Night of the Raven (11 page)

He crossed to a narrow window. “Pick a wing, then, Red.”

“At the risk of sounding like Sarah, I don’t think she’s anywhere in the house. No vibes,” she added when he glanced at her.

McVey returned to his scan of the ceiling. “That probably shouldn’t make me feel better, but it does. She might be in one of the outbuildings. Or the cave.”

“There’s a cave?”

“In the woods behind the manor.”

Exasperation mixed with uncertainty. “You’re not on some kind of medication I should know about, are you, McVey? Who told you—?”

With so many dense shadows enfolding them, she didn’t see him move, didn’t realize he was behind her until his hand covered her mouth and his lips moved against her ear.

“Your uncle told me about it. There’s someone outside. He’s circling the manor.”

Amara’s heart shot into her throat. Unable to speak around it, she let him slip his backup gun between her fingers.

Jimmy Sparks’s face darted through her head. Teeth gleamed, and Jimmy morphed into the man with the big knife. Not Willy Sparks, her blipping mind recalled. Not if McVey was to be believed.

A little unsure, she flattened herself against the wall while he watched through the window.

“Whoever it is moves quickly and well,” he remarked.

“I imagine most assassins would.”

“He’s heading for the west wing.” McVey pushed an extra ammo clip into her free hand. “Don’t shoot unless you’re certain of your target.”

“No, wait, McVey, you can’t...”

But he could and did. And left her wishing she really had inherited some of Sarah’s power, enough at least to put a binding spell on him.

Lowering to her knees, she braced her wrists on the sill and ordered herself to listen for sounds within the storm.

She spied an arc of light to her right. It slashed across the clearing and for less than a heartbeat of time revealed a figure dressed in shiny black. The person was bent low and appeared to be running away from the manor.

Amara eased up for a clearer look. But the lightning winked out, the person vanished and only the thunder and pelting rain remained.

Two seconds later a gunshot exploded outside.

* * *

T
HE BULLET WAS
a rogue, McVey suspected. And it came from a handgun, not a rifle, which tended to be Westor’s weapon of choice. So...probably not him.

Lightning raced through the sky in long, skinny bolts. McVey moved between flashes and kept an eye peeled for any motion that didn’t involve rain, flying objects or swaying trees.

Fifty feet ahead, a leg disappeared around the west side of the manor. Fixing his mind on the spot and keeping to the shadows as much as possible, he ran.

They’d called it foot pursuit back at the academy. Bad guys bolted; cops gave chase. Sometimes the bad guys got cornered and attacked, but in vast, open areas they didn’t tend to launch themselves out of the darkness like human projectiles, roaring and, in the case of this particular projectile, packing upward of two hundred and fifty hairy pounds.

McVey glimpsed the human mass, but not quickly enough to avoid it. The best he could do was duck low to prevent an all-out tackle that would have landed him on a jagged clump of rocks.

As it was, the blow knocked him sideways and slammed his shoulder into the stump of a tree.

Aware that he’d only half struck his target, the man went from his knees to a feral crouch to another roaring attack in a New York second.

Knowing he’d only get one shot, McVey rolled onto his back, double-handed his Glock and, as the man rushed toward him, squeezed off two shots.

It might have been his attacker falling or a particularly violent clap of thunder, but the ground beneath McVey’s feet shook. Cursing, the man swung onto his side and would have reared up if McVey hadn’t used his gun to slam him in the jaw.

His attacker went down like a felled tree.

Winded, and with his shoulder throbbing, McVey took aim at a bearded face. “Give me a name, pal, and hope like hell it’s one I want to hear. Because right now I’m just pissed off enough to forget I took an oath to serve and protect.”

A flashlight beam sliced through the murk. As it did, he heard Amara shout, “Don’t shoot him, McVey. He’s not Willy Sparks. His name’s Brigham Blume. He’s a raven tamer.”

* * *

“
O
UCH,
A
MARA.”

The oversize tamer jerked, but Amara merely went with the motion and finished pumping the contents of her syringe into his tattooed upper arm.

“Both bullets penetrated flesh, Brigham. A few stitches and you’ll be good to go.”

“Figuratively speaking,” McVey put in.

He poured three glasses of whiskey in a kitchen too tidy to have been abandoned for any length of time. When he added in the fact that the place had power—fading in and out, but working for the moment—it appeared they’d found Hannah’s home. As for Hannah herself, he’d searched the entire west wing from top to bottom without success.

Brigham picked up one of the drinks, downed it and glared. “Why’d you shoot me?”

McVey tossed his own whiskey back. “Why did you attack me?”

“I thought you were the other guy. Same time I realized you weren’t, I saw you had a gun. I figured if you were anything like your dumb-ass deputy, you’d be inclined to shoot first and congratulate yourself on the result.”

Okay, that was a lot of information. McVey homed in on the significant point. “What other guy?”

“The one who followed you up the mountain. I noticed he was on your tail after I got on his.”

“Where was that?” Amara asked.

“While you were lollygagging across the bridge. I came to collect storm noises. Around the bridge gives a great echo.”

“For their amazing animated ravens,” Amara informed McVey. “Nana says the raven tamers do a killer show throughout the festival, complete with sound effects.”

“Other guy,” McVey reminded her.

Brigham slid his glass forward for a refill. “That’s all I’ve got, McVey. Guy followed you, I spotted him. I went up the stone path behind him, behind you. I lost him at the top, but decided to skulk a bit, because even though I shouldn’t, I liked Amara when I met her all those years back, and while you might think we live like our ancestors in the north woods, we stay connected to some of our relatives in the Cove. We know what’s what. Don’t always like to admit we know, but we do.” He shrugged his good shoulder. “I put knowing and seeing together and came up with someone who wants Amara here to be joining her fellow witnesses in death.”

“Fellow witnesses and the cop who helped her get out of New Orleans.” McVey sent the whiskey bottle sliding across the table.

“Soda pop’s got more of a kick than this stuff,” Brigham scoffed. He jerked again. “I said, ouch, Amara.”

“Heard you the first time.” She pulled a suture through his flesh and made McVey’s stomach roll. “We should check the house as well as the outbuildings for Hannah. I might not be feeling her vibe, but my Bellam senses are far from infallible.”

“I’ll help.” Brigham poured himself a full six ounces of whiskey and knocked it back as if it really was soda pop. “Hannah’s kin of a sort. Weird, but kin.”

“Pot, kettle,” McVey said into his glass. “How much longer, Red?”

“All done.” She tapped Brigham’s shoulder. “No pulling, no fiddling. They’ll dissolve as you heal. I’ll give you something for the pain.”

Brigham gave McVey a hard look. “I’ve got that covered at home—I hope.”

McVey just smiled. “Let’s find Hannah.”

As Amara washed her hands, she nodded at the full second sink. “Wherever she went, Hannah left a week’s worth of dirty dishes behind.”

Joining her, McVey counted ten plates, six bowls with food hardened on the bottom and a single coffee-stained mug that smelled like bio-diesel fuel.

He held the mug out to Brigham, who was shrugging cautiously into his jacket. “Residue of your kick-ass whiskey?”

The big man sniffed the mug. “Well, damn me. And we’ve been making do with ginger ale. I should’ve checked out the cupboards when we came in. My mind must’ve gone south from the pain of having two bullets drilled into my shoulder.”

“You want to launch an official complaint, I’ll be happy to take your statement while you’re showing me around your raven tamer property.” McVey picked up a wineglass that was coated red inside. “Raven’s blood, I assume?”

Amara took the glass and smiled. “Nana says it’s an acquired taste.” She rubbed her thumb over a pink smudge on the rim. “If Hannah drank raven’s blood and chased it with raven tamer whiskey, it’s possible she’s passed out somewhere between here and one of the outbuildings. Passed out equals no vibes. Or so the theory goes.”

As a fresh round of wind and rain buffeted the manor, McVey rezipped his jacket. “Let’s get this done. If Hannah’s on the property, we need to find her.” He regarded Brigham, who was currently rooting through the pantry. “Do you know if there’s power in the other wing?”

“Doubt it.” He sent Amara an evil grin. “But I’m willing to bet there’re plenty of really big spiders.”

* * *

B
RIGHAM WAS RIGHT
about the lack of power. Unfortunately he was also right about the spiders. Amara found evidence of several in each of the rooms she inspected.

“How is it possible,” she asked the big raven tamer when he passed her in a dusty second-floor corridor, “that you know so specifically what terrifies me?”

“Could be a little raven told me.” But he chuckled when she beamed her light directly into his face. “Okay, McVey told me. He made a sweep while you were digging out your instruments of torture. He made me look under the table. Me, Amara, the guy with two bullet holes in his arm.”

“Any time you want to swear out that complaint, Blume.” McVey came down the ladder stairs from the attic. “Any luck?”

Amara jerked her hand away from a sticky web. “No. You?”

“I spotted a bunch of small sheds and a larger building that was probably a barn or stable at one time.”

“She might have gone to a neighbor’s place,” Brigham said. “How bad was her leg?”

“Swollen like a balloon according to Uncle Lazarus.” Amara fastened her rain jacket and pulled on the Dodgers cap McVey had loaned her.

“You and me, left. Him, right.” McVey took her hand and tossed one of the flashlights to Brigham. “Don’t assume the person you saw earlier is gone.”

“Because he’s probably not as considerate as you and won’t settle for shooting me in the shoulder.”

Amara watched him slog away. “I like Brigham better, but he reminds me of Jake. Which makes sense, I suppose, since they’re both Blumes, and he seems to know about your dumb-ass deputy’s penchant for firearms.”

McVey gave the bill of her cap a tug. “You have a strange group of relatives, Red. Barn’s about two hundred feet west. Tuck in close behind me.”

The wind had picked up and the rain was falling in buckets now. Mud sucked at Amara’s boots and made running impossible. Even if they found Hannah, she couldn’t see them getting her back to McVey’s truck.

And if they couldn’t get back, she thought as they approached the barn, neither could the person who’d apparently followed them. All in all, not a positive prospect for the next several hours.

The barn turned out to be even more derelict than the manor. A full third of the roof and most of the wall that faced the ocean had been torn away. There was no sign of Hannah, only a dozen or so rusty vehicles from another era.

“What now?” Amara asked when they rejoined Brigham in the central core.

McVey shone his flashlight up the staircase again. “Only place we haven’t looked is here.”

“Not infallible,” she reminded him. “Up or down?”

“With a leg like a balloon, I doubt she’d have gone either way. This floor’s our best bet.”

Brigham took the front of the house, leaving the back to her and McVey.

“Oh, wow, now here’s a kitchen only my great-great-many-times-grandmother would recognize.” Stepping carefully, Amara beamed her light into a hearth large enough to roast an ox. She ran it over broken counters, cupboards with no doors and appliances so old their purpose eluded her. “Hannah?” Her voice echoed up to the rafters. “Brigham could be right, McVey. She might have made her way to a neighbor’s—”

The last word never emerged as McVey gripped her arms and yanked her down below the level of the windowsill.

“Someone’s heading into the trees.”

A glimmer of lightning revealed a figure, but it could have been a deer for all Amara saw of it. Moving ahead of her, McVey led the way along the line of windows to the door.

“It’s as if we crossed Bellam Bridge and stepped into the worst horror film ever,” she whispered. “What if it’s another raven tamer, McVey?”

“I’ll try not to shoot any vital parts. Stay here, Amara, and be ready. Anyone you don’t recognize appears, fire a warning. If he keeps coming, shoot him.”

He stood as he spoke and eased the door open.

Amara set a hand on the floor. She would have gone from a crouch to her knees if her fingers hadn’t recognized the thing beneath them and gone still where they lay.

“McVey?” Even being a doctor, she didn’t want to lower her eyes. “I, uh...could you shine your flashlight this way for a minute?”

“Not now, Red.”

“Yes, now.” Her throat tightened, threatened to close. Before it did, she made herself look.

McVey angled his light down. The beam bounced off a pair of green eyes. Lifeless eyes, Amara’s shocked mind corrected. The lifeless green eyes of her uncle’s cousin, Hannah Blume.

Chapter Ten

In Amara’s opinion, Hannah had been dead for at least two days. If appearances could be believed, she’d struck her head on one of the broken counters. But given her severely swollen leg, why she’d been in this part of the house was anyone’s guess.

“Maybe she was delirious.” Brigham watched as McVey gathered what evidence he could without disturbing Hannah’s body. “Could’ve wandered over here not meaning to.”

“It’s possible” was all McVey said, and he did so absently while taking pictures with his iPhone.

When he was finished, Brigham got a sheet from Hannah’s living quarters and Amara draped it over her. Because he’d known her best, she asked Brigham to say a few words.