Boneyard (The Thaumaturge Series Book 2) (27 page)

The tires crunched over the rocky ground as we pulled into the deserted parking area at the trailhead. I got out right away, stretching my cramped legs and releasing Johnny from the hatch. He bolted off to the tree line and immediately lifted a leg. He blinked at me serenely as he peed.

McLean hoisted a fancy name brand daypack over his shoulder. Two expensive looking water bottles attached to each side, like guns in a holster. He seemed awfully prepared. I wondered if he had planned on going by himself, or he had intended to ask me all along. He gave me a nod. “Ready?”

I pulled the brim of my own battered hat down over my forehead “Let’s hit it,” I said.

We set off up the trailhead, McLean right at my heels and Johnny bounding ahead of us. Unlike the sagey hills surrounding my family’s ranch, the trees around Spring Creek grew thick and full of underbrush. In the summer months, Spring Creek bloomed lush with wildflowers and ferns but now in mid-November, damp leaves littered the trail and the plants on either side drooped with melting snow. Spring Creek itself roared over the steep gradient, the sound echoing off the sheer rock wall bordering the other side of the creek. For being ten minutes outside of Heckerson, Spring Creek held the feeling of the deep forest, like something primeval and secret.

We hiked to the sound of the hissing spray, Johnny eventually coming back to trot happily at my side. The snow had mostly melted, leaving patches here and there, and the trail slick with mud. We reached a bend in the trail, where the creek crashed down over large mossy boulders into a clear, deep pool. McLean watched as I took out my phone and snapped a few pictures to show to Leo later. Johnny waded chest deep into the pool and lapped at the foaming water, his swishing tail flinging droplets into the air. McLean took out one of his water bottles and drank deeply, then heaved a contented sigh.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he said.

“Sure,” I replied, straightening up and joining him back on the path.

“I’ve only been here a few weeks,” he explained. “I haven’t really had a chance to explore the hiking and Father Laski, um, well...”

“He’s not much for the outdoors,” I filled in dryly.

McLean snorted. “No.” His eyes flicked up to mine, unsure. “I’m having trouble connecting with him. After mass this morning, he wanted me to go with him out visiting, but I really needed to just get away.”

“Isn’t that, like, part of your job?” I asked, as politely as possible.

He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes. But I told him that I wanted to try counseling you some more.”

I scowled. “I bet he fully supported that.”

McLean looked at me thoughtfully. “I was there when your cousin came in to talk to Father Laski on Saturday.”

“Oh,” I said softly, the air going out of my lungs. “Can I ask—I mean I know it’s probably confidential or something but—what did Cody tell you?”

“Something pretty extraordinary,” McLean said. His warm brown eyes bored into mine.

“He exaggerates,” I said quickly, desperately. My throat clicked when I swallowed. I wiped my sweaty palms on my thighs.

“He’s not the only one talking about you,” McLean said and my stomach plummeted. I pressed my hand against the rough, craggy trunk of a Douglas Fir and tried to control my breathing. I knew this was coming, I reminded myself. After Saturday night, I was probably the talk of the town.

“Since I moved here, I’ve heard things about you,” McLean continued. “And your cousin said... he said that you came across a body in the woods. And that you took the body home because... because you can
help
with things like that.”

My stomach turned into a dense rock, hard and hot in my guts. It had been a mistake, coming out here. Leo was always telling me that I had no sense of self-preservation, that I drew attention to myself in ways that put me in danger. Obviously I had proved that over and over. I wanted to bolt down the mountain and go hide in Leo’s arms. I wanted to drive out to the ranch and beat Cody until he was spitting teeth. 

“Father Laski said that there have always been rumors about you,” McLean went on finally. His eyebrows drew together over his large, soft eyes. Somewhere in the canopy overhead, a bird gave a long, trilling call, a lonely sound that echoed through the swaying trees. “And Dana LeBreche came in this morning to arrange funeral services for her father. She mentioned you.”

I winced before I could help myself. “Did she? Oh.”

“In a positive way,” he continued and I looked up at him.

“She was grateful to you. You seemed to have given her some comfort.”

“I try to help people,” I said. My throat clicked again and I fumbled for my water bottle. I drank too hastily and the water spilled out of the corners of my mouth. I coughed and wiped my sleeve across my chin.

McLean didn’t move. I dug my toe into the damp earth and met his gaze. I waited.

He inhaled deeply. “I won’t say I don’t believe the rumors,” he said. “Miraculous things happen in this world every day and there is some biblical precedent for what... what’s been
suggested
, but...” he trailed off, shrugging.

I scoffed. “
Miraculous
? No. It’s not like that. There’s no miracle. It’s just something that I can do.”

McLean frowned. “In the Gospels, there are several apostles who are said to have raised the dead. I’ve been doing some reading since your cousin visited.”

“You planned this,” I said flatly and he had the good grace to look abashed.

“You interest me,” he said, his voice earnest. “I feel like—I think—God brought me to you for a reason. And I thought that maybe I could make a friend out of you.”

“Oh, God,” I snorted. “Drop it. Cody told you about me and you want to know if I’m possessed or evil or whatever. Just admit that. Don’t give me a bunch of bullshit about just moving here and wanting to be hiking buddies.”

“Stop,” he snapped, those big, warm eyes darkening under his furrowed brow. “That’s not true. I don’t think you’re evil or possessed and I really do hope to become your friend. And with what your cousin said, it sounds like maybe you could use one.”

Warmth spread across my face and I glared at him. “Gee, thanks for that, but I think I’m doing fine.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Ebron, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that—look, Father Laski isn’t your biggest fan, I’m sure you know that. And the stuff he was saying about you, about you being, you know, gay, and all the crap about being unnatural and whatnot...”

“Yeah?” I said stubbornly, jerking my chin up. “So what? I don’t give a shit what he says about me.”

“But people listen to him,” McLean said. “He’s on the pulpit. At least,” he added in a lower voice. “For now he is. He’s retiring next year and then it will be me.”

I blinked at him. “So? Sorry, but I don’t see the difference.”

He looked pained for a second, but forged on. “I don’t agree with him. About you being unnatural. And I thought that when he’s gone and it’s my voice the people hear, I could change the narrative.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why would you do that? You don’t know anything about me.”

“Father Laski thinks you need to be saved,” he said, taking a step forward into my space. The light in his brown eyes suddenly seemed a little manic. “I don’t. I think, what you can do? I think that it’s a miracle.”

He drove me back to my trailer. I turned my face to the window and answered in short, clipped sentences when he tried to make small talk. Eventually, he got the hint and he turned up the stereo, letting Mick Jagger’s voice fit into the heavy silence. The late afternoon sun made long gray shadows on the slushy sidewalks. Soggy leaves tumbled across the windshield and caught in the wipers.

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” he said just as his hatchback bounced down the little road of the trailer park. The words came out rushed, like he wanted to be rid of them.

I sighed. “It’s fine.”

“No, really.” He glanced at me nervously. “This didn’t go at all like how I wanted it to.”

Behind me in the hatch, Johnny started whining at the sight of home. His stinky, wet fur made the whole car smell strongly of dog. I shoved away the impulse to apologize. After all, he was the one who had insisted on driving. Instead, I said nothing, my fingers twitching against the door handle.

McLean fiddled with the heating vents. “I’m from Portland,” he said suddenly and I decided to give him thirty seconds before intervening.

“My church there was awesome,” he continued. “Young, vibrant. Full of great people who were hungry for Christ’s love.”

“Uh,” I said. I hadn’t meant it to come out quite so much like a distressed moan.

“And I never thought of leaving,” he continued quickly. “But then this opportunity came up and I just... knew. I had to come here. I knew God had work for me here.”

“Devon,” I tried.

“God brought me here,” he said with certainty. “God brought me here to meet you. I know that I can help you.”

“I don’t want your fucking help,” I hissed, anger flaring. “You presumptuous little shit.”

He whipped his head to face me, shocked. “I’m sorry. I get it. We don’t know each other. I come around, throwing the G-word at you, it’s a lot.”

“Please leave me alone,” I said wearily.

“I respect that you want that,” he replied. He slowed, coming to a crawl a good ten feet from my trailer, like I wouldn’t just hop out and walk the distance if he got too crazy and overbearing.

“Good, thank you,” I said and started to fumble for the door.

He reached out and touched my shoulder.

“Please give me one more chance,” he asked. He did the puppy-dog thing with his eyes, making them all gooey and pleading. That flare of anger sparked up again and I jerked back, slapping his hand away. His eyes widened and he took a sharp, startled breath.

“Leave me
the fuck
alone,” I snarled. “I’m not your project, God did not send you to me, and I don’t want to see your fucking face. Understand?”

He blinked, his face going white, and gave a quick nod. His brows came together, and his lips parted but I threw the door open and scrambled out. But then I had to move the seat down to get Johnny out and in that space he said my name quietly.

I stopped, holding still with gritted teeth.

“Thanks for coming with me today,” he said, sounding so sad that I finally looked at him. The moisture had dampened his hair and the spikes hung limply over his forehead. Mud smeared the sleeve of his fancy jacket. I tried to imagine myself in an unfriendly little town, alone and far away from anyone who knew me. I thought of him sitting beside Father Laski during awkward meals and of him running away the first chance he got to go on a damp autumn hike. I wrestled through the annoyance clouding my mind. Finally I sighed.

“If my cousin comes back to talk to Father Laski, will you tell me?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said right away. “If I can. If he’s not under the seal of confession.”

I nodded. “All right. Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“Will you—” he stopped, then started again. “Would you talk with me again? Go for another hike, maybe?”

I hesitated, swallowing the uncertainty in my throat. “I guess,” I said. “If you want to be friends, though, you can’t... I mean, I’m not your personal project, okay?”

“Of course,” he agreed and then his serious face lit up with a grin. “Thank you. Here, let me give you my number.”

He held his hand out for my phone and I reluctantly dropped it into his waiting palm. I waited while he thumbed some numbers into my phone and then he called himself.

“There,” he said. “Now I have your number too.”

“Thanks,” I said and reached for the door handle.

“Ebron,” he called, just as Johnny barreled over the seats and stumbled down into the dirt. I turned back.

“If you ever want to talk, about anything, I’m here to listen. No judgments. Totally confidential.”

“The seal of confession?” I asked wryly and he shrugged, a little smile lifting one corner of his mouth.

“I’d really like to hear your version of Cody’s story,” he said.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “The truth might blow your mind.”

His eyes lit up. “Trust me,” he said, smiling. “I can handle the truth.”

Restless, I prowled around my trailer after I ate my dinner. The TV held no appeal and despite the growing darkness outside, the clock only read 6:00 p.m. My fucked-up sleep cycle insisted that it was early afternoon.

I scrolled through my phone, sent off a text to Dahlia asking about Danielle’s condition, and checked my Facebook. I had a friend request from Father Devon McLean. I tapped the little thumbnail image of him on my screen and the photo enlarged, showing McLean surrounded by preteens in matching sky blue tee shirts, all grinning madly with their arms looped around each other’s necks. Church camp, I decided and then against my better judgment, accepted the request. Why not? It worked both ways and now I could Facebook stalk him right back.

Inspired, I typed Jonathan Weber’s name into a search engine. Several thousand hits came up—popular name—but the first link I clicked on was for Bradley, Brown and Associates law firm, located in Atlanta, Georgia. Weber’s face popped up when I clicked on the ‘Associates’ link, third one from the top. He wasn’t smiling in the photo, his expression blank. The little blurb beside his photo listed him as an immigration attorney.

“Immigration?” I murmured to myself. The six or so other lawyers listed on the page had various specialties, corporate law and family law included. I couldn’t imagine what an immigration attorney wanted with a coven of witches. With me.

I switched over to my social media accounts and scrolled through my newsfeed for a while, trying to keep my mind occupied. I thumbed to my recent calls. I saw Jim-the-witch’s name and went still.

Marcus. I had somehow put it out of my mind that when Leo had lied to me about Morgan, Marcus had been in on it. Marcus had lied to me too. He had known, had been there, been a part of it. And had kept it from me.

I slumped backwards into the couch and stared at the screen until it went black. A small flame of indignation sparked in my chest, weak enough that I could have doused it if I wanted. If I wanted to, I could recognize that Marcus hadn’t really had much of a choice. He couldn’t have stopped Leo and Leo had been the one to tell him to lie. Marcus had gone along with it—but it hadn’t been his doing.