Chapter 11 #2
Leo adds, “I assumed, with him being a white man of European descent, he was referring to the unchurched Indigenous people. And maybe the wild landscape, but—”
“Literally ungodly,” I realize aloud. I look over at Jean. “Because of the crossroads.”
I don’t think Leo knows what I’m talking about, but Jean certainly does. She nods. “There’ve been tales of the crossroads in Alderford since the first Christian settlers arrived.”
Leo asks, “And when was that, exactly?”
Jean looks amused. “The professors didn’t tell you that?”
He smiles. “Their sources are limited.”
She relaxes back in her chair with a silent laugh. “In 1743, they’ll tell you. That’s as far back as the evidence goes.”
“Yeah, some sixteenth-century British coins and buttons have been found,” Leo says. “But they’ve been dismissed as family heirlooms.”
“And you don’t think they are?”
“No, because the Cherokee date this area’s first European settlement to the 1590s.”
“Indeed they do.”
I cut in, “Were they talking about a Spanish settlement?”
They both shake their heads. “The Spanish built their forts in the 1560s,” Leo reminds me.
“The Roanoke Colony was 1587.” It’s excitement now, not shock, that has him squeezing my hand.
He’s gotten the confirmation he’s wanted.
Englishmen settled here in Alderford, on the banks of the Zillacoah, one hundred and fifty years earlier than the records say.
I try to bring this conversation back around. “But what about the crossroads?”
Jean shrugs. “No one has ever been able to find them on a map.”
“So they don’t exist?”
“No, I don’t believe so, but the demonic activity did, and the crossroads is the folks’ best way to explain it.”
The demonic activity Reverend Stone wanted to snuff out.
She adds, “Some say that at the crossroads was a bloomery forge, with a fire that burned for forty years.”
Forty years? Now we’re getting biblical. But Avery said that, didn’t she? That Appalachian folklore blended Christianity and the occult.
Leo moistens his lips before giving them an absent-minded nibble. “So it’s like Betts said, Stone built his seminary over a literal pit to hell?”
“You’re sharp, Sidhe,” Jean says with a smile. “But not as sharp as the—” She bites off her last word, her eyes square on me. As the psychic? Was that what she was about to say?
Knowing she won’t answer if I ask, I stick to the topic at hand. “So, what kind of demonic activity are we talking about here?”
She sums up for us centuries of legends and tales, many of them echoing those of the bingo players: distorted flora, abruptly mutated fauna, eerie cries, flickering red lights. And, of course, the wandering ghosts of those who lost their souls in deals with the devil.
“Where?” I urge. “Where did people see and hear these things?”
Jean shrugs. “You know how these tales are. Every teller puts their own spin on them till no one knows what’s really true anymore.”
I frown. Fool’s errand, that’s what this is.
“But if there was an actual forge…” Leo says, eyes staring at nothing and teeth working that bottom lip hard. “There has to be a specific location.”
“Maybe on the original seminary site?” I supply. Linda at bingo said the crossroads were supposedly on campus.
“What better place to build a church than on top of a gateway to Hell?” Jean says pleasantly, as though she’s telling us where she plans to plant her summer tomatoes.
Leo hedges. “I’ve checked out the chapel. More than once.” He turns to me. “Have you been in there? Did you feel anything?”
“I’ve only been just inside the door.”
Frustrated, he rakes a hand through his neatly styled hair. “I’ve combed the entire Brownhill campus.”
I nod my agreement. I’ve lived there for a year and a half, and I’ve never sensed any demonic activity.
Jean fixes her sharp eyes on Leo. “What are you looking for, Sidhe?”
I hold my breath. Is he going to tell her? Hell, she probably already knows. Or maybe she could put a hand on his head, like she did my stomach, and ‘read’ the whole story.
Surprisingly, he reveals the truth, albeit the short version: Centuries ago, a weapon was created by Ember Belladonna, Nàdar’s cruelest tyrant.
It was confiscated upon her execution and brought to the human world to be hidden, most likely on Browne’s Hill.
And now, five hundred years later, Nàdar has a new dictator, one determined to rule over the entire realm.
“And this Brier wants to find the weapon,” Jean states.
“He’s sent his own team,” Leo replies. “Last seen in Asheville.”
“They’re getting close.”
He swallows. “If they come to you—”
“They’ll find no one but a minister’s wife.”
Leo and I blink at one another, nearly blinded by her beatific smile. Can we trust this woman? This Appalachian witch who can see through glamours and knows all about the sidhe. Is she one of them? A halfling herself? Or a double agent working for Brier?
“And you think the forge is under the chapel?” I ask her, continuing the conversation while I tune in even more to my clairsentience. In the quarter of an hour that we’ve been with her, I’ve felt her curiosity and her confidence, but no menace. If she’s malevolent, I’d feel it, wouldn’t I?
“It’s a logical place to start.” She shrugs modestly. “And I have a bit of a feeling. But even if you don’t find the forge, I know you’ll find something there that will help you in your search.”
I get to my feet and announce, “Then we start at the chapel.” Leo rises, too, and we offer Jean our thanks.
As I turn for the door, she stops me with a hand on my arm, her clear blue eyes meeting mine and probing all the way to my soul. I stare back at her, frozen and breathless.
She touches the amethyst at my throat. “This won’t be enough, Sidhe. You need to protect her.”
How the hell did she know he gave it to me?
And protect me from what?
Leo presses a hand to my back for the umpteenth time.
Eyes locked on me, Jean tells him, “She doesn’t know half of what she can do.”
Whatever anxiety she stirred up in me gives way to indignation. Under my sweater, my skin prickles with heat.
I force a smile for Jean, but as soon as Leo and I round the corner, I grit my teeth, curl my hands into fists, and march down the hall.
“Betts—” Leo rushes to keep up with my angry strides. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I hiss. “Let’s just get out of here.”