One eye twitched shut, the other rolling back to retreat under a fluttering eyelid. “Talk fast,” Ireland gasped.
Rip showered Ridley with spit in his attempted to whisper, “Thith would be thweet if wathn’t for the known killer athpect.”
Despite his threatening façade, Noah eased up on the talisman, keeping it in place with only the pad of his thumb. “You wanna know why I check my phone all the time? It’s because I thought I was important back in Sleepy Hollow. I was busy everyday—handling this, running there—and in my mind that meant people needed me. Then, I left town with you. Wanna know what I figured out?”
“Mmmmhmmm,” Ireland squeaked with a meager nod.
“That my entire life back there could be wiped away with one simple phone call. Turns out I was filling my days with busy work that my family could easily hand over to someone else.” The tendons of his jaw tightened at the audible sorrow that crept into his voice. “So, yes, I was bummed about that, but not bad enough to bother my girlfriend with it. Especially since she was dealing with having a killer poltergeist squatting somewhere in her subconscious.”
Ireland forced both watering eyes open, the angry red skin of her forehead creasing with concern. “You could have—”
“Pretty sure I wasn’t done talking.” The extra thump Noah gave the talisman acted as a none-too-subtle reminder of their situation. “You just had a sword to my jugular. I think you can let me have the floor for a minute.”
Pressing her lips together in a firm white line, Ireland hitched one eyebrow in an invitation for him to continue.
“I was upset about all of this, until I had to carry your limp and lifeless body into the emergency room,” staring deep into her eyes, where there was no room for anything but the bitter truth, his voice grew husky with emotion. “I thought I lost you, Ireland. And in that moment everything became crystal clear to me. Everything that occupied my time before was just filler to distract me until you came along. With you I’m needed … and hopefully wanted?” His tone rose at the end just enough to make it a question.
Keeping her lips clamped, Ireland jerked her chin down in a brief nod of absolute confirmation.
“You’re my true north. Where I belong and where I was always meant to be.” A bit of the tension melted from his handsome face, that half-smile she adored tugged back the corner of his mouth. “You see where I’m going with this?”
Purposely blanking her face of all emotion, Ireland stared … and blinked. “You’re frying my frontal lobe. I’m pretty sure I’m going to need it spelled out to me using small words.”
Noah dipped his head closer, the warmth of his breath causing a naughty little rush to fill her chest that seemed insanely inappropriate considering their circumstances. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m in love with you, ya beautiful dumbass.”
A hot blush rushed up her neck, filled her cheeks, and tiptoed its way to her ear lobes. “I’d really want to say it back, but not while my forehead smells like bacon.”
“That’s fair.” He nodded. “If I take the talisman off, will you sheath your sword?”
“You have my exceedingly grateful word.”
Slapping his hand against the grimy tile floor, Noah retracted the talisman and shoved himself away, backing away with his hands raised. Ireland rolled to her side, panting to steady her breathing, the edge of her sword scrapping against the floor. Slowly she rose to her feet, her overly cautious posture mirroring Noah’s. The tunnel around them darkened to midnight’s navy shroud as if reflecting the dark moods of its collective inhabitants.
“Now’s your chance Horseman!” Curling around her neck like a scarf, Young Rip blew the hair from her neck and prompted a potent shiver to shudder through her. “All those lies and secrets. You can’t believe a word he utters! Seize this moment. Finish him.”
Ireland’s neck snapped in his direction, her bothersome bangs falling into her eyes. “What? This isn’t Mortal Kombat! There will be no finishing of anyone.”
“Enough!” Ridley barked, his adamant outburst demanding their attention. His narrowed, blazing glare lassoed Young Rip and drew the essence toward him. “You’re playing us like puppets. For what? Your own amusement?” Young Rip opened his mouth to answer, yet was silenced by a sharp shake of Ridley’s head. “The reason doesn’t matter. It ends now!”
Without a word of argument, Young Rip came to rest beside Ridley. His hands folded respectfully in front of him.
Rip’s head cocked in appreciation. “You contwoled him. Tha’th a nifthy trick.”
“We’re gonna put a pin in that new development and discuss it in one second,” Ireland said, then caught Noah’s equally perplexed stare and turned her hip to show him her sword disappearing back into its sheath.
“I believe there was something you wanted to say?” he murmured, his features sharpening in a truly delectable come-hither invitation.
Her boots squeaked across the tile, making it one tentative stride before she pulled up short. “Uh … not until you put the talisman away.”
Noah’s gaze flicked up to her red and blistered forehead. “Oh, yeah! Sorry.”
Following her lead, he held the talisman up by its chain, letting the heavy medallion sway beneath his palm before depositing it into the front pocket of his jeans. Both hands rose and he spun in a small circle to assure her it was well hidden. “We good?”
A slow smile dawned on her face, brightening it like a thousand sunrises. The pair closed the gap between them with matched urgency. Her arms weaved around his neck as he caught her by the waist and swept her up in his arms.
“I love you, too,” she breathed the words into him, delving into the sweet surrender of his kiss.
“Cautious romance,” Ridley forced a chuckle. His attempt slightly tarnished by the tight set of his jaw an outsider may have guessed to be jealousy. “That’s what we just witnessed here.”
“I had no doubths they would work it out,” Rip gazed on like a proud papa. “A bond like theirths is w’itten in dah sarths. Madda Fa’e thmiling on dem with her sarindpths gith. It may ha’e tharted wif Ikabah and Kathfrina, but dah hath thurpad dat wif deir own thpechul fercumthanths.”
“Didn’t get a word of that, buddy,” Ridley admitted, clapping a comforting hand on Rip’s shoulder that sagged with frustration.
24
Edgar
“I did not expect events to unfold in the manner they did.” Lenore smoothed the ruffles of her skirt with her hands, as if such an act could erase the gore or singe marks from the fabric. “Not to say any were innocent. Those in his employ openly jested with him about the opportunity presented by the plague. Can you imagine? How gruesomely vulgar!”
Edgar tore his gaze from the rocking carriage wall in front of him and glanced her way. All emotion noticeably absent from his tone. “There are tiny bits of flesh tangled in your hair.”
If blood still pumped through her veins she may have blushed as she dipped her head to self-consciously brush it away. “I truly am sorry you saw me like that, Edgar. I lost myself. I am aware of that. Even so, I am confident that if you had heard all the horrible things those poor girls had to endure, you would have done just as I did.”
Edgar could manage nothing more than a weak nod. His stare returning to the carriage wall before him, as he did his best to emulate it.
Think nothing.
Feel nothing.
Be … nothing.
He fought off his blinks, spacing them out as far as his dry, tired eyes would allow. For tonight, death and mayhem lived behind his lids. Each blink bringing another horrifying flash of memory.
In the oddest of ways he missed Dougie and the other spirits that had long tormented him. In comparison to this, those seemed fleeting moments of horrific fancy that passed to reveal themselves as nothing more than illusions. This? There was no waking from this threshold of hell. The smell of burning flesh that still filled his nose acted as proof of that.
Lenore chattered away the
entire voyage home, the anxious lilt in her voice audible. As the carriage lulled them side-to-side, her hand sought out his, seeking the reassurance of his touch. Without hesitation he offered her that. His fingers closing around hers, cold and smooth as marble. Still, he rode in silence, refusing to let himself feel, for the emotions swirling within him were too dreadful and heart wrenching to entertain.
The carriage horses eased to a stop in front of their bungalow, gravel crunching under the back wheels. The driver, whose services they rented for the night, hopped down and opened the door for them.
His friendly face folded in an expression of sincere empathy. “Can you get her inside sufficiently, sir? Such an ordeal you went through! Barely escaping that fire!”
“We will be fine, thank you,” Edgar said with a dismissive nod and took Lenore’s elbow to guide her inside. Courtesy was a trait for another night.
The moment they stepped inside the cottage Lenore fell against the door, securing them in their private sanctuary. “I made a mistake removing my mask. If I dare step into town people could recognize me. It may become mandatory for us to move on. First, we should let things settle. Perhaps stay out of sight for a while?” Pushing herself off the doorframe she reached for Edgar. Catching his hand, she brought it to her cheek and dotted his palm with a kiss. “Would you like that, Edgar? We could have a holiday here at home and spend an entire week in bed.”
“No truer Heaven on Earth could exist,” he rasped. Patting her hand, he pulled away, needing a bit of distance to collect himself. “I desire a spot of chamomile tea. Can I brew you some as well, my flower?”
“That sounds wonderful. I will go change into my night clothes and meet you on the veranda. Such a beautiful night, it would be a shame not to enjoy it.” Lenore paused by the bedroom door and glanced back, her hair parting to offer a glimpse of the elegant curve of her shoulder. “Edgar?” she called as he turned for the kitchen.
Praying his face remained a neutral, he turned back. His eyebrows raised in expectation.
So many meaningless words fell from her lips that night, yet finally she found the only three that would crack the solid wall forming around his heart. “I love you.”
“And I you. Until my very last breath, I shall belong to you alone.”
Contentment softened her exquisite features, adding a sparkle to her otherworldly amethyst eyes. She held his stare long enough to blow him a kiss before leaving him to his task.
Edgar moved through a fog of tumultuous thoughts. His body carried out motions purely on well-practiced habit: filling the teapot, digging her favorite chamomile blend from the cupboard, retrieving the sugar bowl. Across the house he heard the boudoir door click shut. Only then did he expel a shaky breath and extract the broken chunk of dogwood from his pocket. Breaking off one small sliver, he dropped it into the brewing teapot then pocketed the remaining shard. He carried on preparing the tea to suit her—two sugar cubes and a splash of cream. After loading a platter with cups for them both, he carried it out to the veranda.
Lenore joined him just as he set the tray on the table, her white lace dressing gown flitting around her ankles. Her hair, brushed free from its curls, danced in the night breeze. Having snatched her favorite quilt from her rocking chair, she flung it around her shoulders as she walked. She settled onto the settee, padding the seat beside her for Edgar to join her. Gathering both cups from the tray, he did just that.
Edgar handed Lenore her tea, his eyes never leaving her face as he tentatively sipped his own. Flicking his tongue over his lips, he searched the flavor for even a hint of taste variance. He found none. Would she?
Lenore’s shoulders curled around her cup as she inhaled the aroma, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Indulging herself in a sip, her brow momentarily creased. Edgar’s heart lurched in a stutter-start, before thudding against his ribs in a rampant rhythm.
“Mmmm, I do love this blend.” She smiled appreciatively and tipped her cup for a second sip.
Edgar drained his cup in silence, watching and waiting with bated breath to see if his suspicions were true. Confirmation came before the clock chimed a new hour. Lenore’s lashes brushed the tops of her cheeks, each blink longer than her last. Then, for the first time in months, she slept.
Only then did Edgar allow his true emotions to pour out. His shoulders shook, his quaking body folding to the ground, as sorrow streaked his face in torrents.
What followed were six days of bliss, and six nights of anguish.
A yin and yang of emotional torment.
Days tangled in the sheets, exploring new realms of pleasure with his beautiful flower.
Nights locked in his work shed, tear drops falling like rain on his loathsome dogwood project.
Days seeing God in the euphoria of her touch.
Nights fearing His wrath for what had become.
Days reveling in the seductive oasis of her mouth.
Nights lost in a desolate desert of loneliness.
Days whispering vows against moist and eager lips.
Nights screaming anguished cries at the ceiling.
Days spoon feeding each other desserts, licking away any crumbs that fell.
Nights heaving and purging from the rotting guilt within.
Days watching her sip the tainted tea and longing to slap it from her hands,
Nights rejoicing in the moments of peace he’d brought to her troubled soul.
On the seventh day, everything changed.
25
Ridley
The dynamic in the space had changed. How? Ireland wasn’t sure. Yet the anxious knot in her gut told her something was … off. At first she thought her uttering the L word to Noah had induced a mini-panic attack. While her inner commitment-phobe was screaming like a skydiver whose chute wouldn’t open, that wasn’t the cause of the prickly sensation setting her nerves on edge.
“And it happened the second you realized the Younger Rip was playing us against each other?” Ireland asked Ridley, with a tone as stern as a pounded gavel. She glanced back over her shoulder, unable to shake the feeling someone was following them.
“That very instant. It was as if something inside me just clicked,” Ridley snapped his fingers in demonstration, relief coating him like a much needed rain after the most desolate of droughts. “I felt my … will—for lack of a better word—stretch. I flicked it out, and jerked the mouthy essence into submission.”
Ireland chewed on her lower lip, the fingers of her free hand tapping the hilt of her sword. “What about the other spirits? If I let go of you right now could you still see them?”
Ridley’s hand slid from hers, leaving it chilled in the vacancy. He took his time, glancing around and studying the tunnel.
“They’re still here,” he nodded, his fingers lacing with hers once more. A strand of ebony hair, gleaming blue in the mystically enhanced light, fell across his forehead as he shot her a victorious grin. “Some have slunk back into the shadows. Others are bowing their heads in a show of respect. I think they’re afraid of me.”
Ireland’s head twitched like a confused puppy. “Then why are we still holding hands?”
“Seeing you make out with Noah left me feeling forlorn and dejected,” Ridley attempted a mock pout that veered far from convincing thanks to the mischievous crinkles of amusement at the corners of his eyes. “I just needed to feel I was still … you know … your special little guy.”
“Why do I bother talking to you?” Ireland asked herself, yanking her hand free from his.
“Because I’m devilishly handsome and positively ooze charisma? Or, because I’m the only other cursed misfit you know?” Ridley shrugged, his lips twisting to the side. “I’m inclined to go with the first option.”
Ignoring his wisecrack, Ireland kept her steely gaze locked on the silhouettes of Noah, Rip, and their spectral guide in front of her. “Can you tell if Lenore is close by? I’ve got a bad feeling I can’t shake.”
“Sorry, no.” Ridley wiped at the
beads of sweat on his brow with his forearm, caused by the stuffy air deep within the abandoned tunnel. “But that does bring up an imperative question. Do you have any idea how to stop Lenore? Death didn’t seem to take the first time she tried it out.”
Ireland drew her chin to her shoulder, listening to a soft hum somewhere in the distance. “I plan to put the pointy end of this into her and repeat as necessary,” she said off-handedly, pushing down on the hilt to flip the tip of her sword up.
“Not too complex, I like that part.” Ridley followed her stare, glancing behind them, his expression a question mark. “That said, do you think it will actually work?”
The hum grew unmistakably louder. Roaring in like an aircraft propeller. “Not sure. That said, here comes plan b. Heads up.” Curling her hand around the back of his neck, Ireland shoved Ridley toward the ground.
“Wha-?” he stammered, but didn’t fight her attempt to bend him in half.
Raising one hand, she caught her axe mid-flight. “There you are! Were you stuck in that brick wall this whole time? Poor little guy!”
Ridley corrected his posture. His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline as he tried unsuccessfully to fend off a judgmental smirk.
“To clarify, I’ve never talked to my weapons before.” Ireland sheepishly flipped her axe in her palm and returned it to the leather loop on her belt. “And now that I see how creepy it is I won’t be doing it again.”
Ridley’s lips moved, forming a response that Ireland suddenly couldn’t decipher a syllable of over the gruff boom echoing through her mind.
Surround yourself with people and you willbe betrayed, the Hessian hissed.
The severity of his tone seeped through her marrow like liquid Adamantium, solidifying her spine into impenetrable steel like a certain surely X-Men character.
“Hey, Ire?”
Jerking in surprise at Noah’s voice in her ear, Ireland spun and drew. The point of her blade landing mere centimeters from giving him a brutally close shave.
Raven (Legends Saga Book 2) Page 17