The Dark Gate

by Pamela Palmer

  “Take his shirt off, Jack.” Myrtle waved one bright red fingernail toward the child.

  “Will this hurt him?” Sabrina asked.

  Myrtle smiled at the girl. “No, it won’t hurt. Jack can tell you. He’s been through the ritual before.”

  Sabrina turned and eyed him curiously.

  He took a deep breath, fighting for control. He’d brought David here to be healed. There was nothing more to lose by letting Myrtle try. In the morning, he’d take him back to his mom. There should still be time.

  Before he died.

  A vise clamped around his heart, but he cleared his throat and forced his voice to sound normal before answering Sabrina.

  “I don’t remember much about it,” he told her truthfully. “Other than the oil smelling bad.”

  Myrtle unstoppered the oil and the pungent smell of decaying animal filled the room.

  Sabrina pinched her nose closed. “Euw.”

  “Bad?” Larsen said behind him, the word more choke than sound. “That’s like calling the Arctic a bit cool.”

  “Hush, children,” Myrtle said softly. She poured a small puddle of oil on David’s bare chest and laid two rocks on top of the glistening liquid.

  Then she handed the stack of candles and a pack of matches to Jack. “Replace the other candles in the room with these please, nephew, then light them. Larsen, please turn out the lights, then no more talking.”

  Jack struck a match, the sharp scent barely cutting through the oil’s stench, then lit the first candle and each of the others from it.

  Soon the silent bedroom flickered with candlelight. Jack stood back from the bed and motioned Sabrina to join him to give Myrtle room. The girl crawled off the bed and came to him, wrapping an arm around his waist as he pulled her against his side.

  His aunt sat on the bed, her bloodred robe a startling contrast to the white bedspread. As she placed one hand on the rocks and the other on David’s forehead, she began to hum, then sing a soft wordless melody under her breath. At times Jack thought he heard words, but he couldn’t be sure.

  The air turned thick with hope and promise, and he found himself holding his breath, praying with everything inside him. Please let this work. Please spare this boy.

  But David remained motionless and Jack cursed himself for his stupidity in believing, even for a moment, that his aunt had some kind of special gift.

  Larsen stepped beside him and rested her hand on his shoulder. He slipped his arm around her and pulled her hard against his other side. Both the noise in his head and the turmoil in his heart found a moment’s peace within the whirlpool of despair that was sucking him down.

  Sabrina pressed her head against his other arm. Poor kid. He’d made promises he couldn’t keep and given her hope where there was none. Idiot.

  A pair of gasps sounded in stereo from either side of him, and he blinked at the sight in front of him, his flesh rippling with chills. David’s warm brown skin had turned luminous, as if a light were rising to the surface of a dark, still pond. Larsen straightened in his hold. Sabrina pressed herself harder against him. Myrtle hadn’t moved. Her eyes were closed as she sang softly.

  Jack stared in disbelief. David was glowing. He was flat-out glowing. Sabrina started to cry softly, her shoulders trembling beneath his arm. The light that filled David’s body rose to the surface of his skin, then higher, hovering over the boy in a rainbow of harsh, sparkling color.

  Larsen gasped. Chills molded and remolded Jack’s flesh.

  In a sudden flash the hovering light exploded, blowing out the candles in a rush of charged air that blew over his skin like a foul wind. And then it was gone.

  Jack stood rooted, not breathing, his mind reeling. He’d witnessed a miracle.

  “Mommy?” David’s voice.

  Emotion stung his eyes. She’d done it.

  “It’s okay, pal.” He disentangled himself from Sabrina and Larsen and moved through the dark toward the bed. “I’m here.” But when he reached for the boy, his hand encountered a head of curlers.

  “Myrtle? Larsen, get the light switch.”

  Light flooded the room, making him squint against the sudden brightness. David blinked at him, confused and groggy, but very much alive—thank God—while Myrtle lay draped across him, unconscious. Or worse.

  David smiled at him sleepily. “Hi, Uncle Jack.”

  “Hey, pal.” Jack scooped up Myrtle, but as he was lifting her off David, she took a shuddering breath and her eyes fluttered open.

  The fear eased in his chest and he grinned down at her. “You did it.”

  She smiled weakly. “Did I?” As he started for the door, she lifted her hand. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To your bed. You need to lie down.

  She waved a wrinkled hand. “No, no, just put me in the chair by the window. These things always take a bit out of me, though I must say, this one took more out of me than usual.”

  He did as she asked and set her on the overstuffed red chair, then squatted in front of her, taking her wrinkled hands. “Maybe this was a tougher healing job than you’ve ever had to do. I should have warned you.”

  Aunt Myrtle looked at him quizzically. “Warned me about what?”

  Elfshot.

  Elves.

  Insanity.

  He squeezed her hands and released them. “We need to talk.” Excitement pounded through him. He needed to know what she’d done. She’d used magic to counter magic. He might have finally found the weapon he needed, right in his own backyard, so to speak.

  Larsen’s hand slid over his shoulder. “I’ll see to her. David needs you.”

  Jack straightened and pulled Larsen to him, kissing her hard, needing an outlet for the harsh joy that threatened to blast him into a million pieces.

  She pulled back and touched his face, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Go.”

  As he turned, he found Sabrina staring at him with an unhappy look on her face.

  “He’s going to be okay, sweetheart.” He turned to David. “Aren’t you, pal?”

  David’s gaze followed him. “Where’s my mom?”

  Jack sat beside the boy on the edge of the bed and took his wrist. His skin was warm, his pulse strong.

  “She’s at home, David. I’ll take you back there tomorrow. Your mom’s going to be so glad you’re feeling better.”

  Jack couldn’t wait to call Mei, but he couldn’t risk it. If Henry traced the call, he could pinpoint their location to Front Royal. And Henry knew Jack had an aunt out here. It would be too easy for his friend to get a fix on him.

  Too dangerous.

  Though Jack hated putting Mei through this misery, he had warned her he wouldn’t be in touch. With any luck, he’d have the kids back to her tomorrow, whole and healthy, and she’d forgive him everything.

  Jack’s thumb ran over the soft underside of the boy’s wrist. He looked tired and not entirely healthy—his skin tone still a tad grayish. But his eyes were clear, his pulse strong.

  The boy was going to be fine.

  It was himself Jack feared would never be the same.

  Chapter 12

  Larsen sat on one of the cushioned ladder-back chairs at Myrtle’s kitchen table and watched the older woman pour three cups of coffee. Both kids were upstairs, sleeping peacefully on the frilly bed. Her gaze slid to Jack where he leaned against the counter. Half a dozen feet separated them, yet she could see the hair on his arms standing on end.

  Magic. Honest-to-goodness magic.

  It was crazy, exciting, and terrifying.

  For some reason she’d found it easier to accept the albino wasn’t human than the sparkling lights. Maybe because he looked human. Almost normal. And glowing little boys just didn’t.

  “Anyone want a shot of whiskey in their coffee?”

  Larsen raised her hand. Two shots? Maybe three?

  Jack shook his head. “None for me, thanks.”

  “Not like your father, are you?” Myrtle said, giving Jack a s
hrewd look.

  “No, and I’m not going to be.” He met Larsen’s gaze. “My father was an alcoholic.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah.” He gave her a rueful look. “Me, too.”

  Empathy traced the pathways of her heart. With dismay, she dipped her gaze to the yellow daisy place mat in front of her. She was starting to have real feelings for him. Strong feelings.

  Feelings she didn’t want to have.

  The only way she’d survived her solitary world this long was by not needing anyone, by relying solely on herself.

  Caring meant needing, and she wanted nothing to do with either one. But what could she do about it? Nothing but stay away from him as she’d vowed to do before. Caring about him didn’t change anything. It didn’t change what she could do. It didn’t change what she was.

  Jack brought two of the mugs to the table. As he handed her one, their fingers brushed. Their gazes met and locked, and she found herself drowning in the warmth of his blue-eyed gaze. Myrtle joined them, startling them apart.

  “You said we needed to talk, nephew,” she said, taking her seat at the head of the small table.

  Jack sat on the chair at her right.

  Larsen watched the expressions move over his face as his fingers ran up and down the sides of his coffee mug. He seemed unsure how to start. Finally, with a deep breath, he dove in.

  “We think David may have been elfshot.”

  Myrtle’s eyes widened, her gaze going from Jack to Larsen and back again. “Well, I’ll be. Of course he was.”

  Jack scowled, his gaze swinging to Larsen. “Why am I the only one having trouble believing elves are real?”

  Myrtle leaned forward and patted his arm. “They were always real, sweetheart. What shocks me is that they’re back. There haven’t been any elves in the human world for close to fifteen hundred years.”

  Jack stared at her. “How do you know that?”

  “Why, Jack, we have an elf in our family tree. Did your father not mention him?”

  Larsen nearly spewed her coffee.

  Jack’s eyes widened, but Myrtle wasn’t through.

  “And a Gypsy,” she said. “And witches from your great-great-grandmother Hubbard’s side.”

  As she talked, Jack’s expression turned from surprise to bemusement to faint impatience, though Larsen was sure the older woman would never notice the latter.

  Jack’s fingers rapped impatiently on the table. “Aunt Myrtle,” he began when she paused for air. “I need to understand your magic.”

  “Magic?” Myrtle glanced at him in surprise. “Why, Jack, I don’t have any magic.”

  Jack frowned. “What do you think you did up there?”

  “Why, healed him, of course.”

  “And you don’t call that magic?” Larsen asked.

  Myrtle smiled. “It’s just healing.”

  Glowing children, sparkling lights. If that was healing, she’d been going to the wrong doctors, Larsen decided, taking another sip of the spiked coffee.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Jack demanded.

  Myrtle smiled. “Why, I’ve always known. I can’t tell you how. No one taught me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “You just…knew?”

  “Yes.” Her expression turned wry. “I’m sure that’s not what you were hoping for, but gifts have always run in our family. I had an aunt who read minds and an uncle who could talk to his turnips, which was nice. There’s a story that one of my great-great-grandmothers claimed she could talk to her ancestors. Or, rather, they could talk to her. Unfortunately she was locked away in a crazy house for that revelation. Never saw her children again, so the story goes.”

  “Maybe that’s where my dad’s insanity came from,” Jack murmured.

  Myrtle shook her head. “I’ll never believe he was crazy, Jack.”

  “He thought he was.”

  “Yes, well, perhaps the alcoholism did more damage than I knew.”

  Jack laid his hand on Myrtle’s arm. “Do you have any other…gifts, Aunt Myrtle? Other than healing?”

  She covered his hand and sighed. “No, nephew. I’m afraid that’s all I know. I’ve often wished my talents were more interesting. Wouldn’t it be fun to be able to move objects with your mind or to make your lost car keys appear on a whim?”

  Larsen leaned forward, the whiskey making her feel as if she were floating. “Myrtle, do you know of any tricks that might break enchantment?”

  “No, dear. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that.”

  Jack’s gaze flicked to Larsen, disappointment stretching between them.

  Myrtle stood and carried her mug to the sink. “Well, now, I want to do a couple more oil treatments on the boy just to make sure we’ve got everything. Nothing so dramatic as the last time, so the two of you may as well sleep.” She gave them a knowing look. “Or if you’d like to take a walk in the moonlight, there’s a pretty little creek at the bottom of the hill out back.”

  Jack watched his aunt like a puzzle that had just thwarted him. With a sigh he turned to Larsen and met her gaze with the lift of a single dark brow. “You up for a walk?”

  She should say no. No was definitely the right answer. She needed to stay away from Jack. But she’d had just enough whiskey to forget why. Besides, drinking coffee at this hour pretty much guaranteed she wouldn’t sleep a wink if she tried to go to bed.

  “Okay.” They rose as one and let themselves out the sliding-glass door. Larsen kicked off her flip-flops on the deck. Sabrina had left a pair just like them beside David’s bed, where she’d fallen asleep.

  “Jack…” The full moon cast an otherworldly glow on the landscape. “Have you noticed a difference in the way Sabrina’s been treating you lately?”

  “No.” He glanced at her. “Why?”

  The grass felt soft and damp beneath her feet as she stepped off the deck. “I’m pretty sure she has a crush on you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, she thinks she loves you.”

  “Of course she loves me. Both the kids do.”

  “I’m not talking about loving you like an uncle. She thinks she loves you like a man.”

  “She’s just a kid.”

  “She’s a teenager. It’s natural enough. I just thought you should know.”

  “Thanks,” he said as they started down the sloping backyard, past the bushes that lined the yard. “But I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”

  There was nothing more she could say. It probably didn’t matter one way or the other.

  The night was warm and humid. The scent of honeysuckle floated on a gentle breeze as they made their way down the steep, grassy hill toward the creek below, side by side. Not touching. Which was pretty silly considering she liked him. A lot.

  She hooked his arm with her own and leaned against him as they walked toward the creek below, which fluttered across the landscape like a glistening ribbon below. Beyond the creek was a thick wood that gave the impression that Myrtle’s house was the only one on the mountain. But the not too distant sound of a car engine accompanied by the thump, thump, thump of newspapers landing on driveways gave lie to the feeling of true isolation.

  She could almost forget they were being hunted, could almost believe they were safe, hidden away in a special world. A world of moonlight and magic. With Jack at her side.

  As they reached the creek, one of the bushes caught her eye.

  “Holly.”

  “What?”

  “There,” she said, pointing to the bush eerily illuminated by the full moon. “A holly bush. That article online said holly might ward off enchantment. We should take a few sprigs home with us, just in case.”

  “I’ll cut some in the morning.” But his voice sounded distracted. He turned to her, watching her with eyes that shone with a fire that burned through what was left of her reserve. Eyes that promised heaven.

  She wanted this. She wanted him. Need filled her vein
s with a joyous, sparkling warmth. As an owl hooted nearby, she hooked her hands around his neck and pulled him to her, feeling safe so far from those who hunted them.

  The night was magic.

  Jack’s arms went around her, pulling her hard against him as their mouths met in a frenzy of need. She felt free from her skin, floating in a haze of desire beneath the moonlit sky.

  He pulled back, cupping her face in his hands, his gaze boring into hers.

  “Angel…I want you. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life. If we’re not going to finish this, we need to stop it here. Now. While I can still walk.”

  The thought sent heat running hotly through her veins. “I don’t suppose you taped a condom to your butt?”

  He didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smile. “I have one in my pocket. But don’t tempt me unless…”

  “I won’t run this time. I promise.” And prayed her devil’s sight didn’t make a liar out of her yet again.

  He took a step back and pulled off his shirt. “Take off your clothes, sweetheart. If you have any trepidation about going through with this, I want to know it now.”

  Her breath caught at the fire that flared within her. “You want me to strip for you?”

  His teeth gleamed white in the moonlight. “Yeah. My fantasy come true.”

  With unsteady hands, she pulled her T-shirt slowly up her torso, feeling the night air brush her bare skin and slide between the lace to caress her sensitive breasts. She pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it on the grass, then looked up to find him watching her. For the first time she understood the true power of being a woman. Her fingers met at the button of her pants and slowly, so slowly, she lowered the short zipper and slid the pants over her hips until they fell with a whisper to her ankles. She stepped out of them and kicked them toward the shirt.

  “Enjoying yourself, Detective?” she asked coyly.

  “You’re killing me.” There was no humor in his words, only raw need that sent heat spiraling low in her body.

  “You can take over whenever you want.”

  “Not for all the tea in China.”

  She smiled. “Good.” She felt wonderful. Powerful. Lust and whiskey making her bold. She reached down and ran a single finger between her legs, over the soft cotton.