Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set (29 page)

As she mulled over the challenge she'd just accepted, and
the consequence to Zach that she hadn't considered until now, her eyes fell
back to the quatrain.

Beasts lay panting on the trail.

The two keep the one at bay.

When the two join as one,

The soft overpower the strong.

Still as enigmatic as ever. In the name of heaven, what did
this mean? Its title—The Key—implied it had great significance.

Where was the interpretation for this puzzle? Liz leafed
through the book, hunting for additional references. When she arrived at her
mother's final entry without finding one, she repeated the action, this time
from end to beginning.

Finally, she accepted the truth. There wasn't one. The
interpretation was up to her. Out of the blue, Harris's words ran through her
mind.
Look for what Izzy knew.
He'd said it was in the book.

In the book. What did Izzy, that clueless little girl, know
that Liz did not? What? It was in the book. Once again Liz scoured the pages,
hunting for something she knew as a girl.

Then it was there, clear as day, written again and again on
every page in her mother's hand. Love. Izzy knew love. Izzy understood love.
And only love could defeat
le fantome noir
.

* * *

Zach went directly to the spot they'd left the boat, praying
the storm hadn't blown it into the bayou. To his immense relief, it was still
there. After pulling it a couple more yards from the water for good measure, he
headed along the shore in search of Frank and Maddie.

The island wasn't much more than a mile around, and the lack
of vegetation made the trip easy. Every now and then he turned his eyes inland,
looking for a crumpled body. Each fruitless search led only to the small
mountain rising from the island's center. When, he finally got back to the
beached boat, he was convinced Frank and his mistress were no longer there.

More pieces that didn't add up. Liz had hysterically
declared that the tornado picked up her father, but Zach would've sworn the
twister wasn't big enough to lift a grown man from the ground, much less carry
him completely off the island.

With a smoothness born of habit, Zach reached for his back
pocket. Not until he recapped the bottle did he realize what he'd done. On an
empty stomach? Well, he needed something, that was for sure.

How had it come to this? How had Zach Fortier—son of Port
Chatre's mayor and biggest employer, football star, homecoming king,
everybody's fair-haired boy—how had he come to this? His life had promised
great rewards. Nothing bad ever happened to Zach. Everyone said so.

But his father had died. Then his brother. His once-vibrant
mother was a sad, empty shell. Three wives turned their backs on him. His
children saw him as a walking checkbook. And the woman he'd loved all his life,
the woman he'd once given up for dead, had either joined her father in his
insanity or was covering up unspeakable crimes.

Had the whole tornado thing been a fortuitous smoke screen
that came up just in time to allow Frank and Maddie to escape without pursuit?

That's when the pieces clicked. Drugs. He'd rejected the
idea earlier, but it had to be drugs. Catherine and Ellie had probably gotten
hooked, and eventually died from their indulgence. Jed and the prisoner had
been tricked into or force-fed an overdose. And Frank, who was probably little
more than a courier, had known what happened all along.

A lost fact wiggled in the back of Zach's mind, having something
to do with blood test results, but it failed to surface and he spent no time
digging it up. He'd given more than two years to the search for his brother's
killer, and the mental tug of war caused by the conflicting evidence he'd
uncovered over the last three days had exhausted him. It was time to face the
truth. Either Frank Deveraux was an accessory to murder, or Ankouer really did
live in that ominous mountain.

And those alternatives led to only one logical conclusion.

With heavy footsteps, he trudged back to the alcove to ask
Liz some hard questions, scared to death that they would produce some equally
hard answers.

She was sitting on a rock, reading, and lifted her head at
his approach. At first she regarded him with a fuzzy gaze, then gave him a delighted
smile.

A brilliant smile—warm, inviting, full of triumph—and
begging for a response that was beyond him. Every muscle in his face felt the
brutal pull of gravity.

"Zach," she cried, leaping up and rushing toward
him. "We have to hurry. There's so much to do."

His heart ached so bad he couldn't answer.

"Did you hear me?" Her eyes filled up with
urgency.

"I heard," he replied flatly. "And you can
cut the act."

"Act? What are you talking about?"

"You can't kid me anymore, Liz. I know you helped your
father escape."

"Helped him . . ." Liz stared up at Zach with
dismayed astonishment. "You can't believe that."

Clearly he did, because his voice turned harsher. "How
did they get off the island, Liz, him and Maddie? And why didn't you leave with
them? There must be a reason. He wouldn't leave you behind. So what are the
three of you hiding?" At this he looked up at the mountain. "And what
in God's name is in that cave?"

"Papa hasn't escaped," she told him. "He's
still on the island. Ankouer took him just the way I told you."

"Stop lying to me, Liz," he countered, turning
back to look at her. "You've been up north so long you think all
Southerners are superstitious fools. But your ruse to make me think your pa's
gone insane isn't working anymore. And then there's your sudden reversal. None
of it rings true, Liz. Do you have any idea how nutty you're acting?"

She nodded. He'd squinted his eyes against the glare from
the hazy sky, which made him look as hard and mean as he sounded. But this
wasn't Zach. This was a hurt and tormented man, and not without reason. She
dropped her gaze to the volume in her hand, then extended it toward him.

"Read this, Zach, please. It will ans—"

"Somehow your pa's responsible for your mother and
grandmother's deaths," he interrupted. "Jed's death . . . that
escaped con's. I'm going to prove it and bring him to justice." He took a
frustrated half-step away from her, then turned back and fully met her eyes.
"I love you, Liz, more than I can find words to say. But I swear, I truly
swear, if you helped him, I'll take you down too."

"Please, Zach, listen to—"

"No! I've heard too many lies already. Maybe you can
excuse your pa for killing two people you supposedly loved, but I can't give up
on Jed." He chuckled bitterly. "Tell me,
cher
, how is it you
can forgive him for murdering your ma and grandma, but you can't forgive me for
finding it out?"

"He didn't do it, Zach. You've got to believe me. Our
lives, his life, depends on it." She gestured toward the mountain.
"Ankouer has Papa up there. He's using him to bait me . . . bait us."
She stepped closer and tapped his chest with the journal. "Read this,
please, please read this. Then you'll understand that if we don't stand
together we're all doomed."

"Stop it!" he roared. "You're beginning to
sound like your father!"

Liz felt the battle going on inside him. What unpalatable
options he faced in trying to make sense of their situation. Either she was a
criminal in league with her equally criminal father, or, also like him, she was
going insane. And then there was the third one, which she was sure he'd also
considered, the option she knew to be true. Ankouer did exist and was behind
every inexplicable event they'd gone through.

"Just read what Mama had to say," she said in a
whisper, pressing the book in his hand.

"Nooo!" He whirled and flung the book away, then
stormed toward the place it fell.

Liz raced after him.

"Don't," she cried. She swooped down and rescued
the volume just as he was preparing to stomp on it, narrowly escaping getting
her fingers crushed. She pulled it to her breasts and glared up at him.
"Don't you ever do that again," she said with a hiss in her voice.
"This was my mother's."

"It's making you crazy, Liz."

Liz shook her head sadly. It was no good arguing.

It amazed her that she understood his pain almost better
than he did. He felt betrayed by her, possibly betrayed by life. The young Zach
she'd loved had a clear and predictable future. He'd marry her, run his
father's cannery, maybe someday become mayor of Port Chatre and after that,
possibly state politics. They probably wouldn't have lived in luxury, but they
would have had comfort, ease and respect. Lots of love. Good times.

But none of that came to pass.

The silence between them stretched on for a long time, but
finally Zach said, "We need to take our supplies to the boat so we can
leave."

"We can't leave yet," she replied firmly.

"Yes, we can, Liz, and we are." At that, he
slipped the ever-present flask from his back pocket and took a long drink.
After replacing the cap, he said. "And you're going to stick to me like
glue, you hear? If you even try to get out of my sight, I'll tie you to me like
a puppy on a leash."

She didn't doubt he meant it, and she supposed she could
outwardly rebel. But why bother? Ankouer wouldn't let them leave the island, no
matter what Zach thought or did.

He had waited a few seconds for a response, and when she
didn't say anything, he shrugged, then turned, tucking away his flask at the
same time.

The misty sky reflected darkly in the metal of the flask and
caught Liz's attention. A second later the image disappeared into Zach's
pocket. But in that instant, by some nebulous thought process, Liz saw what
Zach's demon was. Unlike her father, who had only one, his were many. Dozens of
losses, large and small, stacked one upon the other until they got so heavy he
tried to numb them with liquor.

He'd probably managed to cage his anguish for most of his
life, but Jed's death had finally forced the door open. Regardless of the reason,
the demons swarmed around him now, and instead of dealing with them, he'd opted
to keep them at bay with the contents of his flask.

He'd never defeat them unless he threw away his crutch, and
that seemed so unlikely Liz dismissed the possibility as quickly as it arose.

She wanted to deny her part in his downfall, but wasn't
able. One of the many abrupt changes in her makeup. Ever since her buried
memories had resurfaced, she'd felt as if she'd somehow finally learned who she
really was. An involuntary laugh escaped her throat. Of course she knew. She
was the Guardian of the Opal . . . the last guardian.

"Something funny?" Zach asked.

While she'd been lost in thought, he'd been busy returning
loose supplies to the crates. "Something crossed my mind, that's
all."

"Well, instead of daydreaming, would you come over here
and give me a hand? Stuff's scattered all over the place."

Liz sighed sadly, shaking her head as she walked to join
Zach. When she got there, he was rearranging items inside one of the crates,
almost pointedly ignoring her. She watched him for a moment, then turned away
and circled the camp, picking up stray items.

No, Zach wouldn't defeat his demons, at least not in time.
He couldn't even face his biggest one, namely her. This meant she'd have to
battle Ankouer alone, her only weapons a tiny, freakish voodoo doll and the
gift of love from Izzy Deveraux's heart. No guardian had yet defeated Ankouer,
and none without a defender survived her battle. But this time . . .

Liz could only pray.

* * *

They spent the morning lugging crates to the boat, returning
to the clearing, then lugging more. They wouldn't be leaving Quadray Island
today, of that Liz was certain. She wasn't going anywhere without her father,
but even if she were so inclined, she knew events would conspire to stop them.

Already the mist was forming into ugly clouds. A wind had
picked up, one strong enough to make their travels between the campsite and
shore all the more difficult. She suggested that Zach leave the lean-to up in
case it started to rain, and after examining the darkening sky he agreed.

When they were down to the cookstove, butane lantern and a
crate that held some food, he said, "We'll eat lunch. After that, we
go."

"Not without Papa and Maddie," she answered
calmly, with a certainty that came from knowing her own mind.

"They've left the island. You know that as well as I
do."

They hadn't left, but why argue, thought Liz. "Even if
they have, I don't think the weather's on our side."

He looked up as if he were just now noticing the approaching
storm, ran his fingers wearily through his windswept hair. Soft as a sigh, he
said, "A man can always hope," and walked to the food crate.

Liz moved along with him. "Do you still have Papa's
nitroglycerin tablets?" she asked, suddenly remembering he'd never given
them back.

He frowned, patted his pockets, then finally pulled out the
vial. "Here they are," he said, giving her a look that implied she
was delusional.

Ignoring his expression, she thanked him, then bent to help
take out the utensils. Zach handed her cheese, bread and a couple of apples,
and she placed them on a plate, which she set on the ground. She wanted to get
the journal before settling down to eat, and she'd left it in the shelter while
she'd carried crates to the boat.

"Don't you think you've spent enough time with that
book?" Zach asked curtly when she returned.

"I have to learn the prayer."

He snorted.

"Would you help me? I'm having a hard time memorizing
it."