The Sign of Seven Trilogy

by Nora Roberts

  He was out the door, into the cool spring night, and running, just as he’d run in the dream. Bare feet slapping in a wild tattoo on brick, asphalt, grass. Fetid smoke hazed the deserted streets, stinging his eyes, scoring his throat. All around him, buildings roared with flame. Not real, he told himself. The fires were lies, but the danger was real. Even as the heat scorched his skin, as it seemed to burn up through the bricks to sear his feet, he ran.

  His heart hammered even when he saw her, walking through the false flames. She glided through the smoke, like a wraith, the mad lights from the fires rippling over her body. He called, but she didn’t turn, didn’t stop. When he caught her, yanked her around to face him, her eyes were blind.

  “Layla.” He shook her. “Wake up. What are you doing?”

  “I am damned.” She almost sang it, and her smile was tortured. “We are all of us damned.”

  “Come on. Come home.”

  “No. No. I am the Mother of Death.”

  “Layla. You’re Layla.” He tried to push himself into the haze of her mind, and found only Hester’s madness. “Come back.” Chaining down his own panic, he tightened his grip. “Layla, come back.” As she fought to break free, he simply locked his arms around her. “I love you. Layla, I love you.” Holding tight, he drowned everything else, fear, rage, pain, with love.

  In his arms, she went limp, then began to shudder. “Fox.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not real. I’ve got you. I’m real. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. I can’t think. Are we dreaming?”

  “Not anymore. We’re going to go back. We’re going to get inside.” He kept an arm firmly around her waist as he turned.

  The boy skimmed along the fire. He rode it as a human child might a skateboard, with glee and delight while his dark hair flew in the wild wind. As the rage rolled into Fox, he poised to spring.

  “Don’t.” Her voice was thick with exhaustion as Layla leaned her weight against Fox. “It wants you to, it wants to separate us. I think we’re stronger together, holding on to each other.”

  Death for one, life for the other. I’ll drink your blood, boy, then plant my young in your human bitch.

  “Don’t!” This time Layla had to lock her arms around Fox’s neck to keep him from rushing forward. She pushed her thoughts into his head. We can’t win here. Stay with me. You have to stay with me. “Don’t leave me,” she said aloud.

  It was brutal, walking away, struggling to ignore the filth the thing hurled at them. To continue to walk as the boy whipped around them in circles, taunting, howling as it flew on its skate of flame. But as they walked, the fires sputtered. By the time they climbed the steps to his apartment, the night was clear and cool again, and carried only the dying hint of brimstone.

  “You’re cold. Let’s get back in bed.”

  “I just need to sit.” She lowered to a chair, and helpless to do otherwise, let the trembling take her. “How did you find me?”

  “I dreamed it. Running across town, the fire, all of it.” To warm her, he grabbed the throw his mother had made him off the couch, spread it over Layla’s bare legs. “To the park, to the pond. But in the dream, I was too late. You were dead when I pulled you out of the water.”

  She reached for his hands, found them as icy as hers. “I need to tell you. It was like back in New York, when I dreamed it raped me. When I dreamed I was Hester, and how it raped me. I wanted it to stop, to end. I was going to kill myself, drown myself. She was. I couldn’t stop her. It had my mind.”

  “It doesn’t have it now.”

  “It’s stronger. You felt that. You know that. Fox, it nearly made me kill myself. If it’s strong enough to do that, if we’re not immune—Quinn, Cybil, and I—it could make us hurt you. It could make me kill you.”

  “No.”

  “Damn it, what if he had made me go into the kitchen, get a knife, and stab it into your heart? If it can take us over when we sleep then—”

  “If it could have infected you that way, to kill me, it would have. Offing me or Cal or Gage, that’s its number one. You come from it and Hester, so it used Hester against you. Otherwise, I’d be dead with a knife in my heart, and you’d be going under for the third time in the pond. You’ve got a logical mind, Layla. That’s logical.”

  She nodded, and though she struggled, the first tears escaped. “It raped me. I know it wasn’t me, I know it wasn’t real, but I felt it. Clawing at me. Ramming inside me. Fox.”

  As she broke, he gathered her in, gathered her up. There was no hell dark enough, he thought, cradling her in his lap, rocking her as she sobbed.

  “I couldn’t scream,” she managed, and pressed her face to the plane of his shoulder. “I couldn’t stop it. Then I didn’t care, or couldn’t. It was Hester. She just wanted to end it.”

  “Do you want me to call Quinn and Cybil? Would you rather—”

  “No. No.”

  “It used that. The shock, the trauma, to push your will down.” He brushed at her hair. “We won’t let it happen again. I won’t let him touch you again.” He lifted her face, brushed at her tears with his thumbs. “I swear to you, Layla, whatever has to be done, he won’t touch you again.”

  “You found me, before I found myself.” She laid her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes. “We won’t let it happen again.”

  “In a few days, we’ll take the next step. We’re not going through this to lose. And when we end this thing, you’ll be part of that. You’ll be part of what ends it.”

  “I want it to hurt.” On that realization, her voice strengthened. “I want it to scream, the way I was screaming in my head.” When she opened her eyes again, they were clear. “I wish there was a way we could lock him out of our heads. Like garlic with vampires. That sounds stupid.”

  “It sounds good to me. Maybe our research ace can come up with something.”

  “Maybe. I need to take a shower. That sounds stupid, too, but—”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Will you talk to me while I do? Just talk?”

  “Sure.”

  She left the door open, and he stood leaning against the jamb. “Pretty close to morning,” he commented. “I’ve got some farm fresh eggs, courtesy of my mother.” Switch to normal, he told himself. That’s what they both needed. “I can scramble some up. I haven’t cooked for you yet.”

  “I think you opened a couple of soup cans during the blizzard when we stayed at Cal’s.”

  “Oh, well, then I have cooked. I’ll still scramble some eggs. Bonus feature.”

  “When we went to the Pagan Stone before, it wasn’t as strong as it is now.”

  “No.”

  “It’ll get stronger.”

  “So will we. I can’t love you this much—scrambling eggs much—and not get stronger than I was before you.”

  Under the hot spray, she closed her eyes. It wasn’t the soap and water making her feel clean. It was Fox. “No one’s ever loved me scrambling eggs much. I like it.”

  “Play your cards right, and that might bump up one day to my regionally famous BLT.”

  She turned off the water, stepped out for a towel. “I’m not sure I’m worthy.”

  “Oh.” He grinned as he trailed his gaze over her. “Believe me. I can also toast a bagel, if I have the incentive.”

  She stopped in the doorway. “Got a bagel?”

  "Not at the moment, but the bakery’ll be open in about an hour.”

  She laughed—God what a relief to laugh—and moved by him to get the robe she stashed in his closet.

  “Lots of excellent bakeries in New York,” he commented. “The city of bagels. So, I’ve been thinking, as I like a good bakery, and a good bagel, after this summer I could look into taking the bar up there.”

  She turned back as she belted the robe. “The bar?”

  “Most law firms are fussy about hiring on associates unless they pass their particular bar. The sublet on your apartment runs through August. Maybe you’d want to hang
here until after Cal and Quinn get married in September anyway. Or you might want to find a new place up there. Plenty of time to decide.”

  She stood where she was, studying his face. “You’re talking about moving to New York.”

  “I’m talking about being with you. It doesn’t matter where.”

  “This is your home. Your practice is here.”

  “I love you. We covered that, didn’t we?” He stepped to her. “We covered the part about you loving me back, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “People in love generally want to be together. You want to be with me, Layla?”

  “Yes. Yes, I want to be with you.”

  “Okay then.” He kissed her lightly. “I’ll go break some eggs.”

  LATER THAT MORNING, FOX SAT IN CAL’S OFFICE, rubbing a foot over Lump’s hindquarters. Gage paced. He hated being here, Fox knew, but it couldn’t be helped. It was private, and it was convenient. Most of all, Fox had taken a personal vow to stay within hailing distance of Layla until the full moon.

  “There has to be a reason it targets her, specifically, for this. Fucking rapist.”

  “And if we knew the reason, we could stop it.” Cal nodded. “It could be that she’s the loosest link. Meaning, the three of us go back all the way. Quinn and Cybil since college. None of us knew Layla until February.”

  “Or the evil bastard could’ve just rolled the dice.” Gage stopped by the window, saw nothing of interest, moved on. “None of the others have shown any signs of infection.”

  “It’s different. It’s not like what happens to people during the Seven. It’s only happened, the rape, when she’s asleep. And it was a kind of sleepwalking after. Following the same pattern as Hester Deale. Lots of ways to kill yourself, and we’ve seen plenty. But it was going to be drowning, in an outdoor body of water. Same as Hester. Maybe it had to be.”

  “One of us stays at the house at night until this is over,” Cal decided. “Even if Layla’s at your place, Fox, none of them are left alone at night from here on.”

  “That’s where I was heading. Once we’ve done our full-moon dance, we should look into this angle more. We need to find a way to stop this, to protect her—all of them.”

  “Day after tomorrow,” Gage muttered. “Thank Christ. Has anybody been able to squeeze more details out of Madam Voltar?”

  Cal’s lips twitched. “Not really. If Quinn knows, she’s got it zipped, too. All she’ll say is Cybil’s fine-tuning. Then, she distracts me with her body, which isn’t hard to do.”

  “She writes the script.” Fox lifted his hands at Gage’s snort. “Look, we tried it our way, various ways, and managed dick. Let the lady have a shot at it.”

  “The lady’s worried we’re all going to die. Or five out of six of us.”

  “Better worried than too cocky,” Fox decided. “She’ll cross all her t’s. That’s one smart skirt. Added to, she loves Quinn. Layla, too, but she and Quinn are as tight as it gets.”

  Fox pushed to his feet. “I’ve got to get back to the office. Speaking of which, I’m thinking I’ll probably be moving to New York after you and Quinn get married.”

  “God, another with a hook in his mouth.” Gage shook his head. “Or maybe it’s a ring through the nose.”

  “Bite me. I haven’t said anything to my family yet. I’m going to ease into that by degrees.” Fox studied Cal’s face as he spoke. “But I thought I’d give you a heads-up. I’m figuring I’ll wait until after the Seven to put the building on the market. I’ve got some decent equity in it, and the market’s pretty stable, so—”

  “Eternally the optimist. Brother, for all you know that place’ll be rubble come July fourteenth.”

  This time Fox simply shot Gage his middle finger. “Anyway. I thought you or your father might be interested in it. If you are, we’ll kick around some figures at some point.”

  “It’s a big step, Fox,” Cal said slowly. “You’re established here, not just personally, but with your practice.”

  “Not everybody can stay. You won’t,” Fox said to Gage.

  “No, I won’t.”

  “But you come back, and you’ll keep coming back. So will I.” Fox turned his wrist up, and that scar that ran across it. “Nothing erases this. Nothing can. And hell, New York’s only a few hours away. I zipped up and down Ninety-five the whole time I was in law school. It’s . . .”

  “When you were with Carly.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded at Cal. “It’s different now. I’ve still got a few lines up there, so I’ll put some feelers out, see what comes. But right now I’ve got some town lawyer business to take care of. I can take a shift at the house tonight,” he added as he started for the door. “But I still say those women have to get ESPN.”

  Gage sat on the corner of Cal’s desk when Fox left. “He’ll hate it.”

  “Yeah, he will.”

  “He’ll do it anyway, and he’ll find a way to make it work. Because that’s what O’Dell’s about. Making it work.”

  “He’d have tried with Carly. I don’t know if he could’ve pulled it off, but he’d have tried. But he’s right. It’s different with Layla. He’ll make it work, and I’m the one who’s going to hate it. Not being able to see his stupid face every damn day.”

  “Cheer up. Five out of six of us could be dead in a couple days.”

  “Thanks. That helps.”

  “Anything I can do.” Gage straightened. “I’ve got some business of my own. Catch you later.”

  He was nearly to the door when his father stepped up to it. They both stopped as if they’d walked into a wall. Helplessly, Cal got to his feet.

  “Ah . . . Bill, why don’t you check the exhaust fan on the grill? I’ll be down in a minute. I’m nearly done here.”

  As the pink the climb up had put in his cheeks faded, Bill stared at his son. “Gage—”

  “No.” It was an empty word in an empty voice as Gage walked out. “We are done.”

  At his desk, Cal rubbed at the fresh tension in his neck as Bill turned shamed eyes on him. “Um . . . What’d you want me to check?”

  “The grill exhaust. It’s running a little rough. Take your time.”

  Alone, Cal lowered to his chair, pressed his fingers to his eyes. His friends, his brothers, he thought, had both chosen rocky roads. There was nothing he could do but go with them, as far as it took.

  Twenty

  SOME PEOPLE MIGHT THINK IT WAS A LITTLE ODD to get up in the morning, go to work as usual when the evening plans included blood rituals. But Fox figured it was pretty much standard operating procedure for him and his friends.

  Layla, who in straight managerial areas could make the beloved Alice Hawbaker look like a slacker, had squeezed and manipulated his schedule to ensure the office closed promptly at three on the big day. He’d already packed his kit. Most might not know what to take along on an early evening hike through the woods by a haunted pool toward a mystical clearing ruled by an ancient altar stone, but Fox had that down. For once, he’d even remembered to check the forecast.

  Clear skies—that was a plus—with temps sliding from a balmy seventy to the cool but pleasant midfifties.

  Layers were the key to comfort.

  In his pocket was his third of the bloodstone. He hoped it would prove to be another key.

  While Layla changed, he added some essentials to his cooler. He glanced around when she came in, and he broke into a smile. “You look like the cover for Hiking Style—if there is such a thing.”

  “I actually debated with myself over earrings.” She surveyed his cooler and open pack. Coke, Little Debbies, Nutter Butters. “I guess it’s like you say, we all do what we do.”

  “These particular provisions are a time-honored tradition.”

  “At least the sugar rush is guaranteed. God, Fox, are we crazy?”

  “It’s the times that are crazy. We’re just in them.”

  “Is that a knife?” She gaped at the sheath on his belt. “You’re taking a kn
ife? I didn’t know you had a knife.”

  “It’s actually a gardening saw. Japanese sickle knife. It’s a nice one.”

  “And what?” She put a hand to the side of her head as if the pressure would help her mind make sense of it all. “You’re planning on doing a little pruning while we’re there?”

  “You never know, do you?”

  She put a hand on his arm as he closed his pack. “Fox.”

  “Odds are Twisse is going to take an interest in what we’re doing tonight. It can be hurt. Cal did some damage with his handy Boy Scout knife the last time we were there. You can bet Gage is bringing that damn gun. I’m not going in there with just my Nutter Butters.”

  She started to argue—he saw it in her eyes—then something else came into them. “Have you got a spare?”

  Saying nothing, he went to the utility closet, rooted around. “It’s called a froe.” He showed her the long, flat blade. “It’s good for splitting wooden pins in joinery work. Or taking a slice out of a demon. Keep it in the scabbard,” he added, sliding it into the leather. “It’s sharp.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way.” He laid his hands on her shoulders. “Remember I’m a strong proponent of equality, of women’s rights. I’m going to protect you, Layla.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way. I’m going to protect you, too.”

  He brushed his lips to hers. “I guess we’re set then.”

  THEY MET AT CAL’S TO BEGIN THE HIKE ON THE path near his home. The woods had changed, Layla thought, since her previous trip. There had been snow then, pooled in pockets of shade, and the trail had been slick with mud, the trees barren and stark. Now, leaves were tender on the branches, and the soft white of the wild dogwoods shimmered in the slanting sun.

  Now, she had a knife in a leather scabbard bumping against her hip.

  She’d walked here before, toward the unknown, with five other people and Cal’s affable dog. This time, she knew what might be waiting, and she went toward it as part of a team. She went toward it beside the man she loved. Because of that, this time she had more to lose.

  Quinn slowed, pointed at the scabbard. “Is that a knife?”