The Witch of Stonecliff (25 page)

“Damn,” he muttered, and shrugged off his jacket. Wet flakes of snow fluttered across the back of his neck, melting on contact with his skin. Thin rivulets of ice water dribbled down his back, but he barely noticed, his attention focused on wrapping his coat around Eleri James’s narrow shoulders.

He stood and hoisted her into his arms.

With the woman who might have tried to kill him tight to his chest, Kyle trudged toward Stonecliff.

Chapter Nineteen

Kyle slid into wakefulness slowly. His face—his entire head—throbbed in time with his pulse. Something rough bit into his wrists and his shoulders ached. He’d done this before.

His eyes popped open, but only darkness greeted him.

Fuck!
Where was he?

He remembered Stephen Paskin sucker punching him just before he left the man’s house, then nothing.

He tried to sit up, but the ropes fastened tight around his wrists, binding them together and holding his arms above his head, dug into his flesh. Metal springs creaked beneath him. He was stretched out on some sort of cot.

From somewhere in the dark, rusted hinges squeaked. Kyle froze. White light swept into the room with a soft hiss and the stink of propane. Kyle closed his eyes and let his body go lax. If Paskin thought he was still out, maybe the man would do something stupid like untie Kyle, or at the very least leave him alone a little longer so he could figure a way out of this mess.

“No need to play possum, lad. I know you’re awake. Heard the bed squeaking as I came up.” A man’s voice, but not Paskin’s.

Kyle opened his eyes and squinted against the brilliance of the propane lamp. With the arm gripping the lamp extended toward him, Kyle could make out little of the man holding it— round belly, plump cheeks under reddish beard and a glare off wireless eyeglasses.

The man set the lamp on a wood table next to the cot and Kyle tensed. Would he kill him now? Slash his throat, or maybe something different—bludgeon, stab, hack off his limbs with an axe. The possibilities were infinite, and all he could do was lie there and wait for it to happen.

Panic crawled up his throat. He tugged and twisted against the rope, rubbing his flesh raw. Warm blood dribbled down his arm. Maybe he could slip the ropes like before. If it worked once…

The man dropped onto a wood stool next to the table, finally falling into the circle of light. Heavy set, balding with more curly auburn hair on his face than his head, he looked familiar to Kyle as though he’d seen him before, but he couldn’t place him.

“You’re wasting your time,” the man said. A smile split his round cheeks, but his dark eyes remained hard. “We were much more careful tying you this time. Can’t risk you slipping away again.”

Kyle ignored the jolt in his chest. “You—” His voice scraped. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You were there?”

“So rude of me not to introduce myself. We haven’t met before, at least not in an official capacity. I’m Dr. Francis Howard.”

The doctor Eleri hadn’t wanted to go near. Now he understood why. “You and Paskin killed those men, tried to kill me?”

Howard chuckled. “How woefully small-minded you are. You and those men were a part of something so much bigger than your deaths. I suppose that sad lack of imagination is what made you foolish enough to come back. You didn’t honestly think we’d let you go a second time, did you?”

“You killed Mel Barber too.”

“He interfered where he shouldn’t have. He may not have been certain what went on at The Devil’s Eye, but his family has lived in this village long enough he should have had some idea—at least enough to leave you for us to find.”

“You killed him because he helped me? Why wait until I came back?”

“We couldn’t very well rid ourselves of the man and risk attracting more attention to the village. Not with you blathering on about The Devil’s Eye. And he’d done such a fine job of covering up for us. When you opened your stupid gob to police, they thought everything out of your mouth was nonsense. Then you came back and we couldn’t trust Barber not to let something slip.”

Guilt flared in Kyle’s chest, momentarily stealing his breath.

“I’m not sure what you were thinking when you came back here, but I’m glad you did. We’ve been in need of a harvest for so long. The date is drawing near, and to have a willing harvest—”

“I’m not willing,” Kyle spat.

Howard leaned back and tilted his head. The stool, nearly swallowed by his flab, creaked under his weight. “You may not be willing to die for the good of Cragera Bay, but everyone has something they’re willing to die for—
someone
.”

The doctor slid a mobile from his coat pocket—Kyle’s mobile. His heart stilled in his chest.

“Sophie has been very worried about you,” Howard said, voice light with amused admonishment. “I’ve reassured her as best I could by text with tales of shoddy reception, but you’ll have to speak to her. She needs to hear your voice.”

“All right,” Kyle agreed, carefully. The minute the man held the phone to his ear, he would tell his sister everything. Paskin and Howard were going to kill him anyway. His family would at least know who do it.

The guilt already knotting his insides squeezed tighter when he thought of his parents hurting because of him, of Tom and Grace and Sophie hurting.

“So agreeable, Mr. Peirs,” Howard said, chilly smile lifting pudgy cheeks. “I’m glad. It’s a good start to what I have planned. We took you so quickly last time, had you ready for The Devil’s Eye the same night. This time we’ve had to act sooner than we normally would. You’ll have to stay for a while. We couldn’t risk losing our chance. You will serve the village—your strength and life force will feed the land and Cragera will prosper.”

Kyle’s gaze slid to his mobile gripped in Howard’s chubby fingers. The man chuckled, low and throaty, and the hair on the back of Kyle’s neck bristled.

“That’s right, I have the connection to your sister. She is your sister, isn’t she? I must admit when her texts first started to pop up, I thought you might have been stepping out on our Eleri. Not that I’d blame you. Such an odd, spooky little thing.”

“She’s not odd or spooky.” Kyle tugged harder on the ropes. “She’s been taking the blame for you lot for years.”

“Fair enough,” Howard conceded with a good-natured shrug. “But my point is, your sister is worried. I have her convinced I’m you. How difficult would it be to lure her here?”

Kyle’s insides shrivelled.

“Stephen Paskin does an important job for the village,” Howard continued. “He gathers the harvest. His job puts him at risk, so he is indulged, allowed to claim a reward. When we took you before, we gave him that pretty little blonde thing with you.”

Kyle swallowed down the bile creeping up the back of his throat, not sure what sickened him more. That Howard referred to that woman as ‘thing’ or that Kyle couldn’t remember her name either. These were his sins coming back to haunt him. Jack’s life of indulgence and selfishness—
his
life—coming back to bite him in the ass. And why shouldn’t he pay for what he’d done? Exploiting the missing men, Eleri James, and all for his own gratification.

But Sophie shouldn’t have to pay. Not his sister. Not for this.

“Paskin kept her for a while, longer than most. But some he likes more than others. You don’t want your sister to come under the power of a man like Stephen Paskin. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“I’ll do it. Whatever you want.” The words flew from Kyle’s lips without thought or consideration. He didn’t know what he was promising, didn’t care. He would do whatever they wanted to keep his family safe and away from the mess he’d created.

“Excellent.” Howard set the mobile on the table next to the lamp and clapped his hands together. “Now, before we call sweet Sophie, we’ll practice a script. If you veer from it, make any effort to tell your sister what’s happening, I’ll send Stephen after her. Am I clear?”

Kyle swallowed the furry burning away his fear. If he ever got free, he’d kill this man without a second thought, then move on to Paskin.

* * *

Stephen Paskin leaned against the wood doorframe, blocking any chance for escape, trapping Eleri with all those snapshots of terrified gazes fixed on her.

“It was you,” she managed, just above a whisper, her mind barely able to grasp the truth in her words. “You killed them all.”

“Just the women,” Paskin corrected, nodding to the photos. “The men served another purpose.”

“What purpose?” Though, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. He’d tried to kill Kyle once already, and now he had him again.

“They keep the village alive and prosperous just as in ancient times.”

He was murdering people for the good of the village? Was he out of his mind? Of course he was. She was staring at the Polaroids that proved it. “If you didn’t kill them, why do you keep their pictures?”

“I love that moment. They’re clinging to their hope, but underneath you can see it’s deserting them. You can read it in their eyes.” He reached out and ran a finger lovingly over a yellowed photograph—a woman’s mouth caught in an agonized scream, her eyes pleading. “I remember them all—even the men.”

“Who kills the men?” she asked. Whoever it was had Kyle and she was going to find him.

Paskin shrugged, his attention still fixed on the photo. “They’re harvest, but the women are mine. My reward for all my hard work. Soon you’ll be up here.” He turned his frigid smile on Eleri, and her heart ceased to beat. “But not too soon.”

Her knees weakened and she pressed a hand to the wall to hold her upright. “But…but…Griffin. He was your son. You blamed me, and it was you.”

“It was your fault. When he found us together, I think he started to suspect about me.”

The way he said that, us together, he made it sound like she’d been a willing participant. Instead, he had had her bent over one of the tables in the pub, his forearm pressed against her neck holding her down while his free hand groped and pulled at her clothes.

Let’s see what all the fuss is about
.

Griffin had told her his father knew about them, and the man had been furious. She’d gone to The Iron Kettle that day to see Griffin, but Stephen had seen her, invited her in to clear the air he’d said. And she’d stupidly gone inside.

The pub was closed, empty. She had no idea where Dylis was. Rather than address his issues about her seeing his son, Stephen had asked her crude questions and Eleri quickly realized the man had no intention of
clearing the air
.

She’d started to leave, but he’d grabbed her, slammed her down on the table. One moment he was there, hot breath and fumbling hands, the next he was gone followed by a clatter of chairs and the flat thuds of fists connecting with flesh. Griffin pounded on his father like a man possessed. Fear and hot shame had swamped Eleri and sent her running.

That night, when Griff had come to her wanting to leave, she’d been too afraid to go. Afraid to leave the only home she’d ever known, afraid her past would follow her and mostly afraid Griffin would never be able to look at her without seeing his father holding her down Without seeing what the man had nearly done had Griffin not stopped him.

“Don’t,” she whispered, but whether she meant to silence him about that terrible day, or to stop herself from running those images in her head, she didn’t know.

“I found Griffin in here,” Paskin continued. “The same way I’m finding you now. Not so many pictures, then, but enough for him to get an idea. So I took him for harvest. That’s him there.”

He pointed to a photo next to Eleri’s hand. Pain pierced her chest like a rusted blade, tearing, gutting, at the sight of those lovely blue eyes filled with terror.

“His photo is one of my favorites,” Paskin confided, sentimentality softening his features, his tone almost dreamy. “When he saw me, he looked so grateful at first, probably thought I’d come to let him go. Then he noticed the camera in my hands, and the hope drained from his eyes. It was perfect.”

Her stomach clenched. “He was your son. How could you do that to your own child?”

“My son?” Paskin spat. The faraway look vanished, eyes turning hot. Eleri tried to step back, but hit the wall. Photos crinkled beneath her. “
My son
turned against me for you.
My son
would have sent me down the river when he saw this.” He waved a hand at the grotesque collage. “He had no respect for our legacy, our responsibility. Our name goes back hundreds of years in this village. Do you have any idea what that means?”

She shook her head. Did deranged serial killer run in the family? Had Griff refused to assume his role, infuriating his father?

Paskin laughed aloud and shook his head. “Of course you wouldn’t, and yet in your own way you’ve been serving the village since you were a child—thanks to Meris.”

Had her stepmother known about Paskin? Or had the woman’s lies merely helped create a scapegoat the man could use?

It didn’t matter. All she wanted was to get to Kyle, to get him away from this sick bastard. She needed to get Harding here, or even Miller, to see Paskin’s terrible collection.

He reached out and grasped her chin with his thumb and forefinger, squeezing just hard enough to hint at the pain his big hands could inflict. She tried to yank away, but he tightened his hold and pushed his big body closer.

“My prize,” he muttered.

She noticed thin scabbed lines on the back of his hand—healing scratches. “It was you in room the other night. You tried to choke me.”

He chuckled softly. “You’ve been promised to me for so long. I couldn’t wait. I just wanted a little preview of what’s to come. You’re mine now, though.”

Panic surged through her limbs. Eleri kicked forward, the toe of her shoe connecting perfectly with his balls. His eyes rounded, cheeks sucked in and he collapsed to his knees.

She shoved past him, knocking him sideways, and tore up the steps to the cellar doors. She thrust open the heavy wood but stopped short. Dylis stood outside the opening, her face sad under the pale glow of the car park light.

“It was Stephen,” Eleri half gasped, half sobbed. “He killed them. He killed Griffin. He has his picture on a wall down there.”