“I don’t think so, Debbie. And I don’t mean to be rude, but I just arrived. As I said, I’m really busy.”
“Oh, of course. But let me give you my card...and as I said, let me know if I can do anything for you.” She gave Tala a pleasant smile.
“Thank you. That’s nice of you, Debbie.” Tala read the card she handed to her. It said “Deborah Austen, practitioner of the ancient wisdom.” Underneath was a phone number. “So is this your business card?”
“No, it’s more like my hobby card. I’m collecting Tom’s pension, but I need to keep active. Let me write down your phone number.”
Tala gave her the numbers of the house phone and her cell. “Nice to meet you, Debbie.”
“Welcome back,” Debbie said and turned around.
Was the strange expression in her eyes just Tala’s imagination. A chill shook her for the second time that day? She tried to shrug it off and cleaned up the mess in the living room.
Tala went to the china cabinet and took out a teacup, saucer, and plate. Her mother had never allowed her to use them. “May as well live a little, huh, Maeve.” As a child, she’d loved to gaze at the dishes, follow their delicate pink rose pattern and gold trim.
After she had some wild berries herbal tea and buttered raisin toast, she nibbled on a handful of cashews. Night had overtaken the house, and she eyed the chair elevator.
Time to go upstairs.
Chapter Three
Tala sat in the chair elevator with her red silky nightgown and matching robe, which she had bought to cheer herself up. She smiled again at her excuse—they matched her black boot so well. She also had her toiletry bag. She had always loved the paintings of Renoir, and his Girl with a Watering Can graced the pouch. She imagined the child had been much loved by her mother and wished she could have switched places with her.
Maeve crept over to her and yowled.
“Stop it, Maeve.” A useless objection. The cat was in one of her moods and would likely draw blood before too long. Maeve’s ears lay plastered back on her head, and her eyes resembled the insane ones of a goat. The cat jumped at her left arm and sunk her teeth into it. Tala pushed her off, but the cat jumped back up.
She couldn’t do anything until the mood passed her. When she could get around better, she’d pick her up and store her in the bathroom until she calmed down. She had no such luxury now. Tala pushed up her robe sleeve. Maeve had drawn blood again.
She’d found Maeve, a little spot of black, in a parking lot. She’d bottle-fed her in the beginning. Maeve grew quickly and rewarded her with purring companionship. The cat seemed perfect. She’d jump up on Tala to cuddle, always eager for a napping companion. However, at some point she started with her aggressive behavior. But she misbehaved only 10 percent of the time. The other 90 percent—the perfect housecat.
Her behavior confused Tala, and she even considered asking the vet for medication but decided against it. Who knew what other problems that would cause? For the time being, she could put up with her nonsense.
Tala pushed the button on the chair and slowly rose up the stairs. Maeve lost interest in gnawing on her arm and followed her.
The closed door to Tala’s room stared at her from the left of the staircase. Tala hobbled over and stood outside. Fear overtook her. But why? Finally, she took a deep breath and pushed the door open. She covered her mouth with her hand. Empty. Had she ever existed? She started crying softly, and Maeve jumped up into her arms. She held the cat with one arm and let her purring comfort her.
She dreaded going into her mother’s room. But she had to. Tala stood outside the door and almost knocked. Did she really hear noises inside? She pushed the door open. Empty except for the furnishings and as beautiful as she remembered. The canopy bed with flowered bedding and the armoire and the vanity she coveted. Above the wainscoting, wallpaper in a soft pastel stripe lined the walls like gift wrap. The same print on the bedspread covered the cushions of the window seat.
Although the room may have been worthy of decorating-magazine coverage, she didn’t want to stay there. She’d sleep in one of the guest rooms instead. But first, she wanted to investigate. Tala walked over to her mother’s dresser and opened the top drawer.
Beautiful trinkets, some in 18K gold flashed up at her. Tala picked up her mother’s charm bracelet that had fascinated her as a child. The charms with moving parts had intrigued her the most—the slot machine registering three sevens when she pulled the handle; the miniature purse with a comb, mirror, and lipstick; and the Cinderella coach, covered with sparkling jewels and revealing tiny figures when she opened the door.
Then something in the drawer that looked like a pendant caught her eye. It appeared to be tarnished bronze, and the roughness of the piece made it seem very old. She could make out some kind of beast with its fangs visible. She picked it up. A surge of energy ripped through her body. She stuck it in her pocket, hoping to find out more about it.
Then the phone rang.
“Tala.”
That voice brought everything back to her she had spent ten years trying to forget.
“Matt.”
“Are you upset I called you?”
“N-no. How did you know I’m in town?”
“News travels fast, Tala. Especially when you’re a detective. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your mother.
“Thanks, Matt. I appreciate it. But we weren’t close.”
“I figured that.” He paused. “I was wondering if you’d go out to dinner with me. There’s so much I want to tell you in person. You broke off so suddenly—not that I didn’t understand why, though. And that’s another thing I have to say I’m so sorry about.”
Tala bit her lip. “Well, not tonight, anyway. I’m exhausted from traveling. Did your source also tell you I have a broken foot, and I’m not exactly a fashion model right now with this heavy boot?”
Matt laughed. “As I remember, you never were.”
“Gee, thanks.” The same old Matt. “How’s your family?”
“Oh, Mom and Dad are fine, and would you believe this, I’m even an uncle now and…”
***
“Thanks so much for inviting me over,” Debbie said, her teacup poised midway to her lips.
Tala smiled. “Thank you for supplying the milk. I could only find tea and cookies.”
“What I want to know about is the conversation with Matt. You were so vague,” Vanessa said.
“We’ll talk about that later. First, I want to show you something.” She dug the pendant out of her pocket. “Any ideas on this.”
Debbie reached for it. “This looks old, very old. I’m not sure what kind of animal it is, but it certainly looks ferocious.”
“So it’s not a witchcraft symbol?”
“No…not that I can tell. Wait a minute… I have seen this design before. It was in a book, but I don’t remember the name of it.”
Tala leaned forward. “What was the book about?”
“It talked about werewolves. How—”
“So they really exist?”
Debbie set her tea down on the side table. “Absolutely, and what happened with some families is the werewolf strain weakened from intermarriage with non-werewolves. So what were left were called Violents and Violent Makers.”
Chills ran through Tala as she remembered her mother talking about the strains after her father’s murder. “What else do you remember?”
“When those with the strain neared adulthood, the Violent Makers had the power to cause the Violents to have burning rage, which ended in savagery and carnage.” Debbie scrunched her lips to one side and then continued. “When a Violent Maker is starting to affect a Violent, the Violent Maker’s eyes change to a lighter color and glow.”
Tala’s breath caught. That’s what Matt had said about her eyes that night in the cemetery.
Vanessa seemed unusually quiet. “What about you, Vanessa? What do you think about all this?” She took the pendant from Debbie and held it out to
Vanessa.
“I don’t want to touch it.”
“Why?”
“I have a bad feeling about it. Like it’s an amulet of some kind.”
“Okay.” Tala pocketed it again. “Debbie, do you remember reading anything about how you can get rid of the strains?”
Debbie bit her lip. “Yes, but the ritual is hidden knowledge. The book said the only way to remove the Violent Maker strain is to find a Violent who knows the secrets. It’s very dangerous, though, because the Violent Maker often sets off the Violent before the ritual can be completed, and then the Violent Maker is killed.”
Tala pressed her lips together in a determined line and then sighed. “Debbie, is there any way the Violent strain can be removed?”
“The author of the book wouldn’t reveal it. Instead of the possibility of just one person, the Violent Maker, being killed to remove the strain, the ritual to remove the Violent strain put the lives of many people at risk.”
A sad silence filled the room for a while. Then Debbie touched Tala’s arm. “I’m not going to ask you why you’re so interested in these subjects, and I sense it’s none of my business, but I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more information.”
“Thanks, Debbie. I appreciate what you told me. It’s a lot to digest. Let’s change the subject now.”
Vanessa nodded. “Great idea.”
“The whole trip to Wolfeboro, you didn’t tell me anything about you, Vanessa. What’s been going on with you?”
“What could be going on here? Same old, same old. Of course, I miss my ex. I guess he just wanted an ever-young cheerleader. He left me comfortable, though, and I enjoy selling real estate. Which reminds me, what about your house? Are you going to sell it?”
“Actually,” Debbie broke in, “I’m just dying to buy this house, and I wanted to talk to you about it today. The aura’s great with it right next to the graveyard.”
“But your house is just next door.”
Debbie swallowed her mouthful of cookie. “Doesn’t matter. This is still much better. And that blackthorn tree...worth its weight in gold.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not many of them around. They’re very spiritual.”
“I didn’t know any of that, but I’ve always liked it—the way it looks all spindly, thorny, and threatening in the fall and winter, and then come spring, it softens with white flowers, almost like a good omen.”
“Yes, very well said.” Debbie nodded her head. “But there’s a dark history to that tree. I’m surprised you don’t know about it.”
“What do you mean?” Tala said, and Vanessa sat closer to the edge of the sofa.
“It’s hundreds of years old, and it was the killing tree.”
“The killing tree?”
“Yes, vigilantes favored it among all others.”
“How do you know all this?” Vanessa asked.
“One of the librarians told me last year. She died recently. What was her name? Cecilia? No, Cecily. That was it. She knew everything about the town, even the darkest parts.”
“I wish I had spoken with her,” Tala said.
“Oh, that can be arranged.” Debbie smiled.
Tala put her head to one side. “Hmmm. That might be—”
“I’m not waiting one minute longer. Vanessa placed her teacup on the coffee table. I insist on hearing about your conversation with Matt.”
“There’s nothing juicy to tell you. We just played catch-up. He asked me out to dinner tonight, and I told him to call back this afternoon.”
“So, are you going?”
“I don’t even know yet.”
“Well, I feel I’m in the dark about him,” said Debbie.
Tala gave her the shorthand version of the story.
“Oh, how passionate and romantic. It seems as though you have some kind of power over him...like what we were—”
“Debbie, I wish you hadn’t said that.”
“I just have to be honest, and that’s my opinion. Now where is that beautiful black cat? Call her, won’t you, Tala?”
***
After Vanessa and Debbie left, Tala had more questions than before. And what was she going to do about Matt? She’d have to wait until he called to make up her mind.
She decided to climb the narrow stairs to the attic. The thought terrified her, but she might find out some answers there while digging through old trunks and furniture. When she opened the door leading to the attic stairs, a cold shroud enveloped her. The anemic light from a dusty bulb hanging overhead did little for her confidence. She took the stairs carefully with her broken foot parallel to the steps and putting her weight on her heel. It was painstaking, but she went slowly, not wanting to incur any more injury. She focused on a faint outline of a drawing on the wall. It had some resemblance to the pendant. More questions.
When she reached the top of the stairs, the half-light of the attic gave her little consolation. Cobwebs upholstered the boxes, trunks, and furniture. Her mother had never allowed her in the attic, and she’d been too terrified to go there, anyway. She had a guilty feeling as she surveyed the room.
A trunk plastered with destination stamps—London, Rome, Cairo—first drew her attention. The top wouldn’t budge. A thought popped into her mind—look underneath the trunk. Sure enough, the black wrought iron key lay there. Tala inserted the key in the lock. It clicked. She started to open the trunk...but stopped.
Someone was downstairs.
Chapter Four
She peeked out the grimy round window. A burgundy Cadillac hugged the curb. Tala walked to the stairway. “Who’s there?”
A man in a black suit appeared in the downstairs doorway. Hulking build. Dark hair with some gray around the temples. Piercing eyes. He cracked his knuckles. “You must be Tala. Your mother told me a lot about you.”
She folded her arms. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
“Hmm. Who am I? That’s an interesting question.” He flashed a feral grin. “And the answer is so much more than just my name. But all you have to know, my dear, is your mother cut a deal with me for the contents of the house. I gave her money. She gave me a key.”
“I don’t know anything about that...and I’m not your dear.”
“Your ignorance means nothing to me. I have a receipt, my dear.” He held up a crumpled piece of paper covered with script, numbers, and coffee stains. The man put his foot on the first step.
“Don’t you dare come up here.” She fisted her hand and then dug for her pocketed cell phone. She drew it out.
He took another step. “She also said she wanted to sell the house to me, but I didn’t want to spend the money then. I’m willing to take it off your hands now, though.” The man took two more steps.
“Oh yeah, think again. As a matter of fact, if you don’t get out right now, I’ll call the police.” She held up her cell phone, ready to punch in numbers.
He glared at her, and took another step.
“I’m warning you—”
“You’ll hear from my lawyer.” The man cracked his knuckles again. Then he turned and stomped away, calling back, “My dear.”
The first thing she did was call information. Tala got the name of a locksmith and arranged for him to change the locks. Then she went downstairs to make sure the man had left. The car was no longer at the curb. But what did that mean? He could have moved it and come back to the house. She searched everywhere on the first floor.
And what if he’d gone to the basement?
She didn’t relish the idea of going to that moldy underworld. Tala couldn’t think of an alternative, though. She couldn’t shake the idea she wasn’t alone. How could she ever fall asleep wondering if... She hobbled to the basement door, Maeve following. When she opened it, a wall of mildew hit her.
Maeve spat.
She fumbled for the light switch but found a curtain of cobwebs. Shrieking, she rubbed her hand on her jeans. “I hate cobwebs. I hate cobwebs…and I hate what li
ves on them.” Oh great. If he were down there, now because of her big mouth, he knew she was coming. Her fingertips moved over the cement Braille, and this time found the switch. Naturally, the bulb had blown.
She scrounged around looking for a bulb or a flashlight. Tala found a flashlight in the pantry, but the batteries didn’t work. In all her foraging, she hadn’t come across any batteries. That clinched it. She wouldn’t go to the dark basement.
And where was the locksmith? He’d said he’d be right over.
When she returned to the attic, she went back to the trunk. Tala wasn’t sure if the man’s receipt would hold up, but she knew she had a lot of work to do. She opened the top quickly this time. She rummaged through the old-fashioned clothing, high-buttoned shoes, fringy flapper outfits, and somber long black dresses with tucks and embroidery. Disappointed she didn’t find anything of interest, she turned her attention to a box in the corner.
It was the kind used to store files. It called to her, compelling her to examine it. Tala removed the top and surveyed the pieces of old newspaper sticking up out of the folders. She went for the ones that looked the oldest, the sepia ones.
The first ragged folder she pulled out reeked of mold. Tala opened it and flinched. A picture of a body tied to a tree. The head barely attached, the arms missing. Where the heart should have been, a gaping hole. She stared at the photo for a long time, and then realized the scene was familiar to her. The tree seemed to be the blackthorn in front of the house. She couldn’t be sure, and there was no evidence of the house in the picture, but she had a strong feeling someone had taken it on the family property.
Only a few sentences of the story remained with the photo. She could make out the words “found dead” and “left three children.” The part of the caption remaining mentioned “Marlin Edwards.” She remembered her mother telling her about her great-great-uncle, Marlin Edwards. He’d been an esteemed member of the family. However, Edwards was a banker who had accrued a pack of enemies, but his murder had remained an unsolved case.
Tala jumped at the blaring ring of the house phone downstairs. She guessed it was Matt, and she wished she had given him her cell phone number. She didn’t expect to make it downstairs in time, but maybe he’d call back. And if he didn’t... Then the situation would take care of itself.
The Wolf's Daughter (The Tala Chronicles) Page 3