Chapter 18 #3
His father hadn’t reached the same conclusion, however, and continued talking about Ravensgate’s construction while they posed him, glossing over the rapes and killings as he recounted the sanitized version of the tale of Caledon Cullraven and his two doomed wives.
“. . . Evangeline was responsible for much of the décor in this house,” he was saying. “Though my own wife is now responsible for the upkeep, as well as the furthering of her work. Isn’t that right, dearest?”
“Yes,” his mother said automatically. “All of the wallpaper that you see on the walls is the original wallpaper, imported from China during the Victorian period. The glittery sheen you may have noticed is bronze powder, mixed in with the paint, to give an impression of dimensionality. There is a similar effect with some of the paintings, which contain crushed pieces of glass that have been added to the paint, giving a lifelike glitter to the eyes—”
“Sir.” A man in overalls stomped over, drowning out Cal’s mother’s babbling to the increasingly stressed-looking reporter. “We’re a bit short-staffed. Got anyone who can help with the deer?”
“Cal, go over there and help,” his father commanded. “You’ve got plenty of experience handling them.”
“Oh, deer just love him,” Odessa chirped.
“Just tell me what needs to be done,” Cal said sharply.
The men led him towards the trailers, clearly eager to be away from his father.
One of them opened the door, leaping back as the deer flowed out in a panicking river of hooves and tails and horns.
Most of them were young but Cal saw a couple bucks boasting an impressive rack.
They’d be the prime targets of the afternoon.
He helped corral the deer into the woods, away from the town. They were jumpy from the long ride over and eager to run. Watching them disappear into the woods, with its unfamiliar terrain and fauna, Cal felt a brief flicker of regret.
“Thanks, man.” One of the men clapped him on the shoulder. “Your father’s a strange one.”
Strange doesn’t even begin to cover it, he thought.
He headed back to his family. The reporter and the cameraman were still there but most of the equipment had been packed up and they looked tired and ready to leave.
His sister and mother had already made their escape but his father and brother were both still there.
Cal avoided eye contact as he started for the house, but Ben, standing beside his father like a hired soldier, stepped into his path to block him.
“Why don’t you pose Baby Cal in the square with the statue?” he called out.
The reporter perked up. “What a great idea.” Before he could leave, she darted to his side, looping a possessive arm through his. Cal shot his brother a dark look as she began walking the two of them to the town square. He was smirking.
Shelly posed him beside the festooned statue and then said, “Perfect. Stand right there.”
The wind blew cold as he stood under the statue, damp with the promise of rain that would bring hellish humidity later. He raked his fingers through his hair, pushing the dark locks out of his eyes; he had the same curl pattern as his great-grandfather.
“We should use these for the article,” Shelly said excitedly. “He looks so intimidating. It’s too bad we don’t have a long coat handy . . . or some sort of costume.”
“I think that’s enough,” he spoke into the flashing lights blinding his field of vision.
“All right.” She sounded disappointed. “I’d still like to speak to you about the festival—”
“Our city manager is just over there,” he said, pointing. “She has more of a hand in things than I do. I’m only the spare, after all.”
“But—”
He was already walking away. The light had grown more intense: a deep golden green filtering down through the stormy clouds. It reflected off the ancient pitted windows of Ravensgate like tarnished silver, each flash mirroring the unease that crested higher with every step he took.
Something is wrong, he thought, as he went up the stairs. His pace quickened, and in his haste, he forgot himself, boards squeaking beneath his weight. I can feel it.
When he go to the unicorn room, Nadine was gone.
Cal stood there, his heart still pounding from his rapid ascent up the staircase. I don’t believe it. They got to her first.
He’d been too late.
“Missing something?”
His brother’s knowing voice filled his veins with something as hot and bright as heated metal.
“What did you do to her?”
“I had Odessa take her into the woods. We would have done it earlier but she was—” Ben paused, hefting Cal’s rifle “—conveniently indisposed.”
“You took her,” he repeated slowly, “into the woods.”
“Odessa did,” he clarified. “And she’s still alive—for now.”
For now.
Reading his incredulous expression correctly, Ben said, “Find her, Brother. Find her before I do. One of us is writing in that book tonight. And one of us might just have two entries before the night is over. I wonder,” he taunted, “who it will be?”
Cal snatched his gun out of his brother’s hands and stormed down the stairs, ignoring his mocking laughter.
The sun was beginning to set—his favorite time of day—but now the treeline looked black and menacing while silhouetted against all that gold.
He cursed as he thought of all the time wasted on interviews and useless preparations. And for what—this?
The crack of gunfire was slowing as people began to retire along with the light. Cal strode determinedly for the woods. The road was clear now that the cattle trucks were gone, the deer having made off as deeply into the woods as they were able.
He went to the glade first but Nadine wasn’t there.
The area looked trampled, though, which could have been from an animal, or from his sister or Nadine.
He bent to inspect some crushed underbrush, moving them aside to reveal some tracks.
They were faint, and didn’t look like they’d been made by shoes. His frown deepened, worried.
Where would she go? Towards town, but she might be lost. Sick. Scared. And if Odessa had dragged her out here, shoeless, she wouldn’t get very far with bare feet. The terrain was rough, littered with sharp stones and broken branches.
And he would have seen her if she’d managed to find her way back.
Cal spun away from town, heading in the direction opposite from sunset. East, towards the forested area that lay beyond the back reaches of Ravensgate, where the pines grew fully entangled, knotting together in full view of the sunless sunroom like a natural barricade.
He ran into his sister—nearly literally. She had her gun pinched under one arm, a bottle of Champagne in the other hand. She was trying to twist the cork off, working it back and forth until it exploded with a foamy pop that had her letting out a whoop.
Her eyes met his as she lifted the bottle to drink right from the mouth. “Baby Cal!” she said, looking far too pleased to see him. “What a surprise!”
“Where. Is. She.”
“So possessive.” She laughed, and he found himself wanting to kill her. “Don’t look at me like that. You should be thanking me. Ben wanted to kill her straight off but I convinced him it would be more sporting to deal with her the old-fashioned way.”
“Don’t make me ask you again. Where is she?”
“God, you’re no fun. Fine, I left her in your stupid precious glade like a little present for you to unwrap.” She took a sip of Champagne, unbothered. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“She isn’t there.”
“She’s not?”
A crack sounded from the direction Cal had just come from. Then there was a scream—loud and piercing. Female.
Odessa’s smug smile slipped slightly. “Uh-oh.”
“If something happens to her—” Cal headed for that direction, his mind already churning with thoughts of violence.
When Odessa grabbed him by the back of his shirt. he only just managed to not strike her.
“Let go of me.”
“Don’t.” She tightened her grip when he struggled, swearing when the stitches popped with an audible rip. “Dammit, Cal, I’ve never seen Ben like this. There’s something wrong. He’s got the bloodlust and he’ll only shoot you, too, if you get in his way.”
“I’m willing to take that chance,” he growled. “Besides—”
“Besides,” she said, raising her voice. “She’ll be running this way if it is her.”
“And if he hits her?” Cal twisted, undoing his buttons. There was a series of audible snaps as more seams forcibly unraveled, leaving his sister holding an empty shirt. He stepped back, holding his gun in front of himself. “If he already has? She could be bleeding out, for all we know!”
“It’s Ben,” she said flippantly, balling up his shirt and tossing it at him. “He couldn’t hit 21 if he had a winning hand of blackjack. Wait over there and I’ll send her to you. He might shoot you without a thought, but he’d hesitate before shooting me.”
Cal knotted his shirt around his waist. “Why should I trust you?”
She didn’t answer right away. “Did she really give herself to you? After everything?”
“Yes,” he said shortly.
“Then you’ve done everything by the book and it’s all signed and sealed, isn’t it? Just like great-grandfather wanted.” She took another sip of Champagne. “Besides,” she said in a dry tone. “I think I’ll like having a little sister.”
Cal shook his head, watching her flounce off into the woods.
Playing this off like it was one of her artist retreats when it was a matter of life and death.
All around him, he could hear the chatter of crickets, the cries of nocturnal insects and beasts.
Smaller rustlings indicated the presence of animals, revealing themselves with the crunch of leaves, the snap of a twig.
And then—something louder. A rhythmic susurration with percussive weight.
Nadine crashed through the underbrush with the subtlety of a stampede. He could hear her ragged breathing, hitching with desperate sobs. One of her arms was wrapped around her own waist—guarding, he thought, stepping closer, concerned. She was wounded.