Dead of Night (12 page)

I swallowed hard. “You're not supposed to yell at me. House rules.”

A crash outside the stall startled both of us. Gray's expression changed, and he grabbed me, shoving me behind him. I stumbled and almost hit the wet-varnished wall but caught myself in time. I was about to yell back at him when I looked over his shoulder and saw Rika rearing just outside the stall. Behind her I saw the remains of her stall door, lying in pieces on the floor where she'd kicked it out.

Rika eyed Gray and made an awful screeching sound as she reared again, this time bringing her hooves against the side of the stall.

I started forward. “It's okay, girl. I'm okay.” When Gray tried to stop me, I shrugged him off. “She isn't going to attack me.
You're
the one she wants to trample.”

I eased out of the stall, talking in a low, soft voice as I approached her. Once she focused on me, she stopped attacking the stall and put herself between me and Gray.

“Come on, girl.” I took hold of her halter and tugged her toward the end of the barn. “Let's both get some fresh air.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gray starting to follow us. “No, don't get near her. Stay in the barn. I'll be right back.”

On some level Rika had decided to trust me, because once we emerged from the barn she didn't try to jerk free or run. I put her in the bathing pen and gave her a minute while I looked her over. I didn't see any injuries from her tantrum in the barn, but once she seemed more at ease I felt her legs and belly.

“You make a great bodyguard,” I told her as I went around her front, checking her mouth and shoulders. “But in a fight with the barn, honey, the barn usually wins.”

Her belly still hung low with the foal, and I didn't see any show of blood or fluids that would indicate she'd aggravated herself into delivering early. We'd still have to keep an eye on her—or I would, I mentally corrected myself. As far as I was concerned only I was going to handle the Arabian.

When I went back into the barn Gray met me at the door. “She's all right, and I don't think it affected the foal. We should call Dr. Marks, though, and see if he wants to take a look at her anyway.”

“I've never heard of a horse getting in the middle of shouting match.” He shook his head as he surveyed the damage she'd caused. “You really think it's me?”

“You, or she hates the smell of varnish.” I went over and picked up what was left of her stall door. “God, look at this. If you hadn't been inside the birthing stall, she might have killed you.”

“Why?” Gray demanded. “I've never hit her, or hurt her, or even yelled at her. Why would she think I was going to? I wasn't even in her stall.”

I went still. “That's it. She thought you were going to hurt me.”

He measured the distance between the stalls. “No way. From that angle, she couldn't even see us.”

“No,” I said thoughtfully. “But she could hear you yelling at me.”

Twelve

T
rick arrived home from his job hunting just as Dr. Marks finished examining Rika, and after getting a brief explanation from me spoke to the vet.

“She has some minor bruising, but the foal wasn't injured, and I don't think we're looking at an early delivery.” He came out of the pen and nodded toward the barn. “She caused a lot of damage in there. I'd like to know what got her that agitated.”

What he meant was, he wanted to know what Gray and I had done to her. I would have told him my theory, but I wasn't sure he'd believe me.

“It was my fault, sir,” Gray said. “My sister and I were working in the barn, and I shouted at Cat.”

Dr. Marks actually chuckled. “Horses don't care for people yelling at them or around them, but I don't think Rika would bat an eyelash over it. Old Man Hargraves did nothing but yell at his horses.”

“I didn't buy her from Mr. Hargraves,” Trick said.

“Not directly, you didn't,” the vet agreed. “When Old Julian got sick he boarded out his horses; when he passed away his estate manager let the stable owners make offers. Doug Palmer bought her, and was probably planning to use her as a brood mare, but after he lost his stallions he gave up, sold out and moved back up north.”

“Sir, what happened to Mr. Palmer's stallions?” I asked.

The vet's expression darkened. “Some lunatic drifter got into his barn one night and used a knife on them. By the time Doug went out the next morning, five had bled to death. The other two died a day later.”

The thought of someone killing horses just for fun made me want to throw up. “Was Rika hurt?”

Dr. Marks shook his head. “Whoever did it wasn't interested in the mares.” He looked at Gray. “You might want to search the stalls and see if there are any snakes hiding in the bedding. That might be what caused this. Oh, and wear protective gloves in case you run into a coral snake or a pygmy rattler.”

Trick walked the vet back out to his car while I helped Gray clean up the last of the mess in the barn.

“She really did a number on this.” He sorted out a couple boards that were still mostly intact. “There's not enough left to even cobble it back together.”

“We can take the door off the birthing stall,” I said. “It's the same size. I'm sorry I got in your face before and made you yell. You're right, I don't always think things through, and I should.”

“I wasn't exactly using my intellect.” He dumped the wood into the barrow. “Man. I never saw a horse go ballistic like that.”

Trick came back in, stomping mad. “Nice work, you two. Tell me why I shouldn't ground you both until New Year's.”

“Um, you can't do everything by yourself,” I pointed out. “Sali and Flash would miss us terribly. Also, it's almost Christmas, and we're really sorry.”

After I nudged him Gray said, “Yeah. Sorry, bro.”

“This isn't funny, Catlyn. Both of you could have been trampled.” Trick turned his evil eye on Gray. “And you. Whenever I leave here, I trust you to look after your sister, not put her in danger.”

Gray looked prepared to start yelling again. “Oh, is that what I'm doing?”

Whatever they weren't saying hung between them, big and ugly, and for once it didn't annoy me. Not when it made them look like they hated each other.

“You know, we never got to decorate that tree in the house.” My brothers didn't say anything, so I added, “I wouldn't mind taking a break and stringing some popcorn. How about you guys? We could play some Christmas music, only we don't have any. I know, we could sing some carols. Ah, do we know any carols?”

Trick was the first to quit the brother glaring contest. “I'm not singing, but I can decorate.”

“Do we get to eat some of this popcorn?” Gray wanted to know.

We left the barn open to air, and I sent my brothers ahead to the house so I could lead Rika from the pen to the pasture where the others were grazing. I knew Trick would be watching from the kitchen window as I turned her out, and I was glad she behaved as nicely as she had the day Gray left me alone with her.

I didn't trust my brothers alone for too long, so I went to the house and got busy making the popcorn in the kitchen. I hadn't given much thought to what else we could use for decorations, but when I brought the pan of popcorn out to the living room I found Trick unpacking some ornaments from one of the boxes we'd used for moving.

“We had a secret stash of Christmas tree stuff?” I asked as I set down the pan and surveyed the brightly colored globes. “Pretty.”

“Mom had a tree for us every year,” Gray told me, and then glanced at Trick. “You were too little to remember it.”

Trick produced a glittery star. “Gray, this goes on top. Cat, there's a sewing kit in there you can use for the popcorn.”

The way we muddled through the tree decorating would have been funny, if anyone had felt like laughing. We had ornaments but no hangers for them, so Trick had to unbend and rebend a few dozen paper clips to serve as replacements. Gray decided to test an old string of lights he found and in the process tripped a breaker, shutting off all the power to the front room. Stringing popcorn, I discovered, was possibly the most boring holiday activity ever invented.

The tree only added to the joy by shedding needles every time we touched it, until a small pile formed around the base. But despite our lack of decorating prowess, my brothers and I finished the job, and stood back to admire our handiwork.

Trick frowned. Gray didn't say anything.

It was up to me, then. “That is the saddest-looking Christmas tree I've ever seen.”

“It's not so bad.” Trick reached out to adjust one of my uneven, pitiful-looking popcorn strings. “It looks … ”

“Dismal?” I suggested helpfully. “Depressing?”

“Dead,” Gray put in. He demonstrated by grasping one of the branches and running it through his fingers, and then letting the needles fall onto the pile on the floor. Not a single needle was left on the branch.

Trick bent down and checked the dirt in the bucket. “Bone-dry. Didn't you guys water it?”

Gray lifted one shoulder. “You never told me to.”

“Me, either.” I saw one of the ornaments sliding off a sagging branch. “Uh-oh.”

The ball fell to the floor. As we watched, a tiny shower of needles rained down on top of it.

“I think we killed the living Christmas tree.” A giggle escaped me, and I clapped a hand over my mouth before I offered a muffled, “Sorry.”

“I don't think it's funny.” Trick sounded stern, but his lips twitched. “I paid fifty dollars for this thing, and now it's just one big tumbleweed.”

Gray studied it. “Maybe it was dead when we got it.”

“It could be a Christmas tree scam,” I said hopefully.

“After the holidays we could chop it up and resell it as firewood,” Gray said.

“That's a good idea,” I said. “I mean, it's already been seasoned, right?”

Trick started laughing, and it had been so long since I'd heard that deep, wonderful sound that it set me off. Gray resisted for another thirty seconds before he joined in, too.

Finally I caught my breath and wiped my eyes. “This is the best Christmas present ever,” I told Trick.

He gave me a skeptical look. “A dead tree is all it takes to make you happy?”

“No.” I smiled at him and Gray. “But you guys do.”

That afternoon at the store I found a note waiting for me on Mrs. Frost's desk blotter. Jesse hadn't signed it, but I recognized his hand writing, as well as the meaning of the one line he had written:

You should come and see the paintings as soon as you can.

I put down the note and gnawed at my bottom lip. I wasn't crazy about going into the tunnels while it was still daylight, but Jesse wouldn't have left a note if it wasn't important. To cover myself, I called home.

“I'm going to take my dinner break early and use it to do some Christmas shopping,” I told Trick. “I won't be long, but I didn't want you to worry.”

“Stay right around the shop,” he said. “Eat something, and be sure to get back before dark.”

“I'll only be an hour,” I promised.

I turned off the store lights, mainly so Sheriff Yamah would assume I wasn't working if he drove by, and then went down through the hatch. I didn't know what I'd been expecting when I walked into the work room, but it wasn't to see Jesse sitting at his desk and reading one of Julian's journals.

“What are you doing here?” I said. “The sun hasn't set; shouldn't you still be on the island?”

“I spent the night in the vault.” He rose and came to give me a hug. “Aren't you pleased to see me?”

“I'm always happy to see you,” I assured him, “but where do your parents think you are?”

“Here. I told them I wanted some time alone. They believe I am still pining for you.” His smile faded as he held up one of Julian's journals. “You were right. Over the years Julian did notice that my parents and I were not growing older. He decided ten years ago to find out why.”

All the breath went out of me. “Oh, no.”

“He frequently referenced his ‘findings,' as he called them, which apparently were the facts, dates, places, and every other bit of information about us that he could learn,” Jesse said. “At first he secretly watched us himself, from a distance, and then as he grew older and frailer he hired men to follow us.”

I couldn't believe it. “So he knew everything.”

“Not precisely. Some of the conclusions that he drew from his findings were wrong, such as the nature of our affliction.” He opened the journal to a passage he had marked, and handed it to me to read.

The boy and his parents never eat or drink, so they must have evolved past the need for nourishment, or they are subsisting on some energy source unknown to me. Since they are always acquiring new cattle and horses, and those are the only living things they will tolerate in their presence, I believe the answer lies with how they are using the animals. I have ordered some books on animal ritual sacrifices and their effectiveness. I am also searching for any literature on the transfer of life energy and souls from one being to another.

“He thought you were sacrificing cows for their souls?” I shuddered. “What a nasty mind.”

“There's more.” Jesse took the journal from me and added it to the pile on his desk. “He knew about us.”

“Us? As in you and me?” When he nodded, my eyes widened. “How?”

“Julian sent his assistant to watch the old manor house. He knew I often went there while I was out riding. He assumed—correctly—that I wanted privacy.” He caressed my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “The assistant saw you when I brought you there. He assumed you were an immortal, too, and that we were indulging in some sort of mystical courtship. From the way he describes it, he believed that we were some sort of Romeo and Juliet.”

In a way, I guessed, we were. “Did he think my brothers and I were sacrificing cows?”

“Julian never discovered who you were or where you lived,” Jesse assured me. “He ordered his assistant to take photos of you, but the one night that he tried, Prince got loose and scared him away.”

I remembered that night only too well; Jesse had gotten stranded at the old practice barn. “That's why Prince ran. He wasn't spooked. He was chasing off a peeping Tom.” I stared at the journal. “The nosy old man almost got you killed, and for what? Just to write a bunch of nonsense in his journals?”

Jesse picked up another journal. “He wrote about that as well.” He hesitated before handing it to me. “It's on the third page.”

I flipped past the first pages and began reading.

Time is slipping away faster than ever. I can feel my mind fading as well; I must write down everything or I forget it completely within an hour. I must be helped from bed in the morning, and if I sit too long in any one place I fall asleep. I can't even enjoy food any longer, for the doctor won't permit me to eat anything I want. I dream of steak and potatoes and a bottle of wine, but my assistant brings me only soup and pureed fruit and tea.

I'm well aware that I am dying a little every day. I remember how mother and father were, just before I lost them. I will not go as quietly as they did. I refuse to give up hope. It's all I have left.

This last year I've come to understand how wrong I've been. All my life I believed I was happy, but I was only deluding myself. Because I never allowed myself to care for anyone but myself, I have no wife to love, or children to carry on my name. No one has ever called me their friend. How can I realize this only when there's no time left to fix my mistakes?

I will continue my research. I know the immortals have learned how to live forever, that it is possible to avoid death altogether. If only I can stay alive long enough to discover their secret. Somehow I must.

I closed the book. “I'm not going to say ‘that poor man.'” I glanced at Jesse. “No matter how much I want to.”

He took my hand in his. “It does not excuse what he did, but it does explain why.”

The old man's sad, desperate words still hurt my heart, and made me get up and slip into my dark boy's arms.

“You're upset.” He rubbed his hand over my back. “I shouldn't have let you read that.”

“No, I think it was good for me. Kind of a reality check.” I caught a strand of his silky black hair, and moved it so that the light brought out the amethyst glints. Jesse's hair would always be this color, even when mine turned gray. “Someday I'm going to be old. I don't think about it too much, but it will happen. And you'll still be like you are now.”