Color Weaver (6 page)

She used the light of the moon and began to sketch the female wendigo in long fluid strokes. It seemed so easy to draw, effortless, her mind’s eye guiding from some primitive dark place inside her. The wendigo emerged on the paper. Time was her enemy, she knew. Reese would find her soon. Her hand trembled as she drew. She used all her fingers to blend and smear the charcoal. She’d drawn the female with breasts in a flowing shredded robe. Her chin jutted with a fanged jaw and Summer added long lashes to the eyes.

“Done,” she said, throwing aside the stem of charcoal.

Blinding light fractured the atmosphere above her, cracking the night sky like an eggshell. She felt white magic streaming through her body, heating up her blood, making every hair on her skin stand on end. She had never felt the full brunt of her own power, or the birth of something so powerful and evil. She had never willingly drawn anything like this female demon.

Suddenly the female wendigo leaped through the rays, its slender emaciated body and long flowing white hair ghoulish and fascinating all at the same time. It floated in the air, a wispy phantom of energy and demonic spirit.

Their eyes met. Fiend. Creator.

Summer saw the wendigo’s expression change from innocence of genesis to a darker devouring yearning, the fire in the eyes turning a searing bloodred. The wendigo threw back its head, howled like a banshee, then lunged at her.

Summer closed her eyes and saw her life flash before her.

Reese ran frantically through the woods now. Summer’s safety was all he could think about. Why had she disobeyed him? Would the wendigo hurt her? As he plowed through limbs and past trees, he was back in that hellish place in his mind that he tried to forget, the night his father disappeared. He could hear his father’s scream echoing in his memories. His father, who had never been afraid of anything, screaming bloody murder, screaming like the fear had crawled right inside his gut and was eating him alive. The stench of the wendigo had gagged Reese. That rotting-flesh smell of death, just like the scent he smelled now in these woods. Reese had watched the demon carry off his two-hundred-and-forty-pound father like he didn’t weigh an ounce. All Reese had been able to do was stand there firing a .20 gauge at it.

An unholy screech brought him back to the present, and the sound crawled down his flesh. He trailed the sound to a clearing. He spotted Summer first. She faced a female wendigo and it was plunging toward her, mouth open. Blinding light still poured from the portal in which it had emerged.

He jammed a clip into the assault rifle, raised the gun…

A dark figure materialized in the air, the male wendigo. It held something large. Three figures fell from its grasp and hit the ground. Reese couldn’t get a clear shot as the male wendigo dived down.

Seconds before the female reached Summer, the male wendigo snatched his mate up in his jaws.

She wailed and snarled and kicked and fought.

The wendigo bit her neck, paralyzing her. Reese watched in amazed horror as the wendigo flew through the portal with a satisfied smile on his face. It closed with a blinding clap of thunder.

Reese ran to Summer, his heart pounding. He found her facedown on the ground. He grabbed her up. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, but I saw something, Reese.”

“I know. I saw it drop something, too.”

“No, no, you don’t understand.” Summer pushed him aside and was on her feet, stumbling through the brush.

Reese grabbed her arm. “Wait.”

“No, I can’t believe it,” she said in a kind of demented hopeful voice. “I have to see for myself.”

“What?”

Moaning stopped them both. They looked at each other, then Summer, driven by excitement, grabbed his hand and pulled him forward. “Over here. They landed over this way.”

He followed her, feeling blackberry thorns tearing at his jeans. Finally, Summer paused and bent down.

Reese saw three figures on the ground. The shape…human bodies.

Summer fell to her knees beside one of the figures. “Sheriff McMurray…” She reached a shaking hand down to clasp his father’s fingers.

“Yes.”

The voice Reese thought to never hear again sounded like heavenly music to his ears. Enough moonlight beamed down so that Reese could make out the outline of his father’s face. He looked the same, hadn’t aged a bit. Then he saw Brad Lacy, naked and curled into a fetal ball. Beside him lay Jason Smith, shivering, staring at the world with the eyes of a newborn. Reese fell to his knees beside his father. “How?” he asked in a bewildered plea.

Summer stared down at the three men, drinking in the miracle before her. Relief glowed from her face, as if the guilt she’d been carrying all these years had finally ceased. Reese felt miserable for doubting her, blaming her for something she’d had no control over.

When she spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “Some legends state wendigos carry off their victims but don’t kill all of them. They keep some of them in a kind of cocoon in their dens for later use. Maybe he’d been contemplating this exchange for a long time.”

“Reese, is that you?”

“It’s me, Dad.” Reese pulled out his cell phone and was already dialing 9-1-1. A knot in his throat rose up as his father pulled him down for a hug.

It was such a pretty day, Summer escorted her students outside to draw. The kids seemed ecstatic at getting out of the studio. Sampson held up the rear, the kids urging the dog with petting and kind words. The dog seemed as excited as her ten pupils. Not very social around strangers, the cats hid away inside the cottage.

“Everyone pick a subject.”

Camay, a child with the eyes of a thirty-year-old, asked, “Where’s your drawing pad, Ms. Cloud? Ain’t you drawing with us? One of those modernistic—”

“Modernist,” Summer corrected.

“Yeah, one of them.”

“Not today.” Summer had no desire to create anything after her last drawing of the female wendigo. Art held a whole new fear for her now. At least the wendigo hadn’t returned. Thank goodness.

She thought of Reese. She hadn’t heard one word from him. The sensation of his father’s return and the other two missing men had even reached the
Richmond Dispatch.
They had
circulated the story that Harland McMurray, presumed dead, had had amnesia for the past twelve years and had just wandered home.

But locally no one bought that fairy-tale. Brad’s and Jason’s sudden appearance with Harland and the fact all the men appeared naked in the field with no memory of what happened, coupled with Harland’s shocking fountain-of-youth appearance, caused speculation of alien abductions. Not to mention the recent gory attacks on livestock. No one could dispute something unnatural was at work in King Charles County.

Summer smiled, feeling only relief that the men were unharmed. She was glad for Reese and his father, and she was certain Reese had his own life to live and it didn’t include her. She had resigned herself to that fact, but a part of her still held out hope that they could at least be friends.

Meikoda had assured her the wendigo would not ever return, now that it had what he wanted. Meikoda said she would make sure Fala erased Reese’s memory of the events of their last night together and all that she had revealed to him about her powers. He would only remember that he’d found his father, Brad, and Jason wandering in a field. At times when Summer couldn’t get Reese out of her mind, she wished she had asked Fala to erase her own memories.

Several times she had fought a desire to go and visit his father, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It would only lead to more pain when she saw his son and bring back memories best left forgotten.

Eager voices abounded as the children found their subjects and dove into drawing.

The sound of a car turning into the drive brought Summer’s head up.

It was Reese.

Her heart lurched, then she tamped down her renegade emotions.

He looked so handsome and all male as he exited the car and strode toward her. Something about seeing him in full uniform made her knees weak. His shirt looked starched to his broad chest, his tie close to his throat. Those eyes were drowsy behind long lashes, yet so piercing she felt them penetrate her face.

He caught the kids’ attention with a wave.

“Hey, it’s a cop,” one of the boys said.

“A sheriff,” Summer corrected. She clapped her hands. “Back to work, please.”

She walked down the drive and met him.

“How are you?” he said, pausing near her.

She stood in his shadow, his broad shoulders blocking out the morning sun from her eyes. “Fine,” she said.

An uncomfortable silence weighed down the air between them, until she couldn’t stand it any longer and asked, “How’s your dad?”

“Great, just great.”

He looked at the children. “You’re busy. Sorry to interrupt. I can come back later.”

She wanted to say, “Please do, when we can be alone.” Instead, she said, “You don’t have to.”

“I came by to tell you that my investigation into Brad Lacy’s disappearance is over. He swears he had amnesia, just like my father and Jason.”

“Really? Did you ever find out what gave them memory loss?”

“Doc Jameson said it could have been some sort of pollutant in the well water.”

She didn’t grin, because she expected an apology first thing from him for doubting her all these years, now that she was no longer a suspect. Her voice was a little terse as she said, “I heard alien abductions were the culprit.”

“Doc Jameson X-rayed them thoroughly. No implants were found.” A ghost of a smile toyed with his lips, and for a moment he was so handsome her body leaned in toward him.

“So he believes in aliens?” she asked, and forced her spine to straighten.

“No, he just wanted to head off any tabloid gossip. You know how that can get out of hand.”

“Right.”

“And you. How do you feel about alien abductions?”

“I’m sticking to something more concrete. Well water sounds like the culprit to me.” He shot her a sidelong glance that seemed uncertain and just a little irritated, as if he were annoyed at never knowing the real truth.

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“Anyway, thought you’d like to know you’ve been cleared of all suspicion in the disappearances.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said coolly.

She looked for any sign of the old animosity in him, but it was absent in his expression. He was all cool sheriff again.

“We
do
need to talk. I still have some unanswered questions.”

That sounded ominous. “All right.”

“Come to the station when you’re done here.”

“Okay.” She had hoped he’d say, “Meet me at my house” or “We’ll talk over dinner.” But it was to be the station. Police business only. They were done. Why couldn’t she accept that?

He said goodbye and she watched his large shoulders swaying as he reached his car and drove away.

Get over him, Summer, she scolded herself, feeling an emptiness opening a pit in her stomach. She wished all this was over so she wouldn’t have to keep seeing him. It was just too painful.

She grimaced and walked back to join the children. They continued to tease her about being arrested. Doubt nagged at her. What did he want?

Summer’s class ran over into the late afternoon. She hadn’t left her house until six. It was almost seven now. The station stood behind the courthouse proper, a landmark built in 1727 of mortar, brick and slate. Even the old jail bars still covered some of the windows. A portico connected it to a more modern larger building with a small rotunda. Spring pansies filled the beds with yellows, blues and purples.

All the court cases had ended for the day and the parking lot was empty. She picked a choice parking spot near the front door. The sheriff’s department was in the basement of the new courts building and it took her a few minutes to follow the signs to the front desk. The past couple of times she had come here, she had entered through the back door where prisoners were processed.

She found the halls deserted. Even Reese’s office was empty. She could see through the glass he wasn’t there. It seemed odd that no one was manning the sheriff’s office. Why had he asked her to come here? She turned on her heels to leave, when she bumped into Reese.

She jumped. “You scared me.”

“You should be used to that.” He gave her a knowing look that was way too perceptive.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone who has a wendigo tormenting her should be used to getting frightened.”

Her brows snapped together in a frown. “You remember?”

“Every detail.”

Summer wondered why Fala hadn’t erased his memory. Meikoda had assured Summer she would make sure of it. “Fala didn’t come to see you?” she asked, baffled.

“She did. When she told me why she’d come to see me, I begged her not to destroy my memory.” He stepped up to her, so close she felt his body heat burning through her jeans and shirt.

“But you know my secret.”

“You afraid I’ll hold it over you?” He blinked down at her with those perceptive, sleepy eyes, his hot breath caressing her face.

“You’re the sheriff, of course you will.”

He cupped her chin, sending a shiver down her throat that pooled in her breasts. Her nipples hardened as his deep voice softened. “I owe you an apology, Summer. Can you ever forgive me for blaming you for the disappearances?”

“Only for losing faith in me.”

“If you let me, I’ll spend my life making it up to you.” His voice grew husky with emotion as he slid his burly arms around her.

His hard body engulfed her as she laid her cheek on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. “What is the first thing you’ll do?” she asked, teasing.

“Well, I already cleared this place out so we could be alone and talk. I didn’t know if you’d forgive me.”

“And what if I hadn’t?” she asked, while she ran her palms over his chest, feeling every muscle in his body turn to steel.

“I was going to use my handcuffs first, make love to you, then if that didn’t work, put us both in a holding cell until you changed your mind.” He smiled and it lit up his handsome face.