by Eve Langlais
Apparently plenty because I never imagined the humped snow windrowed on the shoulder hid the site of an accident. One month of winter weather had concealed the marks of the crash.
The sharp winter air filled my lungs as I exited the car. It didn’t have the freezing terror of the Chill, just a cleansing cold.
Grisou stalked alongside me, stopping by a massive tree, the bark mangled. I brushed the snow away, revealing the damage and the clinging specks of paint. Had this been an accident?
Could someone have made us see something that wasn’t there? But why? Was it about getting rid of me or Kane? I had to wonder because no one ever finished the job in the hospital.
My cat stalked into the forest and only stopped long enough to mutter, “Are you coming or not? You know I could be at home sleeping by the woodstove.”
“Yes, your majesty,” I muttered.
“That’s more like it, although I prefer ‘your eminence,’ accompanied by a freshly opened case of tuna.”
“Would you like me to address you as your highness, too?”
“You do realize the favor I do you by allowing you to serve me.”
Every single meme I’d read about cats. True. So very, very true.
My cat moved farther into the woods than I liked before stopping. “This is where his trail ends.”
“Whose trail?”
“The other person in the car.”
“Wait, you mean we’ve been tracking Kane this entire time?”
“I’ve been tracking. You’re merely stumbling after me.”
“Keep up that attitude and it will be dry diet kibble, you oversized furball.”
“I heard that.”
“Good. I want to know how you can follow anything. It’s been a month. It’s snowed and stuff. Surely there’s nothing to track.” Just because a Flintstone-sized cat talked to me didn’t mean I’d take its words as gospel.
“I’m lying. Let’s go home.” His tail lifted, and he was ready to march off, only I didn’t follow.
I glanced around then up. In the movies shit always dangled from branches. Nothing popped out, but I noticed something interesting. Lots of broken twigs and branches. I glanced around at the trunks and saw one was splintered.
“There was a fight here.” The more I looked, the more I could see a series of different colored auras. Only one of the streamers flowed almost black. It meandered alongside the tracks I’d left. Looking behind, I noticed a sizzling silver thread ran out of me in an ethereal filament.
I blinked and waved my hand at it. The thread remained. “What do you call that?”
“The stuff I follow.”
“Essence of people?” I ventured.
“You could just stick with time-honored scent.”
“This is more than smell, though.” I reached to touch a thread, and my hand went through it, making it ragged and wispy.
“What happened?” I asked.
“You’re messing it up, like those who took him.”
Rather than ask what he meant, I looked around again, this time unravelling the threads from each other. The dark thread didn’t leave the clearing.
“If a scent disappears, does that mean the person is dead?”
“Not always. He lives.”
“So where did Kane go?”
“No idea. His trail just stops.”
“That doesn’t help me.” Frustration built in me.
“What are you going to do then?” my cat taunted.
“I want him back!” I clenched my fists. I wanted something to go right for once. I wanted to feel as if I were in control.
A mist appeared amongst the tree trunks.
Grisou’s hackles rose, and he rumbled, “Danger.”
“No duh.” The syllables frosted, but I wasn’t about to run. This was the first time I’d encountered The Chill in the daytime. Had it expanded its abilities? Would I finally meet the threat?
“Who are you?” I shouted. “Show yourself!” The words dropped like icicles that shattered in the silence.
The tendrils of cold whispered, but I couldn’t understand. I did feel a longing. To let go. To allow The Chill to invade me.
Surrender.
Never.
I knelt on the ground even as my cat protested, “What are you doing?”
“Magic.” I hoped. Only I had no canvas to write. The snow around me was crunchy in spots. I couldn’t draw.
I needed a better surface. Like the road. I’d better move fast, though. The fog was thick enough that someone, or something, could have been standing only a few feet from me and I wouldn’t see them.
“We need to get to the car.”
“Run,” was my cat’s advice as he led the way through the woods back to the car.
I followed, feet crunching snow, the icy fog thickening and swirling around me. Piercing my lungs. Making me breathe even harder.
The whispers grew louder, as if to overcome the panting from my taxed lungs. Oddly enough, it wasn’t fear animating me the most but adrenaline. I wanted something to fight.
Reaching the car, I grabbed the handle of the door. My mitten stuck to the metal. Froze to it. I yanked, clicking the mechanism, and slid my hand free as the door opened. Grisou’s fat furry butt bolted inside first. The engine that I’d left running chugged sluggishly, and the lights dimmed as the fog began to spill from the forest onto the shoulder of the road.
“Do something,” my cat demanded.
“I’m trying.” I reached in and grabbed the chalk I’d stashed in the plastic bucket molded into the console.
I knelt on the black asphalt, mostly gray with salt this time of the year. My chalk had no problem scraping a line. Up. Over. I drew the light symbol, one big enough to keep The Chill at bay. I blew on it, and the warmth encased me in a bubble.
Still, The Chill pressed on me.
It wanted something.
Well, I wanted something back.
Without even thinking about it, I drew again on the road, a symbol of query. What are you? A spell of identity that resulted in the mark turning opaque.
Swirling with color and smoke.
What. Are. You.
I scraped my finger, tracing the lines and willed it with my intent.
Perhaps that was why when the image cleared, I saw myself.
26
It spooked me. Especially since the moment I saw myself The Chill disappeared. Left as if it were never there.
“If you’re done doodling, I’m hungry. Let’s go get my food,” my cat complained.
Before I got in the car, I cast a last glance around. I don’t know what I expected to see. The world appeared as it should, a woody, wintery wonderland. Yet underneath that cold, I’d have sworn I felt the land trembling. A sense of anticipation clung to the air that only increased as I returned to town.
The butcher had plenty of deals for me, and I placed them in the trunk despite my cat protesting from the front seat.
As I headed down the last road to my cottage, I drove on semi-automatic, paying enough attention to make it safely while pondering the deepening mystery all around me. The many pieces and clues refused to cooperate. How did everything tie together? I couldn’t ignore the ominous undercurrent surrounding me, especially since I’d woken up. And didn’t just mean from my coma.
I needed to figure out what was happening. And that included finding Kane. Grisou claimed he was alive. At least he’d left the clearing that way, but he’d been taken by people who knew how to obscure their tracks.
Maybe they’d not hidden him too far.
I thought of telling Winnie so she could mention it to Jace. After all, he and Kane were related. However, by the time I got home, I vetoed that idea. What if I marched over to Jace’s house and she was there, doing stuff with him. I’d rather be an ostrich with my head in the sand than have that picture in my head.
Once home, a hot tea in hand, I nestled in my chair with a book, and nothing else. Perhaps if I let my mind relax, everythi
ng would finally make sense.
I didn’t enjoy it for long. There was a brisk knock on the door, which I debated ignoring. Call it a gut feeling. I doubt I wanted to see who stood on the other side.
Ding. Ding.
Since when did I have a doorbell?
“Mom, why aren’t you answering?” my son complained, appearing from the basement and trotting to the door. He swung it open and grimaced. “Officer Murphy.”
“Mr. Dunrobin. I’m here to see your mother.”
“She’s resting.”
“It’s important I speak to her.”
“Says you.” Geoff stepped outside with Murphy and shut the door.
Seriously? I wasn’t a child to be sheltered from things. About to swing my legs off the chair, the door suddenly opened, and Geoff came stamping in, hugging himself. “It is cold outside. I’m going to make some coffee.”
Murphy hovered in the doorway.
I wondered if I could subtly signal Geoff to throw a little something in my drink. By the expression on Murphy’s face, and Geoff’s too-bright attitude, I didn’t think I’d like what came next.
Murphy towered in the entrance, sporting a giant mustache, lush sideburns, and a cowboy hat. I’ll admit, while it initially threw me, I’d come to enjoy the look.
He removed his hat. “Ms. Rousseau—”
“Get inside,” I said with a wave of my hand. “You’re letting out the heat.” Once a mom paying bills, always a mom paying bills. Not to mention, it was better for the environment.
Murphy shut the door and eyed his boots before kicking them off to enter farther. “Sorry to disturb you. I see you’re resting.”
“I take it you’re here to talk to me about the accident.” His office probably needed some kind of report. I was just surprised it didn’t happen in the hospital.
“I am. There’s been a development in the missing person’s case of Kane D’Argent.”
“You found him!” My tone emerged bright and hopeful.
His expression appeared anything but. “We did.”
Within minutes, I’d politely thanked Murphy and then left him with my son so I could go lie down.
Lie down being code for crying my face off. Apparently, they found his body. It wasn’t burned up in the crash as they’d initially thought. It wasn’t pretty given he’d been injured by the fire then dragged off by wild animals. They were waiting on dental records, but given his wallet was located nearby…
Kane was declared officially dead.
My gut said that was wrong. I wanted to deny it, but at one point, how could I deny the evidence? As the truth set in, I cried.
Oh, how I cried.
Not my best look. I’m an ugly crier. Blotchy face. Snot. Eyes of an addict, bloodshot and weepy. No amount of cold water could remove all the puffiness and damage. Sleep would, but I needed something to drink. I’d dehydrated myself with that epic cry.
I might cry again. Better fill up the snot tank.
A peek down the stairs showed no one around. Good. I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone, so of course, a knock made me jump ten feet in the air. Like I literally almost slammed my head.
Then I hugged myself. The last knock brought the shittiest news. Was I really going to answer?
Where was someone when I needed them? Grisou didn’t appear to be around. The kitchen only had the light over the stove shining. Geoff was downstairs for the night.
Nothing good ever happened answering a door after dark.
Knock. Knock. Brisk, no nonsense. Would they go away?
I prodded my house. Friend or foe?
No reply, and still no cat, just me.
I have nothing to fear. It was just answering a door. Maybe a few words spoken.
I stalked over and flung it open to see a beautiful young woman wearing a brand-new baby blue parka that set off the very red hair cascading in playful waves. Brilliant green eyes perused me.
The beautiful woman smiled, and her words held a hint of accent as she said, “You must be Ms. Rousseaux.”
“I’m sorry. Who are you?” I felt like I should know who she was, only the hair was wrong. Shouldn’t it be a silver bob and brown eyes? My eyes widened as I recognized who it was.
“Helena?” Geoff’s timing couldn’t have been better—or maybe worse. He emerged from the basement, and I had little time to recover.
“Of course, you’re Helena. I don’t know how I didn’t recognize you.” I felt all kinds of dumb since I’d seen a picture of her. Geoff sent it to me as part of their engagement announcement. I’d found out with everyone else. Was I a little bitter Trish was told personally? My own fault for not having a better relationship with Geoff. Trish would have probably recognized Helena and not appeared like an ass.
“Not your fault, Mom. Helena’s a pro at changing her look.” He reached for his fiancée’s hands and squeezed them. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you of course.” She simpered up at him.
Was it wrong I disliked her instantly?
“I thought we’d agreed on some time apart.”
“No, you asked for it. I gave, and now I’m here to say I’m sorry.”
Was I the only one who wanted to gag? Surely Geoff didn’t buy her overdone apology.
“You flew all this way? But what about your job?”
“You’re more important.”
Gag me with a spoon.
I saw my son wavering. So did the barracuda at my door. I saw her other shape waver into view. Not as pretty or frail looking as the body she’d possessed.
“Don’t let her in,” I exclaimed.
“Mom. What the hell?”
Don’t say it. Don’t say it. “She’s a demon.” I couldn’t help but blurt it aloud.
My son gaped. “Mom. What is wrong with you?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.” Helena gave a fake sniffle, but the thing inside her smirked.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Come inside.” Geoff invited her in, and the house did nothing to stop it. Did that mean she wasn’t dangerous? Or had the accident broken my link to it?
Helena offered a simpering smile at my son. “Can we talk?” The spirit possessing her offered me a triumphant grin.
With barely a word to me, they went off to his basement lair where I hoped the reunion didn’t get loud or bloody. What should a mother do when her son insisted on being involved with a possible possessed body?
If I said anything, they’d put me back in the hospital.
Attempting normalcy, I threw on the radio and banged around the kitchen, pretending to bake. I failed. My mind was too muddled. My heart too sad.
So when my cat showed up, leaned his chin on the island, and said, “Go see Orville,” I didn’t question, just put on my coat and off I went.
My former boss lived on the opposite side of town, in a log home of all things. The red roof ran in lines of steel, and the massive chimney jutted, a cemented mash of big, roundish river stones. The massive driveway in front of his place was comprised of pure gravel. I parked by a fancy car that wasn’t Orville’s. He had company. Maybe this new girlfriend I’d heard about.
I hadn’t even made it up the steps before Orville stood in the doorway, glaring. At least, I think it was Orville. As with other people since I’d woken, he looked a little different. The demon possessing him had more height and husk, with handsome features and pointed ears. If he turned around, would I see a tail?
I should have been terrified. Run away. Instead I was relieved. A possessed Orville made sense. It explained his behavior. It’s not me that’s changed, it’s you.
Now if only someone could explain why I was seeing monster auras inside regular people.
Orville, who usually had a gruff bark at best, managed a more melodious version. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi to you, too.” Then because my foot fit in my mouth so well, “Why are you avoiding me?”
“Go home.”
“What is wrong
with you? I thought we were friends.” My lip trembled. Dammit, I’d promised myself I’d be strong.
“You can’t be here. Not now.”
“Why not? Your girlfriend over?” I glanced at the car. “I’d love to meet her.”
Apparently, Orville didn’t feel the same. “Well, she doesn’t want to see you. You have to go.” He started down the steps, and I had to wonder at his intent. Hulking, menacing, like a bull about to charge.
I stayed out of reach, backing up a large pace for each one of his. Apparently, I had a death wish because I waved words that might as well have been a red cape. “What are you hiding?”
“Nothing. You’re obviously still sick. You should go home. Rest.” His reluctance must be related to the reason why Grisou sent me here.
A motion at the door showed a smaller feline sitting in its frame. Friend of my kitty’s? Made me wonder how they talked.
“If nothing is wrong, then why are you acting like you’re going to wring my neck?” I asked, trying not to glance at his big mitts. He might have fingers long enough to do it one-handed.
My question had him halting in his tracks. He growled, “I wish you wouldn’t make this hard.”
“Me? You’re the one acting weird.” Should I mention the fact I could see past his magical disguise? Was he an elf? He lacked that ethereal quality the on-screen elves had in Lord of the Rings, but at the same time, Orville wasn’t Orville. Or was he? Maybe he’d been like this all along and I’d been too blind to see.
“I’m just trying to protect you.”
“I’d love for you to explain what you’re protecting me from.”
There was a visible struggle on his face. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” My frustration grew, and my fists clenched. I swear, if one more person gave me the run-around, I might just go ballistic and kill them.
“It’s just better that way. It won’t be much longer,” Orville said, his expression sad.
“Would you like to play some ominous music in there?” was my sarcastic retort. “Like seriously. What is up with everyone? My own kid was talking to Jace as if I was going to die. Yet here I am. In one piece. Not dead and not planning to die.” My frustration boiled over, and a sharp wind blew out of nowhere, icing my anger.