CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy (31 page)

The wind roared up the mountain and pushed against the cabin. It
groaned under the attack, but held firm.

Once the dishes were done, Cotten and John refilled their cups
and moved to the couch in front of the fireplace. For a long time they
sat in silence watching the flames biting at the air, sending small
sparks shooting up the chimney.

"I wish we could shut out the world, right now, and stay just like
this." She sat with one leg tucked under her, half turned to face him.

"You know we can't."

"Well, why not?" she said. "I hate this always being afraid-thinking
about Vanessa's death, Thornton's death-this emotional turmoil."

"Don't let it swallow you. You aren't in this alone. I'm here with
you.

Cotten put her mug on the floor. How could she explain how this
was eating her up inside? "Look at me, John. Look hard. Somebody
killed my best friend and wants to kill me. They murdered Thornton.
I don't even know why. And everybody keeps telling me I'm the only
one. The only one to do what? I don't have a clue what that means.
I'm supposed to stop the sun from rising?" She glanced at the fire,
then back. "What kind of insane life have I made for myself? Look at
the pattern. I only want what I can't have, and whatever I touch turns
to shit ... or dies."

"Their deaths weren't your fault. I know this is a tough time," he
said. "Ease up on yourself."

She stared into his dark sapphire eyes. "I've dragged you into this
nightmare, and I'm afraid you're going to wind up dead, too."

John held both her hands.

Cotten laughed through her tears. "On top of everything else, I'm
trying not to fall in love with you." She immediately regretted her
words. "Shit, I'm sorry, John. I shouldn't have said that."

She felt his warm hands squeeze hers.

"Cotten ... You're getting your feelings all mixed up. You're in
danger, you're scared, all that makes you very vulnerable. We've been
through some unusual times together-we've formed a bond, a kind
of love, but not the kind you think."

She hung her head. "I'm sorry. I put you in an awkward position."
She was silent a moment. "I feel like an idiot. Too much wine. It was
wrong for me to say that. I'm so screwed up. God, I'm sorry, John."

"There's nothing to be sorry for, and you're not screwed up, just
confusing your feelings. You're an amazing person who is decent and
honest. Have you ever thought that when you believe you've fallen in
love with a man you think you can't have, that protects you from having to choose between marriage and your career?"

Cotten sighed. Images of her mother flooded her. She could still
picture her standing at the kitchen sink, expressionless, passionless,
staring out the window for long periods. Deep lines carved her
mother's face, the skin abused, not by the sun, but by the absence of
purpose and joy. And the eyes-no sparkle, the sense of wonder
sapped from them. Sometimes that same vision came in dreams, and
like watercolors exposed to rain, the image ran and changed, and she
would see herself aged in the same way. That's when Cotten would
wake with a start and promise to push herself even harder at work so
she wouldn't one day find herself used up like her mother.

No thirteen drops left.

John lifted her chin with the crook of his finger. "If I weren't a
priest ... you are the woman I would fall in love with. You're the one
I would spend my life with."

Cotten couldn't take her eyes from his. "You don't have to say that
to make me feel better. I know I was tangled up in a fantasy."

"I said it because I mean it. I'm speaking the truth, telling you
what's inside."

"You are always so ... stable, so grounded. You see things as they
really are. I wish I was like that."

"Remember I told you that I'm on a leave of absence because I
don't know what it is I'm supposed to do? My life is unclear. You
know what you want, Cotten. Do you know how blessed you are?"

He was right in one respect-she desperately wanted a successful
career, a life different from her mother's. But she always managed to
want what she couldn't have-at least when it came to men.

"When the right guy comes along, you won't need to make choices
or sacrifice one thing for another. You'll find a balance." He smoothed
her hair back from her face. "And he'll be the luckiest man in the
world."

Cotten wrapped her arms around John's neck. "I still wish you
weren't a priest," she whispered.

THE DARKNESS CLOAKED THE mountains in a tight embrace as a
dusting of snow drifted down.

Cotten came out of the bathroom wrapped in the long white terry
cloth robe they had bought in town. Her hair spilled down her back,
dripping wet. "Hi," she said, seeing John lighting a candle on the
dresser. She noticed the aroma of mulberries filled the bedroom and
realized there was an array of burning candles scattered around the
room. "Where did you ... ?"

"We use them when we first open up the cabin each summer,"
John said. "It can get pretty musty after being closed all winter."

"They're delicious, like you could eat the very air."

"I thought the scent might help you relax. My attempt at new age
aromatherapy."

She wrapped her arms around herself. "Thank you, for everything."

"I'll be in the room next door. If you need anything...'

Cotten lifted the gold crucifix on the chain around his neck. Taking his hand, she pressed the cross inside his palm. "You'll find a balance, too. We both will."

When the lights were out and all she could hear was the sigh of
the wind, she lay awake thinking. John was probably right about having her feelings confused, but still there was a pang, a small ache
inside her. With John, there were no pretenses, no masquerades. With
him she was completely herself, a freedom she hadn't enjoyed in a
long, long time. He had opened a door in her heart that had been
sealed shut when her father died.

The dream was disturbing. She saw Vanessa, then Thornton, then
Gabriel Archer-all through a haze, thicker than fog, like frosted
glass. Then she saw her father kneeling on one knee, his hand outstretched, beckoning her to come to him. He spoke, but his words
sounded like the rumble of distant thunder. She moved toward him,
gliding rather than walking. The closer she got, the more he sank into
the fog.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the mist. Her eyes flashed open,
but the cloud of the dream still clung.

"Cotten!" John called. "Get up, quick." He shook her and pulled
her arm.

"What?" she said, blinking awake. The room was dark except for a
single candle that still burned. John had one arm through his flannel
shirt and was madly shoving his other arm through the opposite
sleeve.

"Hurry," he said, yanking her up and off the bed. "The cabin is on
fire!"

Cotten bounded to her feet. She could smell it now, the acrid
stench of smoke from burning wood, fabric, plastic.

John grasped her wrist. "Come on," he said, pulling her behind
him into the hallway.

The remaining grogginess vanished as she followed, clutching the
robe together at her chest. The thickness of the smoke increased, and
she felt the heat radiating down the hall. An eerie, flickering orange
light came from the living room-the direction they were headed.
Cotten balked. "No, you're leading us straight into the fire." She
pulled back, resisting.

He tugged on her arm. "Stay with me." His voice was hoarse.

The smoke would suffocate them even before the flames had a
chance to burn them, she thought. Cotten nearly lost sight of John in
the darkness as she coughed, the smoke stinging her mouth and nose.

Near the end of the hall he stopped and opened the door to the
storage closet. He cleared the way, then led her down the narrow
stairs to the cellar.

Cotten hugged the wall, wishing for a railing she could hold. The
cold sliced into her, but she was thankful there was less smoke in the
darkness of the cellar.

They dodged old furniture-stumbling over chests, bumping into
large rubber trashcans, and plastic bags stuffed with what she guessed
were clothes or linens.

Cotten tripped on a stack of heavy steel pipes, sending them rolling
and clanking across the bare concrete floor. She fell to her hands and
knees. "Shit." Pain exploded from the top of her foot where she had
smashed it into the pipes.

John clasped her forearm and helped her up. "There's a window,"
he said. "Over here."

She couldn't see it, couldn't see anything as she hobbled behind
him.

"Here," he said, climbing up on an old workbench beside the wall.
He unlatched the window and tried to shove it open, but it didn't
give.

The basement brightened slightly, and Cotten glanced over her
shoulder toward the source. The opening at the top of the stairs
glowed with the light from the fire, and a river of heat channeled
down the steps. She heard the crackling and popping followed by the
thud of falling timbers. The fire raged and would soon eat its way
down the wooden stairs, blast into the basement, and feast on the
contents.

"We're going to die," she cried.

John shoved again.

Cotten felt around on the workbench, finally coming up with a
crescent wrench. "Use this;' she said, handing it up to him.

John took the tool and punched the glass. After the first shatter
and tinkle, he ran the wrench around the perimeter of the window
clearing out the remaining shards.

"Give me your hand," he said.

Cotten reached up, and he helped her climb beside him. The
bench wobbled, and she heard the wood crack. It wasn't going to hold
them much longer.

"I'll boost you up," he said. He laced his fingers. "Put your foot in
my hands."

Cotten planted her right foot in the center of his hands, and he
lifted her up to the window. She wedged her torso through, then
grabbed at the earth with her hands and forearms, pulling forward,
her robe snagging on the window frame. She worked herself onto a
small rocky ledge just below the back deck of the cabin.

The rush of icy air instantly dried out her eyes and pricked her
skin like needles.

In a moment she saw John's hands on the outer frame. She
latched on to one of his wrists, tugging, helping him rise high enough
to finally get his shoulders through.

Quickly, he heaved himself onto the stone ledge. "You all right?"
he asked.

"Yes."

"We're going to have to climb up. Think you can do it?"

She glanced at the jagged mountain that seemed to rise almost
straight up. "I have to," she said.

Cotten followed him up the steep incline that would lead them to
the level ground around the side of the cabin. She seized fistfuls of
dry brush, some ripping out of the ground. Losing her footing, she slid
backward, the hard ground scouring her skin. Again she attempted to
follow the slippery ledge, digging her feet in the frozen ground, clawing
at the earth, fighting to keep the robe from entangling her. With each
yard of progress she seemed to lose two. "I can't," she said. "It's too
steep."

"Get up," John said. "You can make it. It's just a few more feet." He
slid down toward Cotten, then moved behind her and heaved her
upward. "Keep going."

Cotten stared up. The fire lit the sky to her right. Her hand found
an outcrop of rock, and she got a foothold on a trunk of a mountain
laurel.

When they reached the level ground, she looked at the cabin. The
snowdrifts glistened with the reflection of the fire. Flames erupted
from the roof and roared out the windows; the porch caved and collapsed. The cabin burned as if made of kindling-nothing more than
tiny splinters of light wood. Sparks from the roof jumped to the
branches of a barren hickory that grew close to the house.

John shoved her low to the ground and clapped his hand over her
mouth. "Shh," he whispered, pointing. "Look."