MOON FALL (44 page)

She had heard the faraway cries of the
nightflyers
for several
hours, and they had made it nearly impossible for Minerva
Payne to concentrate on her baking. She'd burned two batches
of cookies and ruined a tray of cream puffs because of the
sounds, which were no less ominous because of their distance.

She'd felt great relief when John Lawson had shown up at
her shop; she'd been afraid he wouldn't come. But there was
no time to help him because shortly after his arrival, Minerva
began feeling something else: someone-
Kelly, she thought
was
asking for help
.
It was a mental scream so loud that Minerva
could barely think and only Kelly Reed was capable of sending
such a strong message.

But what if it's a trap? What if it's Lucy or Dashwood, trying
to get me out of the way before tomorrow night?

She had to take the chance. She'd kept a low profile these
last few years, casting only protection spells to keep the coven
away. In fact, her spells weren't so different from the ones that
Lucy and Dashwood used to keep their own presence shrouded
from the minds of the townsfolk
.
Hopefully, Lucy and the rest
didn't think of her as a major threat any longer, but as a decrepit
old woman far past her prime.

Two
nightflyers
swooped across her path just as she reached
the clearing around her cottage
.
They were so close she could
smell their decaying scent. Their wingspans were at least six
feet wide, their faces ugly, shrunken monkey-like masks, and
their eyes flashed red even in broad daylight.

Minerva had re
-
strengthened her protection spells, and unless
Dashwood and Lucy's magic was stronger than she had reckoned,
the
nightflyers
wouldn't be able to come any closer to
the cottage. She raised her arms and extended her fingers at
them, reciting a few lines of Celtic magic. The things edged back
over the trees.
''Be gone!"
Minerva cried, mentally shooting her
magic from her fingerprints into the monstrosities.
''Be gone!"
The pair gave a few more feet, and Minerva walked safely
into the clearing, past her gardens, and into the house. She
wondered if it really was Lucy and Dashwood, not Kelly, who
had called her. Imprisoning her in her own house would keep
her out of the way.

Minerva! Help me!

The voice resounded in her ears, closer now, but not so close
as the
nightflyers
circling the clearing. Nearly certain it was
Kelly, she knew she had to risk a trap and find her.

The screeching of the
nightflyers
grew more distant as Minerva
took an old Remington rifle from her bedroom, made sure
it was loaded, then put extra shells in her pocket. What magic
couldn't
manage, a weapon could. Whispering more protection
spells, for herself and for Kelly, she opened the front door,
peered out, then stepped outside. She shut her eyes a moment,
sensing the direction she would need to take, then set off into
the woods, toward St. Gertrude's.

There were more than two
nightflyers
, more than she'd ever
heard at once. The creatures
flew above the forest, their rau
cous
cries echoing among the trees, and she paid them no mind but
kept walking steadfastly toward the source of the cries for help.

Minerva!

She paused, shocked by the voice that boomed in her head.
A screech, just as loud, sounded above, and she looked up to
see one of the
nightflyers
perched on a high limb, wings folded,
watching her with bright, bloody eyes. Minerva raised the rifle,
took aim, and fired.

The blast shoved the butt of the gun painfully into her shoulder,
but she paid it no attention. She'd hit the creature. It rocked
on the tree limb, then screamed, a sound far worse than the
screeching. Minerva thought it would burst her eardrums. The
nightf
l
yer glared down at her, started to unfurl its wings.

She raised the gun and gave it the other barrel. The creature
squawked angrily and swayed on the branch as Minerva quickly
reloaded. Before she could raise the gun, the creature fell. She
backed away and reloaded as it hit the ground, wings flapping
weakly.

"Let's have a look at you," she said, as the
nightflyer
stilled.
Glancing upward she realized the other flyers were farther away
now. Perhaps she'd scared them off. She hoped so. Keeping
the rifle aimed at the black creature, she came within two feet
of it and stopped.

There was no blood visible on the body, only gaping holes
showing dull dark red below the feathers, or scales, she wasn't
sure which.

The face was out of a nightmare, with predatory, close-set
eyes under heavy brow ridges. This one had no beak but a
piggish snout, and the slightly open maw revealed gleaming
onyx teeth.

One eye opened, blackish-red, and glared at her. The mouth
moved. Without a second
thought, Minerva aimed at the h
ead
and let both barrels fly.

At first, there was only a gaping reddish hole where the face
had been, then the red began turning to black. As Minerva
watched, the black wounds began to lighten to g
ra
y and so did
the hide-
the feathers or scales, or whatever they were. There
was a crackling sound and the head began to break apart in
chunks, then the body.
Aft
e
r
a few moments, all that remained
was broken stone. Minerva remembered to reload, but couldn't
stop looking at the thing. When John Lawson had suggested
that the
nightflyers
might really be creatures that hibernated
during the day and resembled stone gargoyles, she had been
pleased with his open
mindedness and amus
ed at the thought.
But he was right. She bent to pick up a piece of stone, thinking
that she'd enjoy seeing his face when he found out they really
did turn to stone. She stopped short of picking any up. The
heavens only knew what effect carrying a piece with her might
have; probably none, but possibly, it could prove disastrous.
Perhaps she would bring the
s
heriff here and show it to him.

''Minerva!"

She turned at the whisper, scanning th
e
woods. "Kelly?" she
asked softly. Somewhere overhead, the
nightflyers
screeched.
''Kelly, where are you?"

''
Here!
"

The girl crawled out from under an ancient pine tree, brushing
needles from her hair. She ran to Minerva and put her arms
around her. "You found me. Thank heaven you found me!"

"You were hard to ignore, child." Minerva held her and
stroked her hair. "I'm glad you're all right."

"They've got Sara," Kelly breathed. "We have to help her."

The
nightflyers
were coming closer. Minerva stepped back
and looked up between the trees as a shadow passed overhead.
“
First we have to help ourselves, Kelly." Above, there were
three cries in succession, answered by two more. They were
coming for their prey. Minerva saw the fear in Kelly's eyes.
"Come along, we'll be safe at my house.
Hurry!"

"You should, of course, ask the other sisters," Mother Lucy
told John, "but I haven't seen Miss Hawthorne or your son
today. Have you, Dr. Dashwood?"

"No," Dashwood said, all charm and smarm. "But if I do,
I'll tell them both you're looking for them."

I
just bet you will.
John stood uncomfortably in Lucy's office,
trying to keep his eyes off the bloody portraits decorating the
walls. Being alone with Lucy and Dashwood was definitely an
unpleasant experience, and he wished Thurman were here to
back him up. "I've been told that Mark might be here."

''Who told you that?" Lucy asked, forcing a smile onto her
brittle face.
”
It must be a joke. We have no boys here, only
girls. Someone was having fun at your expense."

"I can't reveal my sources," John said, "but they were quite
serious."

"It's all right, Sheriff," Lucy said. "I know exactly who fed
you such nonsense. That senile old creature in the woods
,
that
Payne woman." She arched an eyebrow. "Aptly named,
isn't she?"

"Do you have a problem with her?" John asked casually.

Lucy shook her head. ''No, except that she's rather senile
and eccentric and has gotten it into her head that St. Gertrude's
is some sort of haven for devil worshipers. Nothing could be
further from the truth. We're god
-
fearing people."

Especially if you
are
Satanists.
John smiled gently. "I'm
sure you are. My son was sneaking around outside the gate the
other day and he lost his jacket and wallet. That's why I think
he may have come back."

"He was?" Dashwood asked, then broke into a sham grin.
"'Boys will be boys ...' Isn't that what they say?"

“
'I suppose so. Mother Lucy, he told me you chased him."
John stole her gaze and kept it.

"That's absurd. Except for the photo you've been kind
enough to bring, I've never seen the boy. And I doubt he's seen
me, and he certainly doesn't know my name. He's imagining
things, Sheriff."

''Maybe so." He almost brought up Kelly Reed, then decided
not to for the girl's sake.

"You are certainly free to talk to the sisters and look around
all you want," Lucy said, her sympathy as false as her smile.

"Thank you. Now, about Sara Hawthorne-"

“
She did
n
't show up for her classes today," Lucy interrupted.
"When we checked her room, we found no sign of her."

"Frankly, Sheriff," said Dashwood, "we're quite concerned.
Her mental state was a little uncertain. Nerves, you know. She
had convinced herself she was seeing ghosts."

"Was she?"

Lucy and
Dashwood
glanced at one another, then both looked
back at John and laughed. "You mean you believe in our
notorious ladies in white, Sheriff?" Lucy asked.

He shrugged.
“J
ust covering the bases, Mother Lucy." There
was no point in further questioning. ''Mind if I take a look
around?"

''Please do. Dr. Dashwood will accompany you and answer
all your questions."

"I'd prefer to be on my own," John said.

"I'm afraid the sight of a man, especially in uniform, prowling
our h
alls might frighten the girls," Lucy said.

''Come along, Sheriff Lawson," Dashwood said, opening
the door. "What's your pleasure?"

"I'd like to see Sara Hawthorne's room." He turned back
to Lucy. ''Ms. Hawthorne is tendering her resignation, and I
promised to pick up her personal items."

''After you check her room, the doctor will see to it that one
of the sisters boxes up her property and places it by your car."

''Thanks."

They went through Sara's room, the dormitory, and the
garage, all without results. "What's in there?" John asked,
pointing at the old stone building set back from the school
building.

"The bakery." Dashwood smiled. "It's the home of the
s
isters' Heavenly Mincemeat Pies. Would you care to take one
home with you?"

''No thanks." He was tempted to request a tour, but it was
unlikely he'd find Mark or Sara hiding in a busy kitchen. "I'd
like to see your root cellar and basement area."

"Root cellar?" Dashwood asked. "We don't have one. It
was filled in years and years ago. Before my time. The only
basement is where my infirmary is located. You're welcome to
examine that, of course."

"I've seen drawings of the abbey," John said. "There was
a sub-basement under the
fl
oor where the infirmary is located."

Dashwood studied him, and John thought he saw a faint
trace of anxiety in the man's expression, but it
fled
so quickly
that be couldn't be sure. ''There was a seepage problem, Sheriff.
I'd like to oblige you, but the sub-basement is entirely filled in
with brick and stone and earth. There's no entrance anymore."

John nodded
acquiescence
and let Dashwood lead him through
the school building and infirmary. Nothing seemed unusual,
and
h
e didn't spot any doors or stairs leading farther under the
building. Back outside, he turned to the doctor. "One more
thing I want to see, Doctor. The chapel." With those words,
he turned to face the building and stared, realizing that the
gargoyle he'd seen on the cross was missing.

"We don't ordinarily let any but those of our denomination
inside its doors, but of course we'll make an exception for you,
Sheriff."

"The gargoyle is gone," John said, as they walked toward
the little church with its odd crucifix.

''Gargoyle?"

"The one on the cross."

Dashwood stopped moving and stared at the church. Finally,
he turned to John. ''I believe I heard Mr. Boullan mention
something about taking it down for Sister Elizabeth to do some
work on. Something wasn't quite right, evidently."

"It must weigh a thousand pounds."

Dashwood
smiled. ''No. Perhaps the old ones do, but the
new ones Elizabeth makes are composed of some sort of plastic
resin which is nearly as impervious to weather as stone."

"I see." It sounded like bunk to him, but he wasn't going
to say so at this point. "Let's go inside."

"As you wish."

Dashwood unlocked the chapel doors and held one open for
John. The
place was dark except for the fl
ickering of rows of
votive candles and a few tapers near a covered altar. Dim
light, filtered reds, blues, and greens, came in through a round,
featureless stained-glass window high above the chancel.

''Would you tu
rn
on the lights?"

"I'm sorry, Sheriff. The chapel isn't wired for electricity.
We prefer to keep it as it was in the old days."

John nodded absently and walked slowly up the center aisle.
His stomach had knotted the minute he'd entered the building,
and suddenly, he knew
-
absolutely
knew-
that
he'd been here
before. Swallowing hard, he stepped up onto the chancel and
approached the altar.

He poured sweat. In his mind, he could hear chanting, feminine
voices raised in eerie song. He looked at the altar. It was
long and covered with a cloth.
Greg was here
.
There were
people singing, and they wore black robes. I was here. I had
to watch while they
…
while they
...

"Sheriff? Is something wrong?"

John realized Dashwood was standing next to him. ''No,"
he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. He reached
out to lift the altar cloth, but Dashwood stopped him.

"It's sacred, Sheriff. That's why we keep it covered. I'm
afraid I can't allow you to touch the cloth. It's sacred as well."

John couldn't stay in this place any longer, not with Dashwood
there, watching him while the memories came back. ''It's
late," John said, striding up the aisle, hiding his panic under a
gruff demeanor. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Dashwood.
I'm sure we'll be speaking again soon."

"I'm sure we will."

Dashwood's words echoing in his ears, John forced himself
to walk instead of run to his cruiser.