Until Oliviadre’s wary retreat was stopped by a fire-scorched, broken ruin of a wall. The warriors paused, looking for an opening.
But Oliviadre gave them no chance. At once she screamed the chilling war cry of the eagle, and then she was leaping over the mounds of corpses onto the terrified men. She struck one down with a single blow, slashed out and saw an arm fall, still gripping a sword; a searing, burning pain at her spine; slashing, slashing, spraying red droplets across crumbling faces, slashing; volcanic pain at the back of her head; still slashing, the ax heavier now, the warriors crowding in closer as she fell to her knees; one of them lifting his sword high, and then…
Darkness.
Gray light.
Morning on McClain Terrace. God, my head! Got to call Dr. Wexler…
“Breakfast!” Laurie said, coming into the room with Evan close behind her, carrying a plate with bacon and eggs and a glass of orange juice on a tray. She put the tray carefully across her mother’s lap. “We burned the toast up, though,” Laurie said cheerily.
“Oh, that’s all right. It looks very good.”
“Don’t you want a light on in here?” Evan asked her.
“No. Please. My head’s still aching.” She reached to the night table for a bottle of Tylenol. Two tablets remained; she swallowed them with the orange juice.
“You’re not feeling any better at all?”
She shook her head. The final image in her dream remained fixed behind her eyes: a warrior lifting his sword, muscles rippling in his arms, to strike across her skull. No. That wasn’t me. That was…Oliviadre. Oliviadre was struck by that sword, not me. So why do I feel this terrible, throbbing pain? She winced and touched her forehead.
“Does it hurt bad, Mommy?” Laurie asked.
“Yes, it does.”
Evan picked up the empty Tylenol bottle. “I’d better drive down to the drugstore and get you another bottle of these, then.” He looked at her for a moment, seeing her obvious pain in the lines around her eyes. “Do you want to see a doctor?”
“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Kay said quickly. She took a tentative bite of an egg, reached for the salt shaker on the tray. “I’ll be just fine.”
“You’ve been working too hard,” Evan said. “Probably reading too much.”
“That’s probably it. It’ll be good for me to rest today because I’ve got those tests to give next week.”
“Am I going to school today?” Laurie asked.
“No,” Kay said. “Why don’t you stay home and keep me company?”
“But Daddy can do that!” Laurie protested. “Mrs. Omarian was going to finish her story today!”
Kay grasped her little girl’s hand. “I thought you’d want to stay home, honey. You can watch television, and go outside to play, and—”
“The queen!” Laurie said. “I’m going to miss the part about the queen!”
Evan’s eyes flickered quickly over to Kay, then back to Laurie’s face again. “What queen?”
“The real queen!” Laurie said. “The one right here in this place!”
“In this place? What place do you mean?”
The little girl shook her head, irritated that her father didn’t understand. “Right here!” she said emphatically. “She lives in a big castle!”
Kay began to stroke the child’s hair. “Stay home with me, honey. We’ll have a good time together.”
Laurie paused for a moment. “Awwwwww, I miss out on everything!”
“Tell you what, princess,” Evan said. “Why don’t you drive with me over to the drugstore? Okay?”
Another pause, and then she finally nodded. “I guess so.”
As they crossed the lawn to the driveway, Evan found himself staring at the Demargeon house. Nothing moved over there; the Demargeons’ car was gone. Evan, with Laurie on the seat beside him, backed the station wagon into the street and turned toward the Circle.
“You must like Mrs. Omarian a lot,” Evan said while he drove.
“I do. She’s nice.”
“Are there many others who go to the Sunshine School?”
She nodded. “It’s hot. Can I roll my window down?”
“Sure. Go ahead.” Evan came to a stop sign, slowed and stopped, looked both ways, and. then drove on, past silent houses. “Mrs. Omarian must tell you some good stories,” he said in another moment.
“Oh, she tells very good stories. Just to us and not to the boys, either, because she says we’re special.”
“Of course you’re special,” Evan said. “How many little boys go to the Sunshine School?”
“Oh…four or five. It’s mostly girls like me.”
He nodded, glanced in his rearview mirror, got a quick glimpse of the museum’s roof before he looked away. “I’d like to hear some of Mrs. Omarian’s stories,” he said. “Especially about this queen who lives in a castle.”
“Can’t,” Laurie said. “Mrs. Omarian said they’re just for us because we’re special. She said daddies aren’t supposed to know.”
“Oh,” Evan said easily. “Secrets, huh?”
“It’s fun to have secrets.”
Evan’s vision clouded over. He was only dimly aware that he was still driving through the streets of Bethany’s Sin, because some other part of him stood in a corridor, surrounded by swirling dust and heat, watching a dark shape with burning eyes slowly come closer and closer to stand just before him now. A hand pierced the veil of dust, reaching out for him. Took his arm in a cold, hard grip, pulled him forward. Daddy, someone said. His heart pounded, but there was nothing he could do to resist; the thing pulled him onward, along the corridor to a huge room where others waited. Daddy! A voice, very close. The floor of rough stones, the ceiling of glass and the moon burning white in a black sky. Things with flaming, hideous eyes ringing the room. A slab of black rock in the center, and someone standing there. Daddy, please! Laurie’s voice. Kay. Kay standing there, but a…different Kay. A Kay with two faces: one half snarling, the single eye blazing blue and filled with hate; the other half screaming, eye widened in fear. Behind her, other figures, waiting. Daddy, you’re…Kay lifting one arm, the hand holding a battle-ax that glowed with the same spectral power; her other hand clenched for him, the fingers trembling in a frenzy…
“…going too fast!” Laurie screamed, close to his ear.
And then he jerked himself back away from the hideous place and saw the stop sign coming up fast and knew that even as he jammed on the brakes the car’s momentum would carry them across and he prayed to God there would be no other cars coming into that intersection. The tires squealed, squealed, squealed. The car shuddered violently. Ahead a looming black figure, twisting aside. “Christ!” Evan said, gritting his teeth and easing the station wagon to a halt in the middle of the intersection. He looked to Laurie, who was shaking and biting her lip, her, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, princess,” he said. “Christ, I’m sorry! Are you all right?”
She nodded, her eyes darting.
“Christ, I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t mean to do that. I don’t know what I was thinking.” And suddenly he was aware of another presence, and eyes drilling through him. He smelled an animal smell and looked sharply to the side.
Beside the station wagon there was a gleaming, massive-flanked black horse, nostrils wide, still nervously tossing its huge triangular head. Red fire seemed to burn in that horse’s eyes. And astride the animal, riding bare back, was Kathryn Drago, her hand clenched in the horse’s mane. “Steady, Joker,” she was saying softly. “Steady. Steady.” The horse jerked its head and then stood quiet while the woman stroked its neck. And then she gazed across at Evan. “That was very careless of you, Mr. Reid,” she said coldly. “You could’ve killed my horse while we were crossing the road.”
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I didn’t see you there.”
“We were in full view,” the woman said. “Do you make it a point to break traffic laws?”
“My wife’s not feeling well,” Eva
n said, for lack of a better excuse. “I’m on my way to the drugstore.”
The woman continued stroking the horse’s neck. The animal rumbled with pleasure and seemed calm now. “Kay’s ill?” she said, her visage softening a fraction. “Is it serious?”
“Headache,” he said. “But she’s staying home from school today”
“I see.” She peered through the window, beyond Evan. “That’s your little girl?”
“Yes, it is.”
“She’s very beautiful. Hello, there.”
“’Lo,” Laurie said.
Drago’s eyes moved back to Evan’s. “You should be more careful. Someone could have been hurt.”
“Is that your horse?” Laurie asked her, leaning forward to peer up at her.
“His name’s Joker,” Drago said. The horse’s ears twitched. “I’ve been exercising him this morning. He’s a fine horse, isn’t he?”
“He’s so pretty!” Laurie said, the near-accident now fading into the past. “I like horses!”
“That’s good. I have twenty horses at my stables. Perhaps your mother and father will bring you to go riding someday soon.”
“Could I, Daddy?” Laurie looked to him.
“We’ll see,” he said, smoothing her hair. When he looked into Drago’s eyes he saw something flash there, something quick and dark and dangerous.
“I hope you’ll bring her out,” Drago said. “Every woman should know how to master a horse.”
“She’s got time for that.”
“Indeed she does,” the woman said, and smiled very slightly.
A car’s horn blew for Evan to clear the intersection.
He said, “I’m sorry this happened, Dr. Drago. I’ll take more care in the future.”
“Yes,” she said. “You should.” And then she expertly wheeled the horse around with one hand and her heels, and rode off in the opposite direction. Evan waved to the driver of the other car and then drove on toward the Circle.
“She’s so nice,” Laurie said. “I’d like to go see her horses.”
Evan was silent. The Circle was ahead, with its neat little shops. In the center he noticed that most of the flowers had died under the extreme heat.
And on the outskirts of Bethany’s Sin, near the large welcoming sign, Neely Ames paused behind the red lawn mower to mop his face with his arm. The sun was searing him, and there was a lot more ground to cover before he’d be finished. He felt as if his eyelids were puffed from the heat, and around him trees drooped toward the earth. He was beginning to look forward to that special sassafras tea Mrs. Bartlett had ready for him almost every night now.
It was always so cold, and made him sleep so well.
22
* * *
Wysinger, Afraid,
and Evan Seeking
THE PATROL CAR with BETHANY’S SIN POLICE on the driver’s door rolled to a halt before the massive black gate with the large D in it. Wysinger left the car and walked over to a speaker imbedded in the wall beside the gate; he pressed a button and waited.
A metallic voice, female: “Yes?”
He cleared his throat nervously. “It’s Sheriff Wysinger. I’d like to see Dr. Drago.”
“On what business?”
“It’s personal.”
There was a long pause, and Wysinger shifted his stance several times. Then, “Very well. Return to your car and drive through.” The speaker clicked off, and the gate came open, slowly, with the hum of concealed machinery.
Wysinger did as he was told, then drove toward the house. Unease always crept into his bones like a disease when he came here; he avoided the place as much as possible, though sometimes he found it necessary to speak to Dr. Drago in person. He disliked her, even hated her, because she had money and land, because she was well-educated and had traveled so much, because she was intelligent and powerful.
But far beyond the boundaries of his hate was a fear that now gnawed at him, slowly eating away whatever semblance of courage remained inside him, until when he reached the door to the house he would be so much walking, breathing, blood-filled jelly. He always wished he’d had a drink before he saw her; he wished he carried a pint of Beam in the glove compartment. But no. She’d smell it. Shit, she could smell the odor of a man a quarter of a mile away, couldn’t she? She could smell his fear, too; he knew it, knew the way she—and all of those others who were like she was—could sharpen her senses by releasing that strange and terrible power lying deep within her soul.
His fears were heightened now by the fact that evening was fast falling into limitless night. Through the trees he could see the shadowy hulk of that huge house waiting ahead. His skin crawled beneath the sweat stains on his shirt. He craned his neck, scanning the sky. No moon tonight; it had waned away to blackness. God in Heaven, he thought, I dread going inside that woman’s house! Stepping across her threshold was like stepping into a different, terrifying world where her word was law, over and above the laws of men. The house was dark and seemed deserted, but as Wysinger parked his car before it and walked slowly toward the door, a light came on in a front window. The door came open, and a slender young blond woman in violet robes awaited him. Wordlessly, he followed her inside, along the dim corridors with their earth-hued murals, toward the rear of the house.
“Wait here,” the woman told him when they reached a pair of gleaming oak doors. She went inside; Wysinger took off his hat, his heart already beating fast, and glanced up and down the corridor. A herd of horses, muscles straining, raced along one wall.
The blond woman reappeared and held the door open for him. He moved past her into the room, and the door swung closed behind him. Instantly he felt trapped.
He stood in Dr. Drago’s study, a room of rough stone walls with a huge fireplace and ghost-eyed, life-size statues standing in the four corners. Beside a large picture window that looked out across the pasture was a highly polished walnut desk adorned with intricately carved human figures; Dr. Drago, in black robes, sat there, writing on a sheet of pale blue stationery. A single lamp burned beside her shoulder. “What do you want?” she asked coldly, without looking up.
Wysinger approached her desk. When he got within six feet of it the woman’s head came up and her eyes froze him where he was.
“I want to…to talk to you about…the others,” he said quietly. And carefully.
“What about them?”
“I hadn’t said anything…before, but the hunting time’s coming soon, and I…”
Her eyes narrowed. “What have you got to do with hunting time?”
He paused a moment, seemed about to give way. “It’s not safe,” he said. “That workman, Ames, saw them on the King’s Bridge Road. He’s the only one who ever saw them and lived. They attacked him too close to the village. I don’t like that.”
She was silent. She put down her pen and folded her hands before her. “I’m not concerned with what you do or don’t like, Wysinger. It’s of no importance.”
“Yes it is, by God!” he said, his voice whipping out of control. “I’ve had to deal before with state police nosin’ around here looking for people! Somebody finds another truck or another body out in the woods near the village, they’re going to start putting it together!”
“As you did?”
“Like I did!” Wysinger said. “I took a real personal interest in it because I found the first ones, the Fletchers; but somebody else, some smart son of a bitchin’ trooper, is going to put it together sometime too!”
“That’s part of your job,” Drago said quietly. “To keep them away.”
“Sure, I know that’s my job, but if there’s too many questions, I won’t be able to handle the situation.”
“What are you suggesting?”
He took a deep breath. “Keep them off the King’s Bridge Road. Keep them off all the country roads. Let them do their hunting in the woods, or on the back roads, far away from the village.”
“I was unaware that the workman was involved,” Drago sa
id. “He was chosen for a purpose, not for the pleasure of the others.”
“I don’t care what happens to that little bastard, but he saw them and can describe them. And he’s been spending time up at the Cock’s Crow, probably shooting his mouth off to anybody who’ll listen.”
“No one will believe him.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain about that,” Wysinger said. “From what I hear, someone else has been asking a hell of a lot of questions about the museum and—”
“Yes,” Drago said. “I know. Mr. Reid.”
“He may know something,” Wysinger said. “If he does, what’s going to happen?”
Drago’s eyes glittered. “Patience,” she said. “Mr. Reid is a curious man, but he’s groping in the dark.”
“I think you ought to get rid of him,” Wysinger said.
“I’ll decide that!” Drago said sharply. “When the time is right. Mrs. Reid is undergoing the transformation now. Soon she’ll be ready for the rite, but until that time she’ll be unstable, slipping back and forth from what she is to what she will be. Killing her husband now would be…unwise.”