“Nasty paper cut. Need to get a Band-Aid on it before I bleed on everything. I’ll watch for Wendy.” The phone went dead.
“Glad we can help,” Kat said to the dial tone.
She picked up the notebook. A thump, thump caught her attention. Terror thundered up her back and overtook her brain. You belong to my Master, Katrina Tovslosky might as well have been in neon lights as she read it again on the dark tan arrowhead. I’ll find you, creep, I’ll find you. She dug in her desk drawer and found an evidence bag. She grabbed a Kleenex from the box on her desk, picked up the rock, deposited it in the bag and zipped it closed.
“Thought you’d bagged that rock, Bart,” she yelled out.
“I did,” he yelled back, then came out of his office.
“No, you didn’t. It just fell out of your notebook.” Kat shoved the evidence bag at him.
“I was sure I did.” Bart grabbed the bag. “You won’t see it again.” He hustled off to his office and back to Pastor Lucas.
Kat took a shaky breath and turned to the computer. A sharp ding announced the arrival of a new email. No subject. No return email address. It simply read, “He did bag it. Looking forward to seeing you soon. Pet.”
Kat screamed and jumped up. The momentum sent her chair sailing backward. It came to a stop when it bounced off the railing at the front of the office.
Bart and Paul flew out of the office and rounded the desk. “What the hell?”
Kat pointed at the screen.
Bart turned red with rage.
“I came to see you for something else.” Paul Lucas pulled a lettersize sheet of paper out of his jacket and handed it to Bart. “Read it.”
I will have what is mine, Man of God. You won the battle. You will not win the war. You will taste hell before I am finished with Ravens Cove.
Soon to be your master.
Iconoclast.”
Kat’s email dinged again. A shaky finger touched the mouse.
I am at your door. Prepare for war.
This time, you die.
Chapter 2
Old Town
Kat snaked her head side to side, cobra fashion, in an effort to catch a reading of the small thermometer outside the ice-covered kitchen window. She stopped, head tilted to the left and slightly bent forward. “Ten below. Factor in the wind forecast for today and we’re looking at 40 below,” she fumed to her feline companion.
BC fixed uninterested eyes on hers, turned, and sauntered past a cheery red couch centered in front of a small wood-burning stove. He sprung onto the deep ledge of the large picture window. He moved to the center to take full advantage of an anemic sunbeam that managed to filter through another frosted window.
BC turned his head left and back and began to bathe his side, coarse tongue catching glistening fur. He went statue-still as a raven glided past his view. His elongated back leg stretched out and up above the windowsill while he considered a way to get at the small chickadee that landed on the other side of the glass. The feline ballerina resumed bathing when the small bird took flight and became a speck in the blue morning sky.
“Great day for a dedication of the Old Town Village,” Kat grumbled at an uncaring BC, then turned and trudged to her bedroom. One resolved but frustrated sigh escaped her lips before she began rummaging through her antique oak dresser. The old drawers squeaked in protest as she yanked each one open. All nine drawers became a pyramid of jumbled color as she frantically searched for her thermals.
“Where are those stupid things?” She stomped to the closet, the floor quaking in protest. She yanked open the rickety bifold door and succeeding in pulling it off the track. There, on the top shelf, underneath old wool socks and pants, a piece of winter-white waffle-style fabric peeked through. Kat grabbed the small pile, almost pelting herself with a mound of sock snowballs.
“I do wish I’d remember where I put things when I start organizing.” She smiled in relief, and then turned toward a soft noise in the doorway. BC stared open-eyed at Kat, anticipating a good romp.
“Sorry, guy. No time.” BC’s tail swished and his eyes narrowed. One bare leg had his full attention.
Kat’s cell phone chirped from across the room. She took a hasty step forward, in part to get the phone and in part to avoid BC’s wrath. The hem of her thermals, halfway up the right leg, snaked in front of both feet throwing her into a freefall. Kat grabbed the bedpost and hopped on one foot to the nightstand.
“Hello.” She switched the phone to her left ear, plopped onto the bed and managed to get her left leg in the close-fitting underclothes.
“You ready?”
“Five minutes.”
“Better be. We don’t want to be late for this all-important dedication.” Bart Andersen didn’t even try to hide the sarcasm from his cousin.
“Just show up in five minutes … did you happen to grab a coffee for me?”
“Indeed. And, if you hurry, it might still have enough warmth to call it hot coffee instead of iced.”
“Hah-hah. I don’t know why I put up with you at all.”
“Because I’m only one of a few who have wheels in this town and I’m family.”
“Wheels, yes. Family? That doesn’t gain you as many points. See you in five.” She pressed end before Bart could retort.
Kat rushed through her routine, turning off the electronic toothbrush at one minute instead of two. She ran a brush through her untamed, tangled mahogany hair.
“Good enough. I’ll be back soon, BC. Don’t tear anything up.”
BC walked to a small, plastic inset in the front door and pushed it with his head. It held tight against the lock. He plopped down in front of it, turned his head toward his back and looked up expectantly at Kat.
“Not today, fella. It is way too cold for you to be out and you know it.” The tail flipped back and forth across the wood flooring.
Snow tires cracked ice on her drive. Kat glanced through the living room window and caught the front of Bart’s old truck.
She sneaked around BC, still fixated on the “cat door,” and got out before he could follow. A bitter north wind slapped her unprotected face, turning it rosy red. Kat took the three front steps in one leap, and dashed to the vehicle. Her parka sung a winter melody every time the arm fabric rubbed her side. One yank and the truck door groaned open. She jumped in.
“Never remember this old truck’s heat being so wonderful.” She leaned toward the vent.
A smirk played around Bart’s lips until it broke into a toothy grin.
“What?”
“You look like a homeless but well-fed snow girl.”
Kat looked down. She had on ivory bunny boots compliments of the Army Navy Surplus in Anchorage. They reminded her of a clown’s idea of fashion footwear. Her faded blue jeans stretched and strained because the thermals beneath added a good inch to her figure. Her army-green parka, fake-fur ruff and all, made her round as a pumpkin from her torso to her thighs. She grabbed the rearview mirror. The military-issue green hood framed her face, clashing with her emerald-green eyes and giving her bronze skin a jaundiced undertone.
“We thank you for your support, smart-mouth.”
“Welcome.” Bart gave a quick nod in her direction, then put the truck in reverse.
“Haven’t seen this kind of cold in ten years. Seems a bad omen that it would come on the same day as this event.” Kat sounded more serious that jovial. “Whose idea was it anyway to hold a dedication in February?”
“That would be our esteemed mayor. Orthell convinced the Ravens Cove council that it had to be done now so they’d be able to fix any problems before April and the beginning of the tourist season.”
“I really don’t understand Orthell or the council for that matter. Is it the power of holding office that nullifies common sense?”
Bart snorted. “Maybe. No matter when this dedication were held, I’d have to be there and so would you. I have been ordered to attend. And, I’ve been ordered to make sure that you, grandma, an
d Paul Lucas are also there. Seems we are the guests of honor.”
“Since when has Orthell ever made anyone else the center of attention?”
“Yep. It’s fishy to me, too, but I do want to keep my job.”
“If anyone deserved thanks it was Josiah. I didn’t do anything. I almost caused the whole town to be destroyed,” Kat said sadly.
“I wish Josiah were here, too. And you didn’t almost cause the town to be destroyed Kat—our apathy and unbelief did that. There is one other person who should have been on the VIP list and is noticeably absent.” Bart kept his body straight and sent a sideways glance toward Kat.
“If you mean Kenneth Melbourne, why would you be surprised? He just wanted to make a name for himself and since Ravens Cove provided that for him, I don’t ever expect to see his sour face here again. He doesn’t care about anything—or anyone else for that matter.”
“To be fair, he asked you to go with him, Kat.”
Kat jerked upright, turned and glared at Bart’s profile.
“And, what would I have been? A fish out of water, that’s what! Worse, I’d have been dependent on him. What can I do in the big city to make a living, huh? And, I’m surely not cut out to be someone’s arm candy.” She whipped forward and stared at the white road ahead.
Bart hated seeing Kat this way. She had withdrawn every day since Kenneth Melbourne left, and become more sullen with each day that she hadn’t received a phone call. That outburst was the closest thing he’d seen to passion in Kat since November. Some people really are jerks.
“I know you’re hurt Kat. I really wish you’d forget about him. You’re anger isn’t hurting him. It’s killing you.”
Kat stayed stoic, concentrating even harder on the barren landscape of ice and snow.
Bart sighed. “Well, what do you think of the new, old, village?”
“One word—weird. I can’t wrap my mind around the expense and effort it took to bring in all those buildings. Ravens Cove’s not rich. Those fund-raisers in December and January couldn’t have brought in the thousands needed to bring those five old buildings to the Cove. How did we pay for it, anyway?”
“Seems Orthell has some pull. Called in some favors and with the fund-raising efforts, that did the trick.”
“Still seems weird.”
“You’re preaching to the choir. Weird or not, we now have two towns in one.”
The ice-packed road passed through Kat’s line of sight in slow motion. The winter winds had stripped the trees of snow and frost, emphasizing their bony limbs. Something small and dark darted into view. Kat leaned forward to get a better look. It bolted behind a stand of spruce and out again, following the truck. She squinted toward the forest trying to put a name to the shape. All she saw was bare trees and bushes. Stop it, Kat. Your imagination is running again. Just stop it.
No matter how she tried, Kat couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being followed. The road she had traveled hundreds of times took on a menacing look and feel—like she had been transported to an odd fun-house version of the Cove.
Bart maneuvered the old red pickup through an icy lane bordered by cars and trucks all the way to the entrance of Old Town.
“Looks like the whole darned town’s here.” He peered ahead, then threw the old gears into reverse. His wheels spun as he hit the gas a little too hard.
Kat shot him a disapproving look. Bart gave her a quick, “Sorry” smile, then backed up to an open spot.
“This is as close as we get.”
“I suppose I need the exercise.”
“I suppose we both do.”
They walked in silence until they reached the entrance to Old Town. The quiet of a block away gave way to a din of voices. People milled between the buildings, scrutinizing the outside of each. Groups of locals huddled closer than usual while discussing the features of the town.
“Okay, it’s impressive. Like stepping back into another century,” Kat said.
“Mmmm.”
Five houses, all from the early 1900s, stood in a semicircle. Each faced a large ring-shaped courtyard.
“Isn’t that the abandoned log cabin from Peri-Fay Fjord?” She pointed to the small structure on the left.
Yeah, I think so. Why is that here? Remember, we were told it was haunted and never to go near it without an adult?”
“Bart, we were kids. Grandma would say anything to keep us out of that place for fear we’d break our necks.”
Bart laughed. “Funny how stuff sticks, huh?”
“Yeah it is. But you know what’s creepy? It looks like it did twenty years ago. Shouldn’t it be more weathered?” Kat started toward it. Bart jogged to catch up. His cousin was on a mission. Before he could stop her, Kat had dropped to all fours and was feeling for something under the porch.
“What in the name of all that’s good are you doing? We’ll get thrown in jail and I’m the sheriff!” Bart looped his large hand around Kat’s elbow and pulled her to a standing position. Something was dangling from her right hand.
“It is that old cabin!” She held up a dirty dog-tag chain with two rusty bottle caps dangling from it.
“What the … ?”
“Remember? We promised that we’d go back one day—just you and me—before we found out that first cousins don’t get married.” She smiled up Bart, a twinkle in her eye. “Remember?”
“I’ll be,” was all he could muster. They had been eight if that. Grandma Bricken had taken them to the fjord on one of their history trips. Peri-Fay was one of the many areas across from the Cove rumored to be bewitched. They had listened to stories of fairies—not so nice ones—the night they stayed in the old cabin. The next morning, Kat and Bart had made a pact to return when they were older and sealed the pact by nailing the old necklace under the front door threshold.
“That thing’s seventy-five years old, if it’s a day. How did it survive all these years and look like it was just built?”
“Don’t know. Curiouser and curiouser.”
“That hotel looks like the one in the pictures of the Forgotten Place.”
“Kat …” Bart said. What he meant and didn’t say was Don’t start with the legends coming to life again.
“That’s the old cannery, too, and the mercantile. And, that’s the old house.” She pointed to a two-story frame building. Its front porch had columns—not seen in these parts at the turn of the century—that spanned the entire house. The large windows were separated into six smaller panes. Two elongated windows flanked a small balcony on the second floor. Kat imagined a face with dark, empty eyes glaring at her. She shivered and turned to the courtyard. Kat jumped backward to avoid walking into the large boulder in the center of the town.
“Why is that still here?” She pointed a shaky finger at the huge rock.
“The mayor insisted,” Bart said.
“You know what that represents, KittyKat?” Kat spun to her right at the unexpected voice.
“A little edgy, are we?” Wendy ignored the cold glare. “By the way, I haven’t seen you much this week. How you doing, girlfriend?” The concern in Wendy’s voice shook Kat’s being.
Kat shrugged. “Same old, same old.”
Wendy stared into what felt like Kat’s soul, as only a best friend can do. She opened her mouth, then thought better of it, shrugged and turned to the boulder. “That, my friends, is the Rock of Fallen Angels.”
“Do tell.”
“Don’t remember your local stories, huh, smarty.”
“Maybe I blocked them—I’ve had enough for a lifetime.”
“Amen,” said Bart.
“Well, it goes like this. Raven and Bear were arguing over a rock that had fallen from the sky into their drinking pond. It was so large it displaced most of the water and caused a drought. The angels in heaven had been fighting. The bad angels were tied to the boulder and thrown out of heaven—a sinking stone, as it were. Bear told Raven he could save all of them because he could change into anything he liked and
move the rock. Raven laughed. ‘Who cares about a stupid drought? Who cares about others? No one cares about me. Leave it there.’ The argument became a moral one. And, as moral ones usually go, they came to an impasse.
‘I’ll move it as Bear. I can’t trust you if I change my shape, Joker of the world.’ Bear lumbered toward the rock. He reached to give it a shove but a man, with a bright light surrounding him that frightened Bear spoke. ‘Do not touch that. It will kill you. It is an evil one that destroys any who disturb its rest.
“Who are you? You look human but are not.”
“You do not need to know me. But believe the Great Spirit that sent me.” Bear and Raven believed the shining man and left the rock. And, there it stayed for centuries. But then two miners came. The rock blocked the spring where they laid claim. They had been warned by our ancestors to let the rock sleep. They called our ancestors fools for believing such tales. The miners rigged a pulley and moved it away from the mouth. They waited for the stream to run strong and they began to pan and dig. It was a rich claim alright but neither of them ever claimed the money. They were dead within a week. The rock stayed on the beach near the Forgotten Place. Everyone died there, too. And, against our customs, Mayor Orthell has moved it here along with that old house.”
“Wow, Wendy. Great storytelling.”
“Not a story. Was Iconoclast a story?”
“Iconoclast is gone. Case closed. This is just a big rock!”
Kat walked to the boulder. It was light brown with a rounded top. From the back it looked like a man’s head. She ambled around the other side.
“Oh my! No wonder Orthell wanted it as a centerpiece.”
Bart and Wendy joined Kat.
“That’s downright awful. But Orthell is banking on that to keep the tourists coming. They’ll love it.”
They all stared, transfixed by the skull, which glared back at them from huge empty brown orbs. A small, sharp protrusion of a nose was set directly above a squiggly line of a mouth.
“That looks like a beak.” Wendy reached out to touch the sharp spur.
“Don’t.” Kat grabbed Wendy’s hand.
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