by Mae Clair
“If Jonathan was the soldier killed outside the fort, then how was Obadiah involved?” Sarah broke the silence, her eyes overly bright in the semidarkness. She looked a bit like Etta Sherman with the same petite build and soft curve to her face.
Caden wondered if Quentin resembled Jonathan. “He found the body and brought it back to the fort. The story he told the soldiers was that he’d arrived too late to save Jonathan.”
Quentin narrowed his eyes. “Story?”
“Exactly. Obadiah killed Jonathan.”
Sarah blinked rapidly. “But that doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if Jonathan stumbled over Obadiah when he was doing something forbidden—like practicing black magic.”
Sarah choked on a short laugh. “You’re suggesting Shawn Preech’s ancestor was engaged in witchcraft?”
“It might sound crazy, but—”
“No. Maybe not.” Sitting straighter, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “The more I learn about the past, I realize everything I thought I knew is open for interpretation. I let Shawn’s bragging about Obadiah color my opinion of him. But I still don’t understand how you were able to learn all this.”
Unwilling to comment, Caden fell silent.
Quentin picked up the slack. “As far as I’m concerned, it sounds as plausible as anything Madam Olga told my sister. If I drove all this way to track down the origins of a curse based on the opinion of a psychic, I might as well buy the rest of the story.”
“Which is?” Sarah asked.
“Sutton believes what Obadiah tells him…that his brother was killed by an Indian. He probably goes nuts—rage, grief. In that state of mind, it would be easy for Obadiah to prod him into killing Cornstalk.”
“There’s just one problem with that.” Sarah nibbled on a fingernail. “Why would Obadiah want Cornstalk killed?” She flinched at the sound of thunder.
“Who knows?” Quentin spread his hands wide. “Maybe Preech had nothing to do with it. Maybe Sutton didn’t need any prodding. Either way it ends up with Cornstalk dead and my family cursed.”
“Don’t forget the town of Point Pleasant,” Eve added.
“Hold on.” Caden pinched the bridge of his nose. Lach had left him a puzzle—probably because the alien wasn’t permitted to intervene directly—but he’d provided enough pieces for Caden to sort through the rubble. Quickly, he told them about Willa Preech and Obadiah’s reasoning for wanting the Mothman killed.
“Why didn’t he just kill Cornstalk himself?” Sarah asked when he was through.
Quentin’s mouth twisted. “Because he was a coward. If he believed the Indians had summoned the Mothman, then he probably believed they’d curse him for spilling the blood of their chief.”
“What a monster.” Sarah shook her head. “First, he murders Jonathan, then he convinces Sutton to kill Cornstalk.”
“Hold on.” Caden raised a hand. “There’s more you need to know. Jonathan was betrothed to Etta Sherman when he died.”
“Sherman?” Sarah blinked rapidly. “Do you mean—?”
“Yes. Your ancestor and Quentin’s were engaged to be married. I think the blue stones from your pendant and Quentin’s amulet were a pledge between them. Sutton must have kept the amulet after Jonathan died. My guess is that Jonathan probably found the stones somewhere in the area that’s now the TNT. If you believe the UFO stories, then it’s entirely possible they came from another world.”
Sarah’s lips parted, her gaze darting to Quentin. “George Washington reported strange lights in the sky when he surveyed the area.” Her fingers tightened around her pendant. “I’m not sure I believe in UFOs, but the idea fits in theory. And I do know that my ancestor, Etta, never married. The Sherman name continued through three of her brothers.”
Quentin eyed the amulet on the coffee table. “Say I buy all this…” He rubbed his jaw. “It clarifies my family history and the curse, but it doesn’t explain how to break it. It doesn’t do Pen any good.”
“Maybe understanding is enough,” Eve suggested. “If you believe in superstition, sometimes perception is enough to have mastery over a spell.”
“I think it goes deeper than that.” Caden shifted his attention to Quentin. “Not long after Cornstalk’s death, Sutton’s wife gave birth to twins. One of the babies was stillborn.”
“The curse in action.” Quentin gave a grunt of disgust. “And the first of the twins in my family to be cursed.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I can’t let that happen to my sister.”
“We won’t. We just need to fit the pieces together. You told me you and Sarah found a book with a spider symbol.”
“Yeah. The symbol represents treachery and death.”
“Why were you researching it in the first place?”
“He wasn’t. I was.” Sarah tucked her legs to the side as she leaned forward. “I saw the symbol on a wooden case. It was mixed in with a bunch of papers Suzanne had given me to research Shawn’s family ancestry.” Biting her lip, she shrugged. “I can’t explain it, but I got a creepy feeling looking at the case. It was locked, though I’m not sure I would have opened it anyway. I was curious about the symbol, so I picked up some books from the library to research what it meant.”
“Same symbol that was on the handle of the knife Shawn had.” Quentin shot Caden an unwavering stare. “I’m not a hunter, but that seemed an unusual knife to be carrying.”
“Suzanne told me it belonged to Shawn’s father,” Sarah said.
“Probably as old as your amulet”—Caden nodded to Quentin—“and Sarah’s pendant.”
“What would make you say that?” Quentin asked.
“You saw the blade.”
“Yeah. It was black.”
“A knife with a black blade was used to kill Cornstalk.”
Sarah shook her head. “How can you possibly know that?”
When Caden didn’t reply, the answer became obvious.
“Lach Evening?” Quentin guessed.
Caden nodded. “I think the knife belonged to Obadiah. You have to remember when Cornstalk and the others were killed, it was probably pandemonium. We know a group of soldiers rushed the guardhouse.”
“So, whether Obadiah gave Sutton his knife, or Sutton took it from him, it was the weapon that killed Cornstalk.” Quentin blew out a breath. “Neat package.” He stood and paced a short distance away, pausing at the rear door opening to the yard.
Darkness had settled over the grounds, a few stars visible through the cloud cover. The silhouette of Eve’s gardening shed jutted in the distance, a cluster of trees further away where the grass sloped to a small stream.
Caden’s coffee was cold. He thought about getting more, but the caffeine had started to sour his stomach. “How do you break a curse?” he asked no one.
Quentin turned from the door. “You destroy the item responsible for initiating it in the first place.”
“You mean the knife?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah, but I don’t think Shawn’s going to surrender it willingly.” Grimacing, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “That aside, I think we’ve overlooked something crucial.”
Caden frowned. “Such as?”
“The Mothman. He’s part of it.”
“How do you know that?” He was used to being the expert where the Mothman was concerned. Instinct told him the cryptid had to be at the heart of what happened in the past, but he hadn’t anticipated someone else realizing that, too. “The creature went after you in the TNT when you were with Sarah.”
“It didn’t attack me.” Quentin walked back to the group and resumed his seat. He flexed his scarred right hand as if working stiffness from his fingers. “It’s almost like it was trying to communicate with me.”
“How?”
“Mostly images…woods and blood. Something screaming.”
Sarah shifted. She obviously hadn’t heard this before. “You mean someone?”
&nb
sp; “No.” Quentin shook his head. “No human could make the sound I heard. It was like something dying. Something not human.”
Caden slumped in his chair. It was too late to track Evening down at the hotel, but he had every intention of cornering the alien tomorrow. Between what he’d learned from Evening, and what Quentin had learned from Cold, he had a fairly concise idea of what occurred the day Cornstalk was killed. But there were questions that remained unanswered.
Namely, how did the Mothman factor into Cornstalk’s death?
Something had changed in the creature. It was no longer content to be reclusive but had taken to prowling the area as if searching for something. Or someone. Volatile and unpredictable, it was bent on wreaking destruction. Desolation had been replaced by rage, misery by wrath. In the past, it had driven others away through fear. Now, that same bombardment of fear had taken on deadly edges, a weapon that was no longer defensive in nature, but used for attack.
Caden studied Quentin. “You weren’t afraid when you encountered the Mothman?”
“Afraid?” Quentin’s brows drew together.
“I’m not questioning your courage, just your response. The Mothman uses fear as a defensive weapon. Anyone who encounters the thing is immediately bombarded by a wave of terror. Like a psychic onslaught.”
“I can vouch for that.” Sarah shifted in her chair. “I was never so frightened in my life. I was certain I was going to die.”
Caden glanced back to Quentin. “What about you?”
“No. Sorry.” Quentin shook his head. “I was freaked out by the whole thing, but…” Pausing, he frowned. “I just remember being caught up in the images. Not terrified. More like surprised…trying to make sense of it all.”
Thoughtful, Caden tugged a thumb and forefinger over his bottom lip. At first glance, he’d feared the Mothman was moving to attack Quentin when he’d come upon them in the TNT, but what if the creature had sensed the amulet in his pocket? The stone could very well be from the cryptid’s home planet. It may have been reacting, reaching out.
And Caden had shot the thing.
Wearily, he shook his head. “Let’s keep all of this to ourselves. I’ll try to talk to Lach again tomorrow.”
“I think the creature was trying to show me something,” Quentin said. “I need to go back to the TNT and find out what it is.”
“Forget it.” Caden shook his head. “The whole area is going to be overrun with patrols. We’re keeping people out, not letting them in.”
“Is that Sergeant Flynn talking?” Quentin’s voice held challenge, boldness that was mirrored in his gaze.
“I can make it an order if that’s what you mean.”
“Okay, you two. Enough.” Eve stood, shutting down their verbal sparring. “It’s getting late, and I don’t know about the rest of you, but my head’s spinning.”
“But what about Shawn?” Clutching the arms of her chair, Sarah looked between them.
“What about him?” Eve asked.
“He’s got to be involved somehow, and…and he has that knife. Maybe the blade is cursed, too. What if he’s dangerous?”
“I think we have enough to worry about without including Shawn,” Quentin said.
“But you don’t know what he’s capable of.”
Caden frowned. Sarah’s body posture and tone indicated her concern came from more than grasping at straws. “Sarah.”
She swiveled her head around, pupils wide, reflecting candlelight.
“Is there something you’re not telling us?”
She sucked on her bottom lip. A handful of seconds slid by before she shook her head. “It’s just...haven’t you noticed how belligerent Shawn is lately? He’s always angry.”
“Not to mention eating.” Eve rolled her eyes. “He’s been racking up large tabs at the River. Tucker said it’s like he’s eating for three people.”
“Exactly!” Sarah immediately glommed onto the observation. “But look how much weight he’s lost. It’s not natural for a person to lose that much weight that quick.”
“Unless they’re doing drugs.” Quentin pointed out the obvious.
Sarah folded backward into the chair. Her gaze dropped to her hands. “I just think that someone should keep an eye on Shawn. Make sure he’s not doing anything he shouldn’t be.” She snuck a glance at Caden.
Sarah Sherman was probably the last person he’d expect to finger Shawn as trouble. She didn’t make a habit of spreading gossip or of broadcasting unflattering opinions. In this case, her intuition aligned perfectly with his. He fought down a grin over the irony. “He’s on my radar.”
“Good enough for me.” Quentin stood. “Thanks for dinner to both of you.” He nodded to Caden and Eve, then extended his hand to Caden. “I appreciate it if you’d keep me up to date on anything else you might learn.”
Caden shook his hand. “Same here.” He wasn’t convinced Quentin would stay out of the TNT, but at least they were on the same page when it came to getting to the bottom of the curse. For Quentin, it was about freeing his family from the consequences and helping his sister. For Caden, it came back to the same reason it always did.
The Mothman.
Chapter 11
Sarah drew her arms close to her chest, shielding herself from the nighttime air. It wasn’t cold by any means but the heavy cloud cover, coupled with several low rumbles of thunder, drew goose bumps down her arms. “Do you think all this strange weather has to do with Cornstalk’s curse?” she asked Quentin as they walked up the sidewalk to her trailer.
“I thought everything in Point Pleasant was connected to Cornstalk’s curse.” Quentin draped an arm over her shoulders. His smile was a white flash in the darkness.
They’d been spending so much time together she wasn’t sure what she’d do to occupy herself when he left. The last week had been a whirlwind of puzzles and clues she’d enjoyed exploring. Mostly because he’d been part of that. “Can I ask you something?” They stopped in front of the steps leading to her small porch.
Quentin turned her to face him. In the darkness most of his face lay in shadow, but the glint of his eyes was bright. “What do you want to know?”
She wet her lips, daring to ask what had lingered in the back of her mind since he’d told her about Juilliard. “Do you…do you ever still play the piano?”
A bitter huff of laughter escaped him. “What kind of question is that?”
She reached for his hand, twining her fingers around his, the scars thick beneath her fingertips. “It’s just that I’d like to hear you play sometime.”
“There’s not exactly a piano around.”
“I know.” She chided herself for speaking what was in her heart. “I just don’t want you to give up on your gift.”
“The gift is gone. Playing, I can still do. Not nearly as well as I should. For an artist that means avoiding reality.” Smiling faintly, he brushed her cheek. “I have some old recordings I can send you.”
Her heart lurched. “Do you ever listen to them?”
“Too painful.”
Depression pushed a lump against her throat. “It’s so unfair. You had nothing to do with Cornstalk’s death.”
“Curses aren’t based on fairness.” He slid his hand to her throat, his palm warm against her neck. “I’m talked out about Cornstalk, but I feel bad for Jonathan and Etta. They had their future stolen.”
She gazed up into his eyes, her heart pounding faster. What were the odds their ancestors had been romantically involved? She’d allowed herself to become infatuated with him, but could no longer tell if that attraction stemmed from her own feelings or the tragic history of Etta Sherman. Raising her free hand, she wrapped her fingers around her necklace. “Do you think we were fated to meet?”
“I don’t know if it was fate.” Quentin leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin. “But I’m glad it happened all the same.” Lowering his head, he kissed her lightly.
S
arah closed her eyes, her legs trembling. He would be leaving soon and she’d end up with a broken heart. “Do you want to come inside?”
For answer, he deepened his kiss.
* * * *
As predicted, Caden couldn’t sleep. A repeat of everything they’d covered during the night played an endless loop through his head. Over the years, he’d developed the habit of shutting his thoughts down when needed. Working different cases made the practice essential. But tonight, nothing he did let him throw the switch.
Heaving a breath, he sat up in bed and swung his legs over the side. Eve slept soundly beside him, curled close for comfort. Bending, he brushed the hair from her face and kissed her lightly. “Can’t sleep. I’m going to head into the department.”
She murmured something, but didn’t come fully awake.
Ten minutes later, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he scrawled a note and left it on the nightstand. His watch read 12:36 a.m. when he backed out of the driveway. Traffic was minimal given the early morning hour and he made it to the sheriff’s office in record time. He parked behind the building, noting the patrol car he normally used was missing. For that matter, there wasn’t a single Mason County car in the lot. An unusual number of personal cars took up the space.
Inside, Caden found three clerks manning phones, with Chris Gardner the only deputy on shift. The clerks kept busy relaying information over dispatch while Gardner looked like he’d downed a pot of coffee.
“Hey, I thought your shift ended two hours ago.” Caden approached Gardner’s desk, noting a large map of the TNT spread on the surface. The paper had been marked up with red circles, hours and minutes noted to the side of each. “What’s going on?”
Gardner blew out a frazzled breath. “The Mothman, what else? I’m surprised you didn’t get a call.”
“What do you mean?”
“A couple of guys got it cornered in the TNT. At least that’s the last word I had. We’ve got patrols everywhere and Pete is setting up roadblocks. He wants me to try to leech more men from Jackson County. The whole place is going to hell in a hand basket.”