“What was that great plume of fog? The white light that exploded? Was that Isengrim’s spell?”
“I don’t know,” said Ryan. “But whatever it was, it didn’t work, which I think we can be grateful for. We need to get back to Raynard Hall, immediately, and find some answers in Kylie’s books.”
“Where’s Miss Havisham?” I cried, glancing around frantically.
Ryan pointed behind me. I turned my head and there she was, sitting on top of her dress on the back of my seat, paws folded beneath her in a posture of complete contentment, staring down at me with a mixture of pity and disgust.
“Typical.” I reached up and stretched her behind the ears. She started to purr, tilting her head to the side so she could rub her cheek against my hand.
Ryan turned around and clambered between the seats. Melissa snapped at him that he needed to get his tackle out of her face, but he paid her no heed as he slithered into the backseat and sat down beside me, lifting me off Kylie and pulling me against him. “Hey,” he squeezed my hand, his breath warm on my ear. “It’s going to be OK.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but all that came out was a strangled sob. Now that we were in the car, heading for safety, the adrenaline was starting to fade. My whole body shook with fear, and tears rushed down my cheeks.
Ryan wrapped his arm around me, enveloping me in his warmth. I rested my ear on his chest, listening to his heart thundering away beneath his ribcage.
“Being with you is going to end up costing me my fortune,” he said. “With all this unplanned shifting to constantly save you from peril, I’ve lost more good shirts in the last week than I have the entire year. Do you have any idea how much Armani shirts cost?”
I smiled weakly, snuggling deeper into his embrace.
11
I awoke with a start, my mind reaching back to some terrifying shadow on the edge of my vision, a memory of a nightmare that had haunted my sleep. I couldn’t remember what it was about, but the unsettling feeling remained. I reached across the silken sheets to feel the reassuring warmth of Ryan, but found him gone. Instead, my hand grazed Miss Havisham, who lay curled in a ball in the warm patch he’d left behind in the bed, her whiskers twitching as she opened one lazy eye to regard me. I scratched under her chin.
I rolled over, taking stock of my surroundings. I was in Ryan’s bedroom at Raynard Hall. I got up slowly, my whole body aching, and padded across the soft carpet to stand in front of the huge picture window that covered the entire opposite wall. Below me I could see the gardens at the back of the manor – several beds disturbed, the flowers pulled up from all the scufflings of the previous few days. Beyond the gardens was Crookshollow forest, the dark shadows of the trees leaning over oppressively, encroaching ever closer to the rigid tidiness of the English garden. The forest used to be a haven for me, a place I went to be alone with my thoughts, to focus my mind on my art. But now, it no longer seemed friendly and welcoming, but grim and menacing, a dangerous world from a fairy tale, filled with monsters and wicked witches ready to gobble me up.
A single chair stood in the corner of the room. It hadn’t been there last time I was here. I stepped up to it, and saw that a pile of clothes had been stacked there. Woman’s clothes, no doubt from Melissa’s old wardrobe in the other room. The idea of wearing Melissa’s clothing still freaked me out, but as I ran my fingers over the soft fabrics, I decided that it would probably drive her insane, and that made it completely OK.
I brought the stack over to the bed and started sorting through them, trying to decide what to wear to breakfast. Miss Havisham opened one lazy eye, gave me a disgruntled “meow” at the mess of garments messing up the bed, then jumped off and padded out the door. Taking that as a cue that I should follow, I pulled on warm leggings and a floppy, long-sleeved knit dress (casual, but I knew the dress hugged my body in a flattering way, and it would drive Ryan crazy), and trudged after her.
As I followed the endless hallways toward the kitchen, delicious smells wafted along to meet me. I turned the corner into the kitchen, and a wonderful sight greeted me. Ryan stood over the stove, pulling up the edges of a perfect Spanish frittata. I could see bacon, gourmet sausages and tomato slices grilling in the oven. No one else was there yet, except for Miss Havisham, who had already staked out a seat and was using her paw like a hook to pull the bacon dish closer to her. I slid into a seat at the kitchen island and grinned up at him.
“I could get used to this,” I leaned up to kiss him as he set a plate of food down in front of me.
“Please do,” he covered my mouth in his.
He must’ve been up early, as he’d even picked some flowers from the front garden to place on the table. The mail and the morning newspaper sat by my place, along with a pot of fresh, hot coffee. Ryan turned back to the stove, and I flipped open the paper, wondering if there had been any more shifter attacks in the last couple of days.
Staring at the front page made me lose my appetite.
Nearly the entire front page was taken up with an image of four cars, stacked on top of each other, the frames mangled and burned. “Oh, no,” I breathed, as I gazed in horror at the headline that accompanied the horrific image. TEN DIE IN HORRIFIC CRASH.
I read on. There were no witnesses, of course, but the police had found several animal tracks in dirt on the edge of the road. They thought that perhaps an animal had wandered on the road, causing one of the cars to swerve onto the other side to avoid it, hitting the second car. Bad luck had the other two vehicles on the usually deserted road, going too fast to avoid the accident. Only one person survived, and they were in critical condition in the hospital. The police were hoping they would wake up for questioning.
Ryan read over my shoulder, stiffening as the words sank in. “Isengrim,” he snarled.
I could feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, as an image of the mangled car wreck that had marked my parents’ deaths flashed in front of my vision. “Ten people. There hasn’t been an accident this bad since that fire at the mill, and that was before my parents were born. All those people. Their poor families. How could Isengrim do something like this? What does it even achieve?”
“This isn’t just another killing,” Ryan frowned. “Look at where the accident occurred. It’s a crossroads. This was a sacrifice. What time did the accident occur?”
“Approximately ten-thirty …” I wiped my eyes with the backs of my hand. “That’s just before we went to the cemetery. Do you think the two are linked?”
He nodded. “There’s no denying whatever spell Isengrim cast in the cemetery last night, it was for no one’s good but his.”
“And look at this,” I wrinkled my nose in disgust as I pointed at a small article in the corner of the front page. FAMILY PET FOUND SKINNED ALIVE. A poor Alsatian over on Holly Avenue had been tortured to death, its skin removed and the remains left on the family’s doorstep. I squeezed my eyes shut, no longer feeling like finishing my breakfast. “Who would do something so cruel?”
Ryan started to say something, but I heard Kylie’s voice in the doorway. “Hey guys.”
I whirled around and saw her standing in the doorway wearing her nurse’s uniform. She took one look at my face and said. “So you heard about the accident, then? I just got off the phone with the hospital. They need me to go in today. The victim from the accident is stable now, but the A&E is overrun with vicious animal attacks. Am I even going to be able to get to the hospital, with those things out there … Alex, what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, Kylie,” I sniffed, blinking away the tears that flooded my eyes. There was no use holding back any more. I thrust the paper in her face, pointing to the little article about the dog. “The accident was horrific enough, but look at that. Who would do that to a poor dog? And that family? What a thing to find in the morning … it’s just sickening.”
“This accident is obviously Isengrim’s doing,” said Ryan. “It has all the components of an occult sacrifice. I think the animal
attacks are probably Isengrim’s pack letting off frustration after their spell failed. But I think the dog is probably just some sick kids–”
“Hang on …” Kylie grabbed the paper, scanning the article about the dog. “I think the dog and the car accident are related.”
“You do?”
Kylie held up her Therianthropy book, which she’d kept on her person ever since this thing had started, and flipped through the index. “I saw that somewhere … ah, here it is. A dog’s skin is used in the spell to summon a barghest.”
“A what?”
“A barghest.” She turned the book around, pointing to a woodcut showing a terrifying doglike demon marching across a battlefield, leaving a trail of slain, mangled bodies in its wake. “According to this, they are the spirits of those who have been wrongfully killed. A powerful witch can bring the spirits back into this world, in the form of terrifying black spectral dogs that appear before a harvest of death, often on battlefields.”
Ryan snatched the book from her hands. “Is this what you think Isengrim is trying to do?”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” I said. “We know from history that most accused witches were not actively practising any kind of pagan craft, they were simply woman who were accused by neighbours or former lovers or jealous friends. That cemetery is probably full of wrongfully-killed corpses. The skin of the dog was probably in that bundle Isengrim threw into the centre of the fog before everything exploded.”
“What I don’t understand is why?” Kylie said. “If I am right, what does he need with barghests?”
“Isengrim wants to either kill or enslave every last human in Crookshollow. What better way than with an army of witches with a grudge against the village, brought back as malevolent, shapeshifting dog spirits?”
“But they don’t have a live witch,” said Ryan, reading over Kylie’s shoulder. “This is complex magic. Not even Isengrim would be able to perform this spell on his own. That must be why it backfired, and caused that huge explosion. He needs someone not just with extensive knowledge of old, dark lore, but someone local, someone descended from one of the witches in that graveyard …”
“Oh no,” I breathed, as I realised who fitted that description.
Ryan was already running toward his car. I took off after him. “What’s wrong?” I heard Kylie call.
“It’s Clara!” I cried. “They’ve gone after Clara!
Ryan drove so maniacally I was amazed we made it across town at all. I kept expecting a police car to pull out behind us, but one never did. Ryan’s mouth was set in a grim line as he swerved in and out of the narrow streets, one hand on the wheel and the other gripping my own so tight his knuckles had turned white. I wanted to say something to reassure him that it was going to be OK, but all the words that popped into my head seemed woefully inadequate. So we careered across Crookshollow in silence, dark thoughts flooding both our minds.
My hands clenched the tiny bottle of iridium pigment I'd found in my bedroom. I'd grabbed it as we left Raynard Hall, not certain what we'd come up against when we arrived at Clara's house. I slipped the bottle into the pocket of my jeans, the weight of the glass reassuring me.
Ryan sped down Clara’s street, pulled into her short drive and slammed on the brakes. I hadn’t even got my seatbelt unbuckled when he dove from the vehicle, vaulted her gate, and bolted inside. As I raced after him, I saw that the front door had been ripped from its hinges and lay at an odd angle across the porch.
“Oh, no,” I breathed. I entered the front hall, stepping around broken figurines and crystal fragments. The place had been trashed; paintings had fallen from the walls and lay, smashed, across the floor. The glass on the cabinet doors had been smashed, and all Clara’s treasures swept on to the floor. Long claw marks slashed across the wallpaper, which hung in ribbons. It looked like the place had been through an earthquake.
“Clara!” I called, racing through the rooms. “Marcus!”
No one answered.
I found Ryan standing at the doorway of a room just behind the kitchen. Under a large window, overlooking the garden, stood Clara’s altar. The table had been sliced in two. In the centre of the floor, a large circle drawn in some kind of white powder. One quarter of it had been smudged with red. Blood.
I bent down and wiped my fingers through the powder, then lifted them to my nose to sniff. “Salt.” I said. I remember reading in Kylie’s book that witches sometimes used salt for protection. It looked like Clara had been casting a protective circle when they’d burst in on her.
Kylie ran into the room, her mace swinging from her hands. “I’ve checked the garden,” she said. “I can’t see Clara or Marcus anywhere! There is blood along the fence, though.”
Ryan’s shoulders were heaving. He stared down at that smashed altar, his eyes burning with anger so intense it was terrifying. “She’s gone,” he whispered, his voice hard and cold. “They’ve taken Clara.”
TO BE CONTINUED
Art of Temptation
A Crookshollow foxes story, PART III
Steffanie Holmes
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to real persons, living or dead, found within are purely coincidental. All characters are consenting adults above the age of 18.
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Copyright 2015 Steffanie Holmes
http://steffanieholmes.com
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A Taste Of What's To Come
I had so many questions, but I didn’t speak them. I didn’t want to spoil the moment, to break the spell that caused this amazing feeling to course through my body. I kept staring straight ahead, not moving, not acknowledging him, just savouring the anticipation of his next move. The electricity crackled through the air around me, waves of energy caressing my skin, making every hair stand to attention.
Ryan leaned over without touching me, his lips just an inch from my earlobe. His breath whispered against my sensitive skin. “We’re all alone in here.” he said, his voice husky.
“We are,” I whispered back, my breath catching in my throat.
“We have this whole gallery to ourselves, all night.”
“We do.”
“All those long hours, stretched before us, whatever shall we do with them …” And then his lips were pressed against my earlobe, the fire of his touch rocketing straight to my brain. White lights danced before my eyes. I was seeing stars, literally seeing stars, nebulae, whole galaxies. My body sizzled as he pressed his lips harder, every fibre of my being focused on that one spot where our bodies touched. I could sense the tightness in his muscles. He was a coiled snake, preparing to strike. He was all the strength and tension of his paintings, come to life.
1
“Ryan!” I tore after him as he rushed from the house. I reached the front porch, only to see the front gate swinging against its hinges, and hear his footsteps rushing down the street. “Stop! Come back!”
He didn’t stop, didn’t turn around; he just kept right on running. As he ran, his body leaned forward, shrinking into itself. His clothes tore away from his limbs as his arms thudded against the pavement. His legs changed shape, and his thick red tail poked out from his jeans, which tore away as he bounded down the street, every muscle and sinew in his body engaged in hunting for his mother’s captors.
The fox reached the end of Clara’s street and turned off, heading toward the forest. I stopped running and leaned against the fence, my chest heaving as I struggled to catch my breath. There was no use going after him. I’d never catch him.
Kylie came up behind me, placing her hand on my shoulder. “This is bad,” she said, her face grave. I nodded, allowing her to put her arms around
me and lead me up the drive. Clara’s gone. Marcus’s gone. Ryan’s gone. I didn’t know what to do next.
“I can’t believe he just ran off like that,” she said.
“I can.” I knew I should feel angry that he was gone, but I couldn’t. I knew him too well. He couldn’t just sit back and think things through – once his animal instincts took over, he had no control over his choices. “Clara means everything to him. He may look like a man, but he has the habits and instincts of an animal. When his family is threatened, he’s going to act.” We climbed the steps and passed under the doorframe. My thigh grazed the corner of the torn door. I shivered as I noticed long claw-marks running through the wooden frame. “But we’re not safe here without him. Let’s find Melissa and the cat. We’d better go after him–”
“You’re not going anywhere, Princess.”
My head snapped up. There was Melissa, standing in the centre of the hallway, a thin, black pistol clutched in her perfectly manicured fingers. The barrel of the gun pointed directly at my head. At her feet, Miss Havisham yelled from inside a tiny cage, swiping her claws at Melissa’s legs.
“That’s a gun,” Kylie’s grip on my arm tightened.
“I know, Kylie.” I stared at Melissa’s gleaming eyes. “And she’s pointing it at us, which means that she doesn’t want to play nice anymore. But I don’t know why she thinks she can hurt us, as Clara’s protection charm will stop her harming us.”
“You mean this?” Melissa pulled a small, black object out of her pocket and waved it in the air. Clara’s pouch. My stomach tightened with fear. If she had that, things were worse than I thought.
Crookshollow foxes box set: The complete fox shapeshifter romance series Page 21