''If I understand you correctly, these nuns have been responsible for many deaths besides the ones on Halloween." He was again wondering if she was senile or bad a sick sense of humor, but he decided to play along for now.
''Of course. The twenty-four-year cycle is a high ritual sacrifice to their god. That's when they need a child's soul, a young male, preferably on the verge of manhood, yet still pure. They have procured them for centuries from here and there. It is a personal vendetta that has caused them to pick those of the Lawson-Moonfall bloodline. That and the fact that Minerva's power has been passed down to several of them, including you and Mark."
"You said they meant to kill me, not Greg?"
"Yes, but don't feel guilty. You have the gift and you've passed it on to your son. Greg did not have it. Because you did, along with your age, you were the more desirable sacrifice."
"Caspar Parker said his uncle was killed by a bear," John began, unwilling to think about Greg any longer.
''Yes. At least, that was the story. In truth, a nightflyer got him."
"So they don't just prey on Lawsons." For the moment, at least, John realized he was buying her story.
"Of course not. The sisters are subtler now than they once were, but they prey freely, usually on those with whom they have no quarrel."
"I had a friend, Doug Buckman-"
"Yes. They said he committed suicide, but it was murder."
John nodded. "I've always suspected it. Doug was sure we went to St. Gertrude's Halloween night. The rest of us didn't quite believe it."
"Some people are almost impossible to brainwash. Doug was one of them, and he paid for it with his life."
''Brainwash?"
"Yes. Brainwashing, spell-casting, sorcery. Take your pick. Do you ever wonder why it's so easy to forget about St. Gertrude's? It's in your mind one moment and gone the next. There are twelve nuns in the coven, any number of acolytes, many recruited from the orphans, and one high priest, who is a very powerful sorcerer. He and Lucy, his priestess, are capable of things you cannot imagine."
"Dashwood is the priest," John said with satisfaction.
"Of course."
"What about Boullan?"
Minerva snorted. "You might call him the waterboy from hell. He seems formidable, but that's just a touch of madness." She paused. "He has no power, no magic, but don't get me wrong: he could be dangerous in a purely down-to-earth way. He likes to eye the girls, but I don't know if he's ever laid hands on one. I suspect he has."
"How do you even know about him?"
"Remember your dream? I tried to visit you in your sleep and came up against a door?"
He nodded slowly.
"It's a taxing procedure, but that's one way I know. The other way, you'll understand much better. I have friends."
"The girl Mark mentioned?"
"Yes. Kelly is in great danger, I fear. The same as your son. I'm virtually certain they've marked her as the other sacrifice. She has the gift, the same as Mark, and since they can't convert her, they'll kill her."
"Other sacrifice?"
"A virgin female."
He nodded slowly. This was getting too weird. "What you're telling me is useless, legally. If there's abuse going on, if a victim would step forward, I'd have just cause for a search warrant."
"No one will talk. They don't remember." She hesitated. ''Kelly might- she's not very susceptible to brainwashing, but she doesn't really know anything of value."
John sat back, his feelings a mix of fascination and disgust. He decided to keep things light until he sorted out his impressions. "You said Emma Moonfall Lawson died here. Is this the original Moonfall home?''
"Yes. Your great-grandfather was born here. Minerva was the midwife."
''All the histories of the area say that the original Moonfall homestead burned down."
She eyed him. ''Do you think I want some historical society coming around trying to hang brass plaques on my front door? Many, many years ago a self-appointed historian came around, asking questions. She'd connected my last name with Emma's middle name. I claimed there was no relation."
"But there is."
''Of course."
"How are we related?" he asked. "Are you from another branch of Minerva's original family?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Well, then, tell me this. What was Minerva Moonfall's maiden name?"
She colored slightly and years washed away from her face with a coy smile. "You already know."
''Payne?"
"Yes. It means 'pagan,' you know."
"I know now." He studied her. How much was truth, how much was senility, and how much was her sense of whimsy, he had no idea. Whatever the mix, he realized he liked her, liked the idea of being related to her. ''Are you my aunt, or cousin, or ....? "
Minerva stared at him a long moment. ''Sara Hawthorne is a wonderful young woman," she said abruptly. "She needs you. She needs your protection."
"You know Sara?"
"She used to visit me when she was a student. Her friend Jenny died in her stead."
"You know about Jenny Blaine?" Finally, something he could use.
"Of course I do, and yes, she was used in a minor ceremony, then made to commit suicide."
"Sara thinks she was murdered."
"She was."
"That doesn't make sense."
"It would if you better understood Richard Dashwood's abilities to manipulate the mind." She rose and went to the couch, sat down beside him, and took his hand in both of hers. "Your friend Doug Buckman was forced to jump to his death. Jenny and many other girls were murdered, by their own hands or others'. You have no record of Jenny Blaine in your police files, do you?"
''No."
"That's the beauty of their set-up. The sisters keep to themselves; they keep their girls to themselves. Have you ever wondered about their apple orchards, John?"
''No. Should I?"
"Even in the bad years, their trees never fail. They rely on rain for irrigation, which no other orchard would do nowadays, and they have bumper crops even during the worst droughts. They advertise that their apples are organically grown, and that is true. Worms wouldn't dare touch one, no blight ever strikes, even in years when other growers lose entire orchards."
"What are you saying? That they use magic to grow apples?"
"They're organically grown, and when I say 'organically,' I mean it literally. Those apples are fed blood. Human blood and human flesh."
''Then why these sacrifices of Lawson males? Why risk taking someone from town if they have such a supply of orphans?"
"The orphans are merely fertilizer, for the most part. They also sacrifice one at each equinox and solstice. As for the Lawson boys, they have little access to young male virgins and there's also the matter of the vendetta."
She had an answer for everything. He looked down at her wrinkled hands covering his own. They were warm. "Minerva, where do the nightflyers figure in all this?"
"They are part of it"
"You know what they are, don't you?"
She laughed, a sad sound. "What they are is even beyond my belief."
"Caspar Parker claims they're gargoyles. That they turn to stone in the daylight."
''Do you believe him?"
''He was very drunk when he said it." He laughed softly and shook his head. "I don't know what I believe. I know they exist, and that animals that have been thought to live only in myth have been discovered recently. I read about a giant sloth that was discovered in South America a few years ago. The natives in the region thought it was a powerful god and had told stories about it for centuries, but there had never been any proof of its existence before. And a species of horse that was thought to be extinct for thousands of years was recently discovered thriving in Tibet. Giant squid. sea serpents." He raised his eyebrows and shrugged slightly. "Why not gargoyles? Bats sleep in caverns during the day and come out at night. Other animals hibernate in the winter. Why not a cr
eature that sleeps during the day in plain sight?" He smiled. "I draw the line at their turning to stone, though."
Minerva nodded. "I call them 'nightflyers' because 'gargoyles' sound even more ridiculous. I have some odd ideas about them, but they're only theories, and not worth talking about right now. But you're right, they don't turn to stone during the day because they've been flying in the daylight again, just as they have before."
"Every twenty-four years."
"Exactly. John, there's precious little time left. You have to save Mark, and you have to save yourself. And others as well. I will do everything I can to help you."
"With magic?"
''Yes, and knowledge. I will help you remember what happened when your brother died. Knowledge, as they say, is power."
"Why won't you tell me about yourself? How did you inherit this job, if that's what it is, from Minerva Moonfall?"
"It is my lot. It has always been and always will be. I'm much older than you think I am."
"You're not implying you're ... " His words trailed off into silence.
"That I'm your great-great-grandmother? Is that what you think?"
He smiled tightly and shrugged. "You tell me."
''No. You will tell me when the time is right. For now, what I will tell you is that I am a healer, a practitioner of the right-hand path. I have developed certain abilities I was born with. I have studied and worked at it, and I am proficient. I am quite old. and it is duty, magic, and willpower that increase my lifespan." She paused. "Perhaps willpower is magic. It is the duty of a healer to pass on the knowledge to someone who can use it. I cannot rest until I have trained an apprentice and put aside my own power. Training takes years, and I have yet to find my student. I have one in mind. however."
"That's what you're trying to do to Mark?" he asked, anger rising.
"Yes and no," she said bluntly. "It is solely up to Mark. The boy has the gift, but I believe he will turn it toward chemistry or modem medicine. He needs more proof than I can offer. He'd make a fine doctor, you know; a rare one with the insight to see more possibilities than most. He might make great strides in medicine."
John nodded. He had exactly those thoughts about Mark's future himself. "If not Mark, then who?"
"The girl I mentioned. the orphan, Kelly. She is very raw, but the abilities are within her, and she wants to learn."
"I see- " He shivered, suddenly freezing cold.
"It's all right, John." He heard Minerva's voice, felt her hands, the only warmth on his body.
His teeth chattered. ''What is it?"
"Someone's after you. Are you wearing the amulet I gave you?"
"N-no." He was growing colder, feeling like he was immersed in ice water.
''I told you to wear it." She took away one of her warm hands and plucked a charm out from under her collar, removed it and draped it over his head. "Don't take it off, and make sure Mark wears his. Make absolutely sure. "
Even his eyeballs felt frozen. Minerva put her other hand down to his and he grabbed it, held tight, draining the warmth from her.
"Hold on, John. It will pass." Minerva's voice was calm and firm, her grip like iron.
Slowly, he felt warmth begin to seep into his fingers, up through his hands and arms, into his chest, where the chill had been a knot constricting his heart. Minerva spoke unintelligible words, something with a Celtic sound, very foreign, yet not. Gaelic perhaps, or Welsh, he didn't know, couldn't think. Slowly his heart pumped warming blood up into his brain and down into his abdomen, legs, and feet. And as suddenly as it began, it was over. He looked at Minerva, saw her open her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, and for a moment she looked far younger than she normally did- then, far older. ''What the heck was that?"
"I told you," she said. "A spell. If you'd been wearing your amulet, it would have repelled the sorcery, and you'd have felt no more than a brief shiver."
"How?"
"You ask questions, just like your son. I don't know precisely how it works, I just know it does. Accept that, at least until we get safely through October."
As real as it had seemed. now that it was over, he couldn't believe that he'd felt anything but a herald of the flu. That was all he needed. "Tell me something."
"Yes?"
''It seems to me that if I take Mark out of town for Halloween, he'll be safe. Isn't that correct?"
''That works in theory, but you must be prepared. There are vectors coming together and you must be aware that things may not follow your plans." She cocked her head. "You wouldn't drive without wearing your seatbelt, would you?"
''Of course not."
''Then look upon the amulet as a seatbelt and alternative plans as locking your doors and looking both ways."
He laughed. "That's an odd way of putting it."
She smiled and let go of his hands. "I thought I might better convince you if I spoke in your terms."
"It does make more sense when you put it that way."
''They are already after you. They know you will interfere with their plans, and that makes you a marked man. Watch your every step, John. If you don't survive, neither will your son. Or Sara."
"We'll wear the amulets," he said, realizing he was serious. It couldn't hurt. Maybe it would help.
"Good. Digest what I've told you, then come back and let me help you remember. You cannot fight them successfully if you remain ignorant." She rose. ''Someone is waiting for you."
He looked at his wristwatch. It was past one o'clock, and this time, he had been so engrossed in Minerva's stories that be hadn't even heard her grandfather clock's chimes. "Sara?"
Minerva nodded and saw him to the door.
He turned toward her. ''Did Sara tell you she was coming to see me today?"
''No. But I hope she tells you everything that happened to her last week. I witnessed some of it. She's under attack, make no mistake. John, if she tells you, don't scoff. Just listen and accept it at face value."
"I will." He wanted to ask Minerva what she was talking about, but fought the urge. "How do you know she's coming to see me? I don't even know for sure."
"I can feel her. Can't you?"
"Yes," he said reluctantly. "Yes, I suppose I can."
Sixty
"Well, Richard, do you think our meddlesome sheriff is warming up yet?" Mother Lucy sat back on Dashwood's leather sofa and put her feet up on his mahogany coffee table.
The doctor knelt in the middle of the carpet, rolling up the black pentagram cloth they had used for the spell. ''Take your shoes off, Lucy. You'll scratch the finish." He lifted the cloth, folded it in half and took it to the armoire in his office. When he returned to the living room, one of Lucy's spike-heeled shoes flew at him, grazing his leg. "Bitch," he said fondly.
''Bastard." She tossed the other shoe at him and smiled.
"Well, did it work?"
''It worked, but something interfered."
''The old woman."
Dashwood was amused. Lucy refused to speak of Minerva Payne by name. "I'd say so. Lawson certainly wouldn't know how to protect himself on his own."
''I hate her." Lucy removed her black cowl and tossed it on the floor. "She's a pain in the ass."
Richard sat down at the other end of the couch. "I want you to let Kelly Reed out of solitary confinement, Lucy."
She laughed, combing her fingers through her long black hair. ''You want me to release her? You mean your precious little twist wants her released, don't you?"
"Yes, Lucy. It will help keep Sara in line if she has the girl to dote on."
"Is our little Sara giving you problems, then?" Lucy's voice oozed venom. "Would she rather fuck the sheriff than you?"
Dashwood smiled despite his annoyance. Lucy was and always would be the most jealous woman in the world. She'd ordered him to seduce Sara to keep her from causing trouble, but she hated that be spent any time with the young woman and tortured him for it.
"Yes," he said, knowing it would make Lucy happy. "She'd rathe
r fuck the sheriff. She followed him out of the bar last night and they kissed. I couldn't get her to come back to my apartment afterward."
"Does she know you saw them?"
"No, of course not."
"And those mesmerizing eyes of yours didn't work?"
"I couldn't even get her to swallow a truffle."
"So she didn't dream last night?"
"I doubt it."
''And now you want me to release the Reed girl to do the job you couldn't do?"
''Yes." He hated the Mother Superior for her need to humiliate him, but there were other things he loved about her. Her power, her intelligence, her greed, her lust. All those little deadly sins that made her Lucy Bartholomew.
"Come closer." Lucy stood and unbuttoned her habit, then sat back down, positioning herself so that he could see the black lace garter at the top of her stocking, and a curve of breast above the black demi-bra. He moved closer. "You say the sheriff kissed our little Sara?"
"Yes, Lucy."
"Show me what sort of kiss it was," she ordered.
He did. Kissing Lucy was always repulsive at first. The ridiculous old-fashioned concoction she used to keep herself young, with its overtones of cinnamon and dampness, permeated her skin and breath. It was, he thought, like kissing a freshly prepared and spiced mummy. But mummies didn't move, and Lucy certainly did. She could do tricks with her tongue that still astounded him, and as she worked her magic, he began to respond. Finally she pulled away and put her hand over his erection. "I'll release Kelly Reed, but first we must do something to put the fear of-“ she barked a laugh- "God into her."
"The lady in white might pay her a visit," Dashwood suggested.
"Just what I was thinking. But first," she said, squeezing him hard, ''we need to renew our strength."
"Yes." He was breathing raggedly, aching with need and repulsion. The combination increased his passion.
"Call Regina and tell her to remove Kelly's light bulb now. We'll let her sit in the dark for a while while we exercise your magic wand." She laughed throatily. "After an hour or so without light, Kelly should be quite ready to receive the white lady, don't you think?"
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