The Sign of Seven Trilogy (14 page)

He gripped her shoulders, spinning her around until her back was pressed to the stone. Then sated the sudden, desperate appetite by taking her mouth.

For an instant, he was someone else, as was she, and the moment was full of grieving desperation. Her taste, her skin, the beat of her heart.

Then he was himself, feeling Quinn's lips heat under his as the stone had heated under their hands. It was her body quivering against his, and her fingers digging into his hips.

He wanted more, wanted to shove her onto the table of rock, to cover her with his body, to surround himself with all she was.

Not him, he thought dimly, or not entirely him. And so he made himself pull back, forced himself to break that connection.

The air wavered a moment. “Sorry,” he managed. “Not altogether sorry, but—”

“Surprised.” Her voice was hoarse. “Me, too. That was definitely unexpected. Made me dizzy,” she whispered. “That's not a complaint. It wasn't us, then it was.” She took another steadying breath. “Call me a slut, but I liked it both ways.” With her eyes on his, she placed her hand on the stone again. “Want to try it again?”

“I think I'm still a man, so damn right I do. But I don't think it'd be smart, or particularly safe. Plus, I don't care for someone—something—else yanking on my hormones. Next time I kiss you, it's just you and me.”

“All right. Connections.” She nodded. “I'm more in favor than ever about the theory regarding connections. Could be blood, could be a reincarnation thing. It's worth exploring.”

She sidestepped away from the stone, and him. “So, no more contact with each other and that thing for the time being. And let's take it back to the purpose at hand.”

“Are you okay?”

“Stirred me up, I'll admit. But no harm, no foul.” She took out her water bottle, and this time drank deep.

“I wanted you. Both ways.”

Lowering the bottle, she met those calm gray eyes. She'd just gulped down water, she thought, but now her throat was dry again. “I know. What I don't know is if that's going to be a problem.”

“It's going to be a problem. I'm not going to care about that.”

Her pulse gave a couple of quick jumps. “Ah…This probably isn't the place to—”

“No, it's not.” He took a step forward, but didn't touch her. And still her skin went hot. “There's going to be another place.”

“Okay.” She cleared her throat. “All right. To work.”

She did another circle while he watched her. He'd made her a little jumpy. He didn't mind that. In fact, he considered it a point for his side. Something might have pushed him to kiss her that way, but he knew what he'd felt as that
something
released its grip. He knew what he'd been feeling since she'd stepped out of her car at the top of his lane.

Plain and simple lust. Caleb Hawkins for Quinn Black.

“You camped here, the three of you, that night.” Apparently taking Cal at his word about the safety of the area, Quinn moved easily around the clearing. “You—if I have any understanding of young boys—ate junk food, ragged on each other, maybe told ghost stories.”

“Some. We also drank the beer Gage stole from his father, and looked at the skin mags he'd swiped.”

“Of course, though I'd have pegged those activities for more like twelve-year-olds.”

“Precocious.” He ordered himself to stop thinking about her, to take himself back. “We built a fire. We had the boom box on. It was a pretty night, still hot, but not oppressive. And it was our night. It was, we thought, our place. Sacred ground.”

“So your great-grandmother said.”

“It called for ritual.” He waited for her to turn to him. “We wrote down words. Words we made. We swore an oath, and at midnight, I used my Boy Scout knife to cut our wrists. We said the words we'd made and pressed our wrists together to mix the blood. To make us blood brothers. And hell opened up.”

“What happened?”

“I don't know, not exactly. None of us do, not that we can remember. There was a kind of explosion. It seemed like one. The light was blinding, and the force of it knocked me back. Lifted me right off my feet. Screams, but I've never known if they were mine, Fox's, Gage's, or something else. The fire shot straight up, there seemed to be fire everywhere, but we weren't burned. Something
pushed
out, pushed into me. Pain, I remember pain. Then I saw some kind of dark mass rising out, and felt the cold it brought with it. Then it was over, and we were alone, scared, and the ground was scorched black.”

Ten years old, she thought. Just a little boy. “How did you get out?”

“We hiked out the next morning pretty much as we'd hiked in. Except for a few changes. I came into this clearing when I was nine. I was wearing glasses. I was nearsighted.”

Her brows rose. “Was?”

“Twenty–one hundred in my left eye, twenty-ninety in my right. I walked out ten, and twenty-twenty. None of us had a mark on him when we left, though Gage especially had some wounds he brought in with him. Not one of us has been sick a day since that night. If we're injured, it heals on its own.”

There was no doubt on her face, only interest with a touch, he thought, of fascination. It struck him that other than his family she was the only one who knew. Who believed.

“You were given some sort of immunity.”

“You could call it that.”

“Do you feel pain?”

“Damn right. I came out with perfect vision, not X-ray. And the healing can hurt like a mother, but it's pretty quick. I can see things that happened before, like out on the trail. Not all the time, not every time, but I can see events of the past.”

“A reverse clairvoyance.”

“When it's on. I've seen what happened here on July seventh, sixteen fifty-two.”

“What happened here, Cal?”

“The demon was bound under the stone. And Fox, Gage, and I, we cut the bastard loose.”

She moved to him. She wanted to touch him, to soothe that worry from his face, but was afraid to. “If you did, you weren't to blame.”

“Blame and responsibility aren't much different.”

The hell with it. She laid her hands on his cheeks even when he flinched. Then touched her lips gently to his. “That was normal. You're responsible because, to my mind, you're willing to take responsibility. You've stayed when a lot of other men would've walked, if not run, away from here. So I say there's a way to beat it back where it belongs. And I'm going to do whatever I can to help you do just that.”

She opened her pack. “I'm going to take photos, some measurements, some notes, and ask a lot of annoying questions.”

She'd shaken him. The touch, the words, the faith. He wanted to draw her in, hold on to her. Just hold on. Normal, she'd said, and looking at her now, he craved the bliss of normality.

Not the place, he reminded himself, and stepped back. “You've got an hour. We start back in an hour. We're going to be well out of the woods before twilight.”

“No argument.” This time, she thought, and went to work.

S
HE SPENT A LOT OF TIME, TO CAL'S MIND, WANDERING
around, taking what appeared to be copious notes and a mammoth number of photographs with her tiny little digital, and muttering to herself.

He didn't see how any of that was particularly helpful, but since she seemed to be absorbed in it all, he sat under a tree with the snoring Lump and let her work.

There was no more howling, no more sense of anything stalking the clearing, or them. Maybe the demon had something else to do, Cal thought. Or maybe it was just hanging back, watching. Waiting.

Well, he was doing the same, he supposed. He didn't mind waiting, especially when the view was good.

It was interesting to watch her, to watch the way she moved. Brisk and direct one minute, slow and wandering the next. As if she couldn't quite make up her mind which approach to take.

“Have you ever had this analyzed?” she called out. “The stone itself? A scientific analysis?”

“Yeah. We took scrapings when we were teenagers, and took them to the geology teacher at the high school. It's limestone. Common limestone. And,” he continued, anticipating her, “we took another sample a few years later, that Gage took to a lab in New York. Same results.”

“Okay. Any objection if I take a sample, send it to a lab I've used, just for one more confirmation?”

“Help yourself.” He started to hitch up a hip for his knife, but she was already taking a Swiss Army out of her pocket. He should've figured her for it. Still, it made him smile.

Most of the women he knew might have lipstick in their pocket, but wouldn't consider a Swiss Army. He was betting Quinn had both.

He watched her hands as she scraped stone dust into a Baggie she pulled out of her pack. A trio of rings circled two fingers and the thumb of her right hand to catch quick glints of the sun with the movement.

The glints brightened, beamed into his eyes.

The light changed, softened like a summer morning even as the air warmed and took on a weight of humidity. Leaves budded, unfurled, then burst into thick green on the trees, casting shade and light in patterns on the ground, on the stone.

On the woman.

Her hair was long and loose, the color of raw honey. Her face was sharp-featured with eyes long and tipped up slightly. She wore a long dress of dusky blue under a white apron. She moved with care, and still with grace, though her body was heavily pregnant. And she carried two pails across the clearing toward a little shed behind the stone.

As she walked she sang in a voice clear and bright as the summer morning.

All in a garden green where late I laid me down upon a bank of chamomile where I saw upon a style sitting, a country clown…

Hearing her, seeing her, Cal was filled with love so urgent, so ripe, he thought his heart might burst from it.

The man stepped through the door of the shed, and that love was illuminated on his face. The woman stopped, gave a knowing, flirtatious toss of her head, and sang as the man walked toward her.

…
holding in his arms a comely country maid. Courting her with all his skill, working her unto his will. Thus to her he said, Kiss me in kindness, sweetheart.

She lifted her face, offered her lips. The man brushed them with his, and as her laugh burst like a shooting star, he took the pails from her, setting them on the ground before wrapping her in an embrace.

Have I not told you, you are not to carry water or wood? You carry enough.

His hands stroked over the mound of her belly, held there when hers covered them.
Our sons are strong and well. I will give you sons, my love, as bright and brave as their father. My love, my heart.
Now Cal saw the tears glimmer in those almond-shaped eyes.
Must I leave you?

You will never leave me, not truly, nor I you. No tears.
He kissed them away, and Cal felt the wrench of his own heart.
No tears.

No. I swore an oath against them.
So she smiled.
There is time yet. Soft mornings and long summer days. It is not death. You swear to me?

It is not death. Come now. I will carry the water.

When they faded, he saw Quinn crouched in front of him, heard her saying his name sharply, repeatedly.

“You're back. You went somewhere. Your eyes…Your eyes go black and…
deep
is the only word I can think of when you go somewhere else. Where did you go, Cal?”

“She's not you.”

“Okay.” She'd been afraid to touch him before, afraid if she did she'd push them both into that somewhere else, or yank him back before he was done. Now she reached out to rest her hand on his knee. “I'm not who?”

“Whoever I was kissing. Started to, then it was you, but before, at first…Jesus.” He clamped the heels of his hands at his temple. “Headache. Bitch of a headache.”

“Lean back, close your eyes. I'll—”

“It'll pass in a minute. They always do. We're not them. It's not a reincarnation deal. It doesn't feel right. Sporadic possession maybe, which is bad enough.”

“Who?”

“How the hell do I know?” His head screamed until he had to lower his head between his knees to fight off the sudden, acute nausea. “I'd draw you a damn picture if I could draw. Give me a minute.”

Rising, Quinn went behind him and, kneeling, began to massage his neck, his shoulders.

“Okay, all right. Sorry. Christ. It's like having an electric drill inside my head, biting its way out through my temples. It's better. I don't know who they were. They didn't call each other by name. But best guess is Giles Dent and Ann Hawkins. They were obviously living here, and she was really, really pregnant. She was singing,” he said and told her what he'd seen.

Quinn continued to rub his shoulders while she listened. “So they knew it was coming, and from what you say, he was sending her away before it did. ‘Not death.' That's interesting, and something to look into. But for now, I think you've had enough of this place. And so have I.”

She sat on the ground then, hissed a breath out, sucked one in. “While you were out, let's say, it came back.”

“Jesus Christ.” He started to spring up, but she gripped his arm.

“It's gone. Let's just sit here until we both get our legs back under us. I heard it growling, and I spun around. You were taking a trip, and I quashed my first instinct to grab you, shake you out of it, in case doing that pulled me in with you.”

“And we'd both be defenseless,” he said in disgust.

“And now Mr. Responsibility is beating himself up because he didn't somehow see this coming, fight off the magickal forces so he could stay in the here and now and protect the girl.”

Even with the headache, he could manage a cool, steely stare. “Something like that.”

“Something like that is appreciated, even if it is annoying. I had my handy Swiss Army knife, which, while it isn't up to Jim Bowie standards, does include a nice corkscrew and tweezers, both of which you never know when you may need.”

“Is that spunk? Are you being spunky?”

“I'm babbling until I level out and I'm nearly there. The thing is, it just circled, making its nasty ‘I'll eat you, my pretty and your big, lazy dog, too.' Rustling, growling, snarling. But it didn't show itself. Then it stopped, and you came back.”

“How long?”

“I don't know. I think just a couple minutes, though it seemed longer at the time. However long, I'm so ready to get gone. I hope to hell you can walk back, Cal, because strong and resilient as I am, there's no way I can carry you piggyback.”

“I can walk.”

“Good, then let's get the hell out of here, and when we get to civilization, Hawkins, you're buying me a really big drink.”

They gathered their packs; Cal whistled Lump awake. As they started back he wondered why he hadn't told her of the bloodstone—the three pieces he, Fox, and Gage held. The three pieces that he now knew formed the stone in the amulet Giles Dent had worn when he'd lived at the Pagan Stone.

 

W
HILE CAL AND QUINN WERE HIKING OUT OF
Hawkins Wood, Layla was taking herself out for an aimless walk around town. It was odd to just let her feet choose any direction. During her years in New York she'd always had a specific destination, always had a specific task, or several specific tasks to accomplish within a particular time frame.

Now, she'd let the morning stretch out, and had accomplished no more than reading sections of a few of the odd books Quinn had left with her. She might have stayed right there, inside her lovely room, inside that safe zone as Quinn had termed it.

But she'd needed to get away from the books. In any case, it gave the housekeeper an opportunity to set the room to rights, she supposed. And gave herself an opportunity to take a real look at the town she'd been compelled to visit.

She didn't have the urge to wander into any of the shops, though she thought Quinn's assessment was on the mark. There were some very interesting possibilities.

But even window shopping made her feel guilty for leaving the staff of the boutique in the lurch. Taking off the way she had, barely taking the time to call in from the road to tell the owner she'd had a personal emergency and wouldn't be in for the next several days.

Personal emergency covered it, Layla decided.

And it could very well get her fired. Still, even knowing that, she couldn't go back, pick things up, forget what had happened.

She'd get another job if she had to. When and if, she'd find another. She had some savings, she had a cushion. If her boss couldn't cut her some slack, she didn't want that stupid job anyway.

And, oh God, she was already justifying being unemployed.

Don't think about it, she ordered herself. Don't think about that right this minute.

She didn't think about it, and didn't think twice when her feet decided to continue on beyond the shops. She couldn't have said why they wanted to stop at the base of the building.
LIBRARY
was carved into the stone lintel over the door, but the glossy sign read
HAWKINS HOLLOW COMMUNITY CENTER.

Innocuous enough, she told herself. But when a chill danced over her skin she ordered her feet to keep traveling.

She considered going into the museum, but couldn't work up the interest. She thought about crossing the street to Salon A and whiling away some time with a manicure, but simply didn't care about the state of her nails.

Tired and annoyed with herself, she nearly turned around and headed back. But the sign that caught her eye this time drew her forward.

FOX O'DELL, ATTORNEY AT LAW
.

At least he was someone she knew—more or less. The hot lawyer with the compassionate eyes. He was probably busy with a client or out of the office, but she didn't care. Going in was something to do other than wander around feeling sorry for herself.

She stepped into the attractive, homespun reception area. The woman behind the gorgeous old desk offered a polite smile.

“Good morning—well, afternoon now. Can I help you?”

“I'm actually…” What? Layla wondered. What exactly was she? “I was hoping to speak to Mr. O'Dell for a minute if he's free.”

“Actually, he's with a client, but they shouldn't be much longer if you'd like to…”

A woman in tight jeans, a snug pink sweater, and an explosion of hair in an improbable shade of red marched out on heeled boots. She dragged on a short leather jacket. “I want him skinned, Fox, you hear? I gave that son of a bitch the best two years and three months of my life, and I want him skinned like a rabbit.”

“So noted, Shelley.”

“How could he do that to me?” On a wail she collapsed into Fox's arms.

He wore jeans as well, and an untucked pinstriped shirt, along with an expression of resignation as he glanced over at Layla. “There, there,” he said, patting the sobbing Shelley's back. “There, there.”

“I just bought him new tires for his truck! I'm going to go slash every one of them.”

“Don't.” Fox took a good hold of her before Shelley, tears streaming away in fresh rage, started to yank back. “I don't want you to do that. You don't go near his truck, and for now, honey, try to stay away from him, too. And Sami.”

“That turncoat slut of a bitch.”

“That's the one. Leave this to me for now, okay? You go on back to work and let me handle this. That's why you hired me, right?”

“I guess. But you skin him raw, Fox. You crack that bastard's nuts like pecans.”

“I'm going to get right on that,” he assured her as he led her to the door. “You just stay above it all, that's the way. I'll be in touch.”

After he'd closed the door, leaned back on it, he heaved out a breath. “Holy Mother of God.”

“You should've referred that one,” Alice told him.

“You can't refer off the first girl you got to second base with when she's filing for divorce. It's against the laws of God and Man. Hello, Layla, need a lawyer?”

“I hope not.” He was better looking than she remembered, which just went to show the shape she'd been in the night before. Plus he didn't look anything like a lawyer. “No offense.”

“None taken. Layla…It's Darnell, right?”

“Yes.”

“Layla Darnell, Alice Hawbaker. Mrs. H, I'm clear for a while?”

“You are.”

“Come on back, Layla.” He gestured. “We don't usually put a show on this early in the day, but my old pal Shelley walked into the back room over at the diner to visit her twin sister, Sami, and found her husband—that would be Shelley's husband, Block—holding Sami's tip money.”

“I'm sorry, she's filing for divorce because her husband was holding her sister's tip money?”