A Desolate Hour

by Mae Clair

  “I’m just glad you’re home. I was worried.” Sliding a hand onto his chest, Eve gave him a light kiss. “Come in and join us. Ryan’s here. He’s doing better.”

  “Hey, brother.” Caden nodded in greeting, then collapsed into a loveseat under the front window. “Good to see you functioning again.”

  Ryan snorted. “I never stopped.” A pause to refocus. “I heard you went after Preech.”

  “More or less. I was looking for Evening and bumped into Shawn along the way.”

  “You mean he’s in custody?” Eve eased onto the cushions beside him.

  “No.” Caden’s expression was bleak. “He’s, um…dead.”

  Stunned silence settled over the room.

  Quentin tried to rummage up a shred of remorse for Shawn but couldn’t conjure anything beyond relief. “How?”

  “The Mothman killed him. Leave it at that.”

  There was an edge to Caden’s voice, but whether it was bitter or haunted, Quentin couldn’t say. From what he’d been led to believe, the Mothman had never killed anyone. Until last night, it had never been truly aggressive. “Something happened to the knife.”

  “Destroyed.” Caden seemed to recognize it wasn’t a question. “How did you know?”

  Raising his arm, Quentin turned the back of his hand to the sergeant. It would take time to digest that the scars were truly gone and to rekindle the fleet dexterity of his fingers. He was out of practice, but that wouldn’t stop him from embracing his passion for music. “Should I take it this means Cornstalk’s curse is broken?”

  Caden didn’t appear overly surprised by the sight. “So it would seem. At the least the curse on the Marsh family.”

  “What about the town?” Katie asked.

  Ryan took her hand. “Was there ever really a curse?”

  “Something drove Shawn to act the way he did.” Eve shook her head. “I don’t know if it was Obadiah or Cornstalk, but I pray whatever it was never touches anyone again.”

  “It was Obadiah’s spirit that controlled him, Eve. That spirit is gone. There are no other descendants in the Preech line. Even if it were possible without the knife, Obadiah can’t return.”

  “So it’s over?” Sarah’s eyes were wide, her expression hopeful.

  Caden nodded. “Over.”

  Quentin found the hollow echo of his words difficult to believe.

  * * * *

  Three days later when Quentin checked out of the Parrish Hotel, Sarah was waiting for him in the lobby. He tossed his luggage in his car then walked with her to the riverfront. The water was still high and muddy from the storm, but the sun shone brightly for the first time since he’d arrived in town. The pillars where the Silver Bridge had once stood jutted from the water in the distance, a stark reminder of all the rural town had suffered.

  The Marsh curse was broken. He wondered if Cornstalk had also forgiven the town.

  “Will you call me?” Sarah walked at his side. Head bowed, her auburn curls glinted like a copper penny in the morning light.

  “And write.” He wished she lived closer. The concert circuit would keep him busy once he returned, and it might be months before he could visit again. He fished in his pocket for the amulet his grandfather had given him. Drawing to a halt, he gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “This was a pledge from Jonathan to Etta.” He opened his hand to display the blue stone.

  Sarah touched the pendant at her throat. “And this from Etta to Jonathan.”

  Quentin nodded. “So now they are our pledge to stay in touch.” His lips stretched in a grin. “After everything we’ve been through in the past week, you really don’t think I’m going to let you vanish from my life, do you?”

  “I hoped not.” Her smile matched his. “If need be, I suppose I can become a crazed fan and stalk you down at one of your concerts.”

  “You’ve never even heard me play.”

  “Which is the first thing you’re going to correct when we get back together.” Gripping his shirt, she tugged him down for a kiss. He sensed it was the first of many to come in the years ahead.

  * * * *

  It took Caden a week before he rummaged up the courage to return to Indrid Cold’s igloo. Barren and dark, the bunker betrayed no hint that it had once been a gateway to another world. Even the TNT felt different, as if a shroud had been lifted. The woodlands seemed brighter, busier with insect life and the constant trill of birds. Leaving the igloo behind, he struck deeper into the woods, retracing the path that led to the clearing where he’d killed the Mothman.

  He didn’t know what he expected to find. The creature’s body had sunk into the ground shortly after it breathed its last, flesh dissolving into the soil as though pulled under by quicksand. The eyes had been swallowed last, the glow of red visible for several seconds even after dirt swallowed them.

  Without a body, the legend of the Mothman would continue to haunt Point Pleasant. The public had been told a bear killed Shawn. That he had fled to the TNT after it was discovered he was Will Hanley’s killer. Already people had forgotten why there was a need for patrols at the TNT, deciding Mitch and Painter must have seen a bear as well. Most went back to scoffing at the idea of a winged cryptid that haunted the ammunitions site, too preoccupied to learn Shawn had been a murderer. But others would gather and whisper, keeping the tales of a red-eyed creature alive.

  Pausing in the center of the clearing, Caden glanced down at his forearm. The brands that he’d carried for the last sixteen years were gone, not a trace to indicate they’d ever marred his skin. Like the Marsh family curse, the bond he’d had with the creature had shattered.

  “I wondered if you would return here.”

  Caden turned at the sound of the familiar voice with its light accent.

  Evening stepped from the trees on his right. He wore black jeans and a black T-shirt.

  A grin stretched Caden’s lips. “You look different, Lach.” He’d never thought to see the usually impeccable alien dressed so casually.

  Lach spread his hands, glancing down at his clothing. “When in Rome.”

  Caden’s grin held. “Were you there?”

  The alien’s smile made his amusement clear. “A discussion for another time.” He stepped to Caden’s side, silent as he gazed out over the surrounding woodlands. After a moment, he seemed to reach a conclusion. “This has been difficult for you.”

  Caden fought back bitter laughter. A string of sarcastic rebuttals danced across his tongue but he resisted the impulse to lash out. “Far more than for you.”

  “That is where you are wrong, Sergeant. It has been extremely difficult for me.”

  Caden was sure skepticism showed on his face. “Because you had to return to a town you’d rather avoid?”

  “Because the Mothman—Drayandor—was my brother.”

  “What?” Shock rocketed through Caden. He took a faltering step backward, the staggering reality hitting with the force of a physical blow. It wasn’t possible. Couldn’t be possible. Yet Lach’s reply to a question he’d asked earlier suddenly made sense.

  “Have you ever seen its face?”

  “Not in its present state.”

  But Evening had seen it before. As the creature was before it had been changed by Earth’s atmosphere. How stupid that he hadn’t made the connection.

  “Why do you think my father has returned year after year?” Lach queried. “Why he has remained a force in the igloo, and why I have long held an interest in Point Pleasant?”

  Caden shook his head. He felt cheated, used. “I should have realized sooner.” The Mothman, Cold, Evening—all three hailed from the same planet. Evening had lived every bit as long as the creature. He’d even been at Fort Randolph when Cornstalk was killed. How did you exist century after century, decade after decade, knowing your brother had become a mutation? A monster?

  “You brought Shawn here. To the TNT. Knowing full well he had come to kill…” Cade
n swallowed, forcing words that even now left him blindsided. “Your brother. You let me track the Mothman, knowing I had no choice but to kill it.”

  “As Drayandor chose.” Evening folded his hands in front of his waist. “There was little of the brother I knew left in the creature he had become. He died easily.”

  Anger shot through Caden. “You weren’t there.”

  “Do you think my guilt is any less? My father’s?” Evening pulled a smooth blue stone from the pocket of his jeans. He dropped it into Caden’s hand. “Had the Mothman passed violently, the stone would not be smooth.”

  Caden scowled. A series of fine black lines riddled the surface of the object, but the stone was as smooth as polished amber. “I plunged a knife into its chest. How is that not violent?” The harsh bitterness of his voice surprised him.

  Lach’s expression remained neutral. If he felt pain at the loss he’d suffered, he hid it well. “He was ready to die. With Obadiah gone, he had no reason to continue.”

  “And what about you?” Caden’s gaze narrowed. He wasn’t sure if he felt anger or gratitude for knowing the truth in the end. “Now that the creature is gone, what reason do you have for remaining in Point Pleasant?”

  “None, actually.” Lach held out his hand. “I merely came to say goodbye.”

  Caught off guard, Caden stared. A part of him remained bitter over the way he’d been used, another part understood he couldn’t expect a member of an alien race to react as he did. He supposed he should feel grateful Evening had taken the time to share the stone with him. Lach didn’t owe him anything, yet wanted to assure him he shouldn’t harbor guilt. “Where will you go?” Caden shook his hand.

  The hint of a thin smile flirted at the corners of Lach’s mouth. “Who can say? There is always somewhere plagued by rumors of UFOs or supernatural creatures. More than enough cities and small towns to keep me occupied.”

  Caden nodded. With the Mothman gone and Cold retreating back to his home planet, he envisioned Lach doing just that—going from town to town to investigate claims of paranormal activity. Of the three aliens who had left Lanulos for Earth, Lach was the only one who had adapted. “Think you’ll ever be back this way again?”

  Evening shrugged. “If I am, I shall look you up, Sergeant. But I have a feeling you will be more than content to live a life that does not include dimension travelers and extraterrestrial visitors.” He turned away then hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. “For the record, you have been a good friend, Caden Flynn.”

  In case you missed it, keep reading for an excerpt from the first Point Pleasant novel:

  A THOUSAND YESTERYEARS

  Behind a legend lies the truth…

  As a child, Eve Parrish lost her father and her best friend, Maggie Flynn, in a tragic bridge collapse. Fifteen years later, she returns to Point Pleasant to settle her deceased aunt’s estate. Though much has changed about the once thriving river community, the ghost of tragedy still weighs heavily on the town, as do rumors and sightings of the Mothman, a local legend. When Eve uncovers startling information about her aunt’s death, that legend is in danger of becoming all too real . . .

  Caden Flynn is one of the few lucky survivors of the bridge collapse but blames himself for coercing his younger sister out that night. He’s carried that guilt for fifteen years, unaware of darker currents haunting the town. It isn’t long before Eve’s arrival unravels an old secret—one that places her and Caden in the crosshairs of a deadly killer . . .

  A Lyrical e-book on sale now.

  Learn more about Mae at http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/29541

  Prologue

  December 15, 1967

  Point Pleasant, West Virginia

  “Do you think Caden Flynn will go?” Eve Parrish kept pace with her friend, Sarah, as a brisk December wind pushed them down Main Street toward the Crowne Theatre. Eager for a glimpse of the movie poster that had everyone in the tiny river town of Point Pleasant, West Virginia, talking, she barely felt the sting on her cheeks. Her mother would box her ears if she knew what Eve was up to, but all the boys at school said the poster hung in the window, plain as day for anyone to see. That had to mean she could sneak a peek. She was twelve now, practically a teenager.

  Her parents had called The Graduate racy, and Mrs. Quiggly, who sold brown eggs and fresh milk from her farm outside town, said the poster was shameless. She wanted to bring a petition against the theater and make them take the “vile thing” down.

  “Silly busybody,” Aunt Rosie had chided behind her back. Never one to get hung up on proper behavior, Aunt Rosie did artsy things like taking photographs and hosting moonlight picnics for friends. She even had a dark room in her home and occasionally sold shots to the local paper who proudly displayed them with the byline Photo courtesy of Rosalind Parrish.

  “I heard Caden tell Wyatt Fisher they should take their girlfriends to see it,” Sarah said, interrupting her thoughts.

  Eve gasped. It was bad enough the boys might see a movie as shocking as The Graduate, but more appalling that girls would go, too.

  “Maybe they’ll chicken out.” She had a hopeless crush on Caden, an awkward situation given he was eighteen and the brother of her friend, Maggie. Although careful not to make a fool of herself whenever Caden was around, she usually ended up tongue-tied.

  Sarah shrugged and tugged the collar of her coat higher against the wind. Several cars drove by in the pre-holiday rush, the glow of headlights holding the night at bay. Sunset was still a half hour away, plenty of time for Eve and Sarah to reach the theater and ogle the poster. The movie didn’t open until next week, but the buzz it generated had already swept through their school.

  “I wish Maggie was with us,” Eve said with a touch of melancholy.

  Sarah rubbed her reddening nose. “Me, too.”

  The walk to the Crowne was only a few blocks from the Parrish Hotel, owned by Eve’s parents and Aunt Rosie. Despite the short distance, it was cold enough to make her wish she’d brought a scarf. At least she’d have something titillating to share with Maggie once she saw the poster. Maybe her gushing about how improper the advertisement looked would make her friend smile.

  “Do you think she really saw the Mothman?” Sarah’s voice was barely audible. Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder as if fearing the giant birdlike humanoid would sweep from the sky. “Was she near the TNT?”

  Eve shook her head.

  A remote area of dense woods and small ponds, the TNT had once been used to store ammunition during World War II. Eve’s father had taken her there on a few occasions, allowing her to explore the abandoned weapons “igloos.” But ever since the Mothman was first spied in the region, she hadn’t been back. Her father said bad things happened there, and Mrs. Quiggly insisted the place was a haven for UFOs.

  “She was visiting Nana and followed Mischief into the Witch Wood.”

  A fat orange tabby, Mischief belonged to Maggie’s grandmother, an elderly woman who everyone called Nana. She lived in a sprawling house snuggled up to a thicket of woods at the farthest end of town. Eve and Maggie had dubbed the thicket the “Witch Wood” after discovering a sycamore tree that resembled an old woman with legs.

  “But it’s too cold to go into the Witch Wood now,” Sarah protested.

  Eve nodded. She, Maggie, and Sara occasionally played there, but usually in the spring and summer when the trees were green with leaves, making it easy to catch caterpillars and grasshoppers.

  “Maggie was afraid Mischief would get lost.”

  Sarah made a pffing sound. “As if! He’s always getting into trouble and always finds his way home. I wish she hadn’t followed him.”

  “Me, too.” Eve bit her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth. She’d visited her friend for a brief time yesterday, finding Maggie huddled beneath the blankets in her bedroom. She hadn’t been to school for three days. “She’s afraid to go outside.”

  They had almost r
eached the theater. Farther down the street, traffic was lined up at the red light that led to the Silver Bridge. Her father would be home soon, returning from Gallipolis, a neighboring city nestled on the Ohio side of the river. He’d headed there earlier in the afternoon to meet a friend, and like everyone else, would need to cross the Silver Bridge.

  “I heard the Mothman’s eyes are red,” Sarah said.

  “Maggie thought so. She told me when she couldn’t find Mischief, she got an odd feeling, like something bad had happened. Her skin broke out in goose bumps.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened. She rubbed her nose again. “My mom says people get a weird sensation when they see the Mothman. I’ve heard her talking about it to my dad when she thinks I’m not around.”

  “My parents do the same thing.” How strange to be focused on something scary when everything around them reflected the festive mood of the coming Christmas holiday. The streetlights on Main were decorated with cheerful ribbons, wreaths, and pinecones, and a lighted Christmas tree brightened the display window of G. C. Murphy, the local five-and-dime. At the store entrance, a man in a Santa Claus suit called out holiday greetings and beckoned shoppers inside. A sense of excitement and seasonal cheer hung in the air.

  “Maggie was scared.” Eve wet her lips, remembering what her friend had told her. “She thought she heard a noise. Like scraping, or someone digging.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She crept closer, but stayed hidden behind the trees. At least, she thought she was.”

  There was no mistaking Sarah’s nervousness as she squeezed her mittened hands together. “But she wasn’t?”

  Eve shook her head, only then realizing how frightened she was for her friend. A lot of people thought the Mothman was trying to warn the town about something terrible, like a looming disaster, and that’s why it kept reappearing. But Maggie said the creature was awful. A hideous monster with hateful eyes that bored into her soul. Those who’d seen it said its eyes were so ghastly, they couldn’t recall any other feature of its face. Rumored to be at least seven feet tall, it had large wings that allowed it to fly vertically like a helicopter. Most said it was gray in color, and the Mothman’s terrifying eyes glowed scarlet even in the daylight.