Praxis Novellas, Mosaic Chronicles Book Two

by Andrea Pearson

  Small symbols she hadn’t noticed before were etched into the side. She looked closer, seeing that they were words.

  Quis est iste qui venit

  Lizzie frowned. It looked like Spanish, but different. Portuguese? No . . . Then it dawned on her. Latin. She ran to her bag and grabbed her laptop, connected to the Internet, then pulled up a search browser and typed in the Latin words, followed by “translate.”

  “Who is this that is coming,” she read out loud. She leaned back, folding her arms. Why on earth would that be on a whistle?

  A smiled crept across her face as she thought of Sparky Ann, her childhood dog. Lizzie turned the whistle in her hands, wondering if it had been owned by Sutherland and if he’d used it to call his dog. She brought it to her lips and blew.

  A pure, delicate note issued forth—prettier than anything a flute could possibly make. For a moment, she felt like she was about to black out. Instead, a scene or vision entered her mind. A tall blond woman, slender, with dark eyes, holding her hand toward a rugged-looking man who stood several feet away. They were on the shores of what appeared to be a huge lake or bay. The moon was bright.

  The man seemed to hesitate at first, then he shook his head and turned away, and a disappointed, hurt expression crossed the woman’s face.

  The scene ended just then and Lizzie lowered her hand, wondering at the power of the little whistle. She just saw a vision. Weird. A melancholy feeling swept over her, and she found herself wishing she could comfort the woman. Why did the guy reject her?

  Suddenly, a brisk wind howled at the window, interrupting her thoughts. She walked toward the glass, looking out. Storm clouds billowed overhead and lightning flashed once—twice—across the sky.

  Remembering the whistle, she again brought it to her lips, hoping to see more of the woman and man.

  The sound was louder this time, and not as melodic, but no picture followed.

  As soon as the note ended, the wind crashed against her window so hard, she fell to the ground in shock. Lizzie looked outside, expecting to see broken trees littering the yard. For some reason, her gaze was drawn to the statue on the other side of the drive. She frowned. It looked like it was staring at her. But that wasn’t possible—the statue had been situated with its gaze directed at the front door, three floors down.

  Lizzie backed away from the window, not wanting to see anymore.

  Just then, someone knocked, making her jump.

  She fluffed her curls, straightened her shirt, then pulled the door open.

  “Are you okay?” Steph asked. “We heard a banging and wondered if something happened.”

  “Oh, I’m fine.” Lizzie felt a blush creep across her cheeks. “I did fall, though. Kinda embarrassing.”

  Steph smiled and walked into the room, heading for the bathroom. “Do you have enough towels? Blankets?”

  “Yes, definitely. Thank you for checking.”

  The older woman turned back to Lizzie, a concerned expression on her face. “Well, all right. We’re in the room next door if you do need anything, and Sarah will be coming by sometime in the morning to change your sheets. We’ll have breakfast at nine.”

  Another gust of wind rushed past the windows, startling both Steph and Lizzie.

  “Sounds like we’ve got a storm coming. Bundle up tight! The place gets a bit cold sometimes.”

  Lizzie shut the door behind Steph, then tucked herself into bed, doing her best not to look out the window.

  Sleep did not come instantly. Lizzie spent several hours tossing and turning, trying to block out the angry wind. After forever, she gave up and stared at the coffered ceiling above, trying mental games to calm her brain down. But then her mind started playing tricks on her, and she thought she saw weird shapes crawling across the walls and ceiling.

  She shut her eyes tight, pulling the blanket over her head. But still, sleep did not rescue her.

  After another couple of hours, she threw the covers back in exasperation and turned on the bedside light.

  A sudden splash of water on the window made her jump, and she yanked the pillow over her head. Was it the rain? Or had someone dumped a bucket of water on the glass? That seemed like an eccentric thing to do . . . Right? And how could they have done it that far off the ground?

  When nothing more happened, Lizzie looked at the pane. The glass was dripping wet, but it wasn’t raining. “Stop imagining things, Lizzie,” she whispered.

  Pushing away her fears, she walked toward the window. The trees swayed in the brisk breeze, but everything else was calm.

  Without meaning to, she glanced at the statue and regretted it. She jumped away from the window, putting her back to the wall, breathing hard. “Whoa. Lizzie. Knock it off. Seriously. Calm down.” But no matter what she told herself, she knew her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

  She peered around the corner just to be sure. The statue was looking at her and was closer to her window. How was that possible? And what’s more, its robes looked like they were getting longer—actively getting longer. Almost as if they were alive and growing. The face with that alluring smile stared up at her, and it was almost as if the distance between Lizzie’s room and the driveway had shortened, making her feel like she was on the second floor instead of the third, or like the ground was coming up to meet her.

  She was going crazy.

  Lizzie grabbed her cell phone and jumped back in bed, pulling the blanket over her head. She opened her Kindle application and loaded her favorite Jane Austen book, reading as fast as she could, trying to force creepy thoughts away with visions of Fredrick Wentworth.

  ***

  Sometime after that, and with no further disturbances, Lizzie finally fell asleep. The next morning, she dashed downstairs, eager for human company. But it seemed like no one had slept well—they were all grouchy.

  Lizzie ate pancakes, bacon, and eggs, then returned to her room to shower and dress. Before hopping in the shower, she checked the statue. It was just like it had been the day before. She’d imagined everything, she was sure of it.

  Someone knocked while she was doing her makeup, and she opened the door to find Sarah there.

  “Did you want another blanket for the bed?”

  “Sure—that would be great, actually. Come on in.”

  “Which bed do you want it on?”

  Lizzie hesitated—weird that Sarah would ask that question—and pointed to the four-poster nearest the window. “The one I slept in.”

  “I made each this morning while you were at breakfast,” Sarah said. “Wasn’t sure why you used both of them, but that’s fine—it’s your room while you’re here.”

  What? Both beds were messed up? How did Lizzie not notice something like that?

  Sarah pulled back the comforter, unfolded the blanket, and spread it across the bed. She replaced the comforter, then turned back. Her cheeks flushed and she wouldn’t meet Lizzie’s eyes. “Ummm . . . I’m embarrassed to bring it up, but I put plastic under the sheets of the beds. I hope that doesn’t bother or offend you, but the sheets of the other bed were soaking wet this morning and I didn’t want either mattress to get ruined.” Sarah looked down, then back at Lizzie. “My sister had bathroom problems at night until she was sixteen. If you struggle with that sort of thing—”

  “No! I don’t, I promise.” Lizzie’s mind raced, trying to figure things out while coming up with an appropriate explanation. “I might have been hot, though.” Weak. So very weak. Especially since she’d asked for another blanket.

  Sarah nodded in response, gave a quick smile, and left.

  Lizzie stared at the four-posters for a moment. She knew she hadn’t touched the other one. But it seemed weird for Sarah to lie about something that big. Had Lizzie slept there? She shook her head—she hadn’t even been able to sleep more than a couple of hours in one spot, let alone two.

  ***

  The group went canoeing on the lake. Lizzie had never done it before, and she almost capsized the thing again and aga
in. Each time, Steph, her canoeing partner, laughed. She didn’t seem to mind Lizzie’s clumsiness at all, and it surprised Lizzie how well they got along.

  Steph adjusted her hat over her ponytail, then grabbed the oar again. “That was an intense storm that came through last night.”

  Lizzie didn’t respond—she was having a hard time getting her paddle thing to go the right way. For a dancer, she sure was uncoordinated.

  “There’s an old legend around here that whenever it gets windy and rainy, someone whistled for it.”

  Lizzie paused and turned to face Steph, not caring that they would slow down and lose the lead they had on the rest of the group. “Whistled for it? What do you mean?”

  “They say, if you whistle, you’ll bring in a storm. The old fur trappers refused to do it for fear the weather would turn bad and the angel would come and take them away.”

  “The angel?”

  “My husband’s statue—Helen.”

  Lizzie felt a chill when she thought of the woman. “Doesn’t she guard the cabin?”

  “It’s more of a possessive guarding. See, Helen fell in love with Sutherland, one of the original fur trappers around here—actually, I already told you his name. You found one of his cabins yesterday. Being a powerful Arete, she believed she deserved anything and everything she wanted, and she loved and wanted Sutherland. Legend says he didn’t return that love. Heartbroken, she promised she would watch over him and the land until he changed his mind, and when he called for her, she would return and take him with her to her world—the place where everyone goes after they die.”

  Lizzie frowned, twisting the oar in her hands. “Meaning, she’d kill him.”

  Steph laughed. “Pretty much. I’m sure she wouldn’t have thought of it that way, however. She was too far in love with him.”

  “So when someone whistles, it brings Helen in a storm?” Lizzie watched as the rest of the group caught up and passed them. She didn’t care anymore—this was more important.

  “That’s what they say.”

  “And she’ll come and take that person away.”

  Steph laughed again. “Yes, but come on—it’s obviously not true.” She spread her arms wide, closed her eyes, and lifted her face. “And such a beautiful place could never be haunted.”

  Lizzie looked around. It really was gorgeous, but she couldn’t forget the legend. Had she called the Arete? “So, you know how I found that cabin?”

  Steph nodded, indicating for Lizzie to start rowing again.

  Lizzie jumped to comply, feeling somewhat embarrassed to have been slacking on the job. “While I was in there—”

  “Oh, you did go inside, huh?”

  “Yeah, I did. Hope that’s okay.” She bit her lip, waiting for a reprimand, but Steph didn’t seem displeased and so she rushed on, wanting to tell someone what had happened. “Well, I found a whistle. Brought it back with me, and I blew on it. And it got really, really windy all of a sudden.”

  Steph softly chuckled. “And you think the whistle might have brought the storm.”

  Her tone was comforting, and it made Lizzie wish she and Nate could trade places—that she’d been born to this woman who was so very accepting, even of silly ideas.

  Lizzie closed her eyes, not wanting to say anything.

  Steph put her hand on Lizzie’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry about it. We’ve always had the occasional rough storm. It wasn’t because of you.”

  Lizzie blew out a breath of pent-up air, feeling her muscles relax as she accepted Steph’s response. How childish to have thought she’d had something to do with the storm, anyway.

  “Just enjoy your time here—the weather is wonderful! Take advantage of it.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  “Let’s see if we can catch up with the rest, shall we?”

  Steph started paddling ferociously and Lizzie leaned forward, matching her energy.

  They didn’t catch up with the others until they’d reached the shore By the time they got to the designated picnic spot, Lizzie’s arms were about to fall off. She had no idea how she’d be able to row back to the other side of the lake when the time came.

  Lunch had been cooked in Dutch ovens that someone had set up early that morning. The food was super delicious—potatoes, gravy, meat, carrots . . . heavenly. After eating, the group lounged around for a couple hours, chatting.

  Lizzie was especially happy when she found out that John, Steph’s husband, had arranged transportation for everyone back around the lake—they wouldn’t have to cross the water again.

  Steph laughed at the expression of glee on Lizzie’s face. “Yeah, we’re spoiled and a tad lazy—one way is enough for us.”

  By the time they got back around the lake and to the cabin, it was dinner time.

  Lizzie trudged up the sidewalk to the cabin, absent-mindedly following Steph. She was nearly bowled over by a small child being chased by Sarah who stopped when she saw Lizzie.

  “Oh, Lizzie.” Sarah stared at her with a confused expression. “I thought you were in your room—least, someone is up there, looking out the window.”

  Steph frowned, looking at Lizzie. “Your friend isn’t coming until tomorrow, right?”

  Lizzie nodded, then felt a grin spread across her cheeks. Maybe Nicole had come early! She glanced around, but didn’t see her friend’s car. Not waiting for anyone else, she dashed into the cabin and up the two flights of stairs, down the hall and to her room. She pushed the door open.

  “Nicole? Are you here?”

  A blast of wet wind rushed past her, misting her all over.

  The room was empty. Lizzie rushed into the bathroom—it too, was empty, and she returned to the main area, pausing in the middle. At that moment, she noticed that Nicole’s bed was again messed up, and she approached it, eyebrow raised.

  The sheets were wet. She bent to sniff them, but the liquid didn’t smell like urine or sweat. A pungent odor wafted over her and she knitted her eyebrows, trying to place it. Sea water?

  Steph walked into the room and paused near Lizzie. “No Nicole?”

  “Nope. But look—the bed I don’t sleep in is messed up and wet.” She turned to Steph. “How well do you know Sarah?”

  “She’s my best friend’s daughter. Her husband left a year ago, and she has a little kid. She’s an excellent young woman. Why?”

  Lizzie shook her head—she’d already dismissed Sarah as a potential culprit. But how was the bed getting wet? “Never mind.” She walked across the large room to the window and jumped when her foot splashed in water. The entire floor by the pane was covered in at least an inch of liquid. “Steph! Everything’s wet!”

  Steph joined her and gasped. “What in the world . . . ?” Her mouth set in a firm line and she folded her arms. “I’ll call Sarah. Let’s get this cleaned up.” She pulled out a cell phone, sent a text, then motioned for Lizzie to follow her into the bathroom, where she filled the younger woman’s arms with towels.

  They mopped up water from the floor, walls, and windows. Steph was worried about the dresser—it had been splashed, and some of the paint appeared to be swelling, warping. “It’s my grandmother’s—an antique. I’ll be heartbroken if the damage is permanent.”

  Sarah joined and helped finish wiping things up, then she and Steph remade the bed while Lizzie searched the room to see if anything had been stolen.

  “I don’t understand,” Sarah said. “Who was in here?” She finished straightening the comforter, then turned to face Lizzie. “I did see someone, but I thought it was you.”

  Lizzie twisted the ring she always wore on her right hand. Helen’s face entered her mind, and she glanced out the window to the statue. It was normal.

  Steph excused Sarah, then linked arms with Lizzie, walking her to the dining room. “We’ll get this figured out. Do you want to change rooms in the meantime?”

  Lizzie hesitated. If she really had called Helen, the woman could find her anywhere in the cabin. And what if this was just a
practical joke? She scowled. She’d never allowed herself to be pushed around, and she’d never lost in the prank arena. “I’ll stay in the room.”

  Steph nodded. After dinner and a set of movies, she walked Lizzie back to the third floor. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

  Lizzie hugged the woman. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” She was about to shut the door when a thought crossed her mind. “Oh, I wanted to show you the whistle.” She grabbed it from the dresser and handed it to Steph.

  Steph looked at it. “What does it say?”

  “It’s Latin. ‘Who is this that is coming?’”

  “Odd.” Steph handed it back, then put both hands on Lizzie’s shoulders. “Listen to me. There’s no reason to believe any of this happened because you blew on that thing. My feeling is that someone—one of my kids, perhaps—has chosen you as the object of some stupid joke.” She sighed, releasing Lizzie. “We’ll find out who it is soon enough.” Then she said goodnight.

  Lizzie made sure the door was closed, then turned to face the room. She felt like it had been violated, though she knew that was irrational. “Calm down, Lizzie. Nothing’s going to happen. Nothing is happening.” She glared at the window. If this was a prank, that person really had it coming when she finally caught them.

  She settled in bed, reading more Jane Austen, letting herself be taken away to a time long ago. Around two in the morning, the text on her Kindle application started blurring as her eyes struggled to stay open. She turned off her lamp, eager to catch up on lost sleep from the night before.

  After half an hour, though, she thrust her covers away and turned on the light. The moon was bright and had been shining on her, preventing her from relaxing. Some vacation this was turning out to be. And why weren’t there curtains, anyway? How dumb.

  She searched the room for something to cover the window. There were hooks above the glass—drapes had hung there before. Why had they taken them down? Lizzie grabbed the extra blanket and started hanging it on the hooks.

  While doing so, she accidentally glanced at the statue and stumbled back in surprise. Helen was staring at her. Her robes swirled, moving around her torso and legs. And the statue was closer—much closer than the night before. Near enough to see that the robes around her were made of water—angry, rushing water.