak out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

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  JACK PULLED BACK onto the road, relying on the same method he'd used to find Lily. In the back of his mind, he knew it was the demon controlling the magic wand. But he didn't let himself dwell on that. If he let himself think about what he was doing, he would start to scream. He had started out hating and fearing the creature that had interfered in his life. He still felt those emotions. Yet he knew that he and the creature must work together now, if he was going to save Kathryn's life.

  Obscene images rose in his mind. Ruthlessly, he shut them out because they could only drive him mad. With a single-minded purpose, he concentrated on the feel of the hard plastic rod where it nestled inside the sling.

  He was learning how to use the damn wand. When the plastic was hot, he sped forward, slowing down when he reached a crossroad, feeling for a subtle change that would tell him whether he should go straight or turn.

  He wasn't even paying much attention to the route—just driving like an automaton, through the driving rain, following the directions of the wand. The directions of the creature.

  Somewhere in the western end of the county, he blinked, came out of his dreamlike state as the wand pulsed in his right hand, stinging his skin, shocking him into full awareness.

  He was on a narrow gravel lane, much like the lane he'd traveled less than an hour earlier, only longer and wetter.

  Coming around a curve, he caught his breath. The SUV was parked in front of a redbrick rancher. A house about forty or fifty years old, he judged. Nothing remarkable.

  He looked down at the wand, wondering if it had led him to the wrong place. This couldn't be Gwynn's house. It wasn't grand enough. Yet the wand had told him he was going to find the guy here.

  He started to hit the brake hard, then checked himself, slowing gradually so as not to give himself away with a squeal of tires and a shower of water and gravel.

  A new thought struck him, then. Maybe Gwynn wasn't even in the house with Kathryn. Maybe he had planted the car here and gone somewhere else.

  He craned his neck, saw that the road ended here. But was there another structure hidden back in the woods?

  He didn't have time to make mistakes. He had to act. And the wand was burning so hotly that he could barely stand to keep it inside the sling. But he left it where it was, because the pain helped focus him. Stepping out of the car, he moved quickly toward the house, splashing through a puddle and onto the floor of the porch.

  His heart speeded up as he saw a trail of wet footsteps. When he looked through the window, he saw they continued across the floor of the empty living room.

  The door was unlocked. Stepping inside, he followed the wet trail across the floor and down a hallway to another door.

  KATHRYN lay on the hard table, her skin covered with goose bumps, her nipples tight from the damp and cold. She was alone, but somewhere nearby she could hear Gwynn moving around. Could hear water splashing. Was there still something she could do? Some way to save herself?

  It took every scrap of will she possessed not to weep in terror. Holding on to her self-control, she turned her head, looking around fo
r some source of help.

  She was in a room like the one she'd seen in the dream. It must be in the basement, judging from the flight of steps he'd carried her down. Black curtains hid the sharp angles of the walls, and candlesticks stood on tables around the room. But none of the candles were lighted. The illumination was low and came from a small lamp on a table in one corner.

  This was where she was going to die, she thought with a kind of strange detachment.

  Jack, I love you, she murmured inwardly, trying to send the thoughts out to him. It could have been so good. No. I mean it was good. It just didn't last long enough. I'm so sorry we couldn't have had more together.

  It seemed like only moments later that Gwynn was back. He was naked to the waist, his only garment a pair of silky black trousers.

  The trousers were thin, and she saw that he was aroused.

  She swallowed, tried to look somewhere else besides that thick rod at the front of his pants. But she couldn't take her eyes off his erection.

  When he lowered his hand to stroke himself, she felt the breath solidified in her lungs. Reaching out, he touched one of her tightened nipples with a fingertip. "You want me?" he asked.

  The obscenity of the question clogged her throat. She longed to cringe away, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

  Summoning every scrap of courage that remained, she raised her eyes to his face, seeing the tension and the triumph in his expression.

  Please, take off the gag, she silently begged. You think you know what's going to happen. But let me tell you the truth. You're not going to like it.

  Her hopes crashed as Gwynn turned away. She heard him chanting in a language she didn't recognize, watched as he finished inscribing a white circle on the black floor.

  When he was finished, he walked back to the table, still chanting.

  Her eyes riveted on the silver knife in his hand. He had used it to cut away her clothing.

  Now there was nothing between her flesh and that knife. Not even a thin scrap of fabric.

  But he wouldn't just kill her—would he? He'd make it part of his ceremony.