Plague Cult (7 page)

Put like that…Ruth and Helen nodded, ashamed.

Joe stood. “Come here.”

The family hug was the best, most healing thing Ruth had experienced in years. She and her mom cried a bit and Joe’s eyes were suspiciously shiny.

When they sat back down, they self-consciously registered that Shawn was present.

“Good heavens,” Helen exclaimed. “What you must think of us!”

“I think you’re a good family and that Ruth is home.”

Ruth had to blink back more tears. She cleared her throat. “I am.”

After a second bowl of the best minestrone soup he’d ever eaten, Shawn accompanied Joe out to the old barn. It was as crowded with junk as Ruth had said.

“Your truck will fit a few things in. Enough to bolster your cover story,” Joe said. “But we might as well transport across things Ruth’ll need around the house. A decent ladder for a start.”

“A sledgehammer, if you’ve got one. I will clear out the kitchen at Rose House before I leave. Ruth hates it.”

“I don’t know why she bought that house. She was never fascinated by the ghost stories around it. Not like her brothers.”

“What are the stories?” Shawn was interested, plus the topic was a neutral one. Joe was still dealing with the emotional turmoil of lunch-time. Ghost stories would fill the silence and be a distraction.

Joe, however, refused to be distracted. “Ruth would heal the whole world if she could. That’s why she bought that house. It needed saving. Restoring.”

“It’s a beautiful house.”

Joe snorted. He wove a path through and over piles of junk. In a far corner of the barn there were two vintage tractors and a decades-old Ford, rusting quietly. “Take your pick.” Seven sledgehammers leaned against a row of 1950s steel school lockers. “We thought the Collegium would teach her she can’t save the world.”

“I think she knows that, Mr. Warner.”

“Joe.”

Shawn nodded acknowledgement of the correction and its underlying offer of friendship and respect. “But healers heal. It’s one of the magics closest to a mage’s soul. I see Ruth’s distance, her hard-won detachment. It’s there in all Collegium healers. In all medical personnel, magical or mundane. They can step back enough to do their work. But wanting to save everyone…no one can train that out of her.”

“So, how do we help her?” Joe collected a crate of other tools, jimmies and crowbars, things for a demolition job.

Shawn gave a wry grin. “I don’t have kids, but I’d guess it’s like you’d help any of your children. You love them. You’re there for them. Ruth loves Rose House, but she could have bought a rundown beauty like it anywhere. She bought it here to be near family.” They walked back towards the barn’s entrance. Shawn spotted a sturdy-looking ladder. “May I borrow that?”

“Yep. It’s wood, though. Check it hasn’t rotted. There’s an aluminum ladder in the new barn that I’d feel better about Ruth using. Safer and lighter for her to carry.”

Shawn swung the wooden ladder under one arm. “We can fit both in the truck.”

They secured everything in the back of the truck, tying ropes so the ladders didn’t fly off.

Ruth walked out of the house with her mom. They carried their own supplies: plastic containers of food. With those stowed inside the truck, she hugged her parents.

“Call me in the morning,” Helen said. “So that I know Shawn is home safe from investigating the cult.”

Shawn noted that Helen called it a cult, not a club. A slip of the tongue or a true suspicion?

“We’ll come into the diner for breakfast,” Ruth promised.

“Mason will be there.” Helen stopped. She squared her shoulders. “That will be lovely. I can be sure you have a good breakfast.”

Joe gave her shoulder an approving pat.

Shawn beeped the truck’s horn in a country farewell as they drove away.

Ruth waved. Then she turned to him. “You set us up.”

“You and your family?” He nodded. “I sure did.”

The silence drew out long enough that he slowed the truck and looked at her.

She met his gaze. “Thank you.”

Ruth leaned back in the seat as Shawn drove them home. How on earth had she and her parents gotten in such a muddle? She’d never doubted that they loved her, but she’d thought she’d disappointed them. That they, like Mason, blamed her for his paralysis. And all the time, they’d let her draw away from them, thinking that they couldn’t offer her the magical understanding and support that the Collegium provided.

Was this what William, the Chief Healer, had intended when he sent her and Shawn on this mission? She doubted that he’d counted on Shawn getting involved in her and her family’s emotional confusion, but William must have hoped that propinquity would push her into resolving her issues with her family.

And—she drew a resolute breath—facing the truth of her first major healing.

Being unable to completely heal Mason had scarred her. She pushed herself too hard, expected too much of herself. It was something her Collegium teachers and team leaders often told her. But she hadn’t known any other way. She’d always been driven by her failure to heal Mason.

William had told her so often that a healer had to accept his or her limits. To push beyond those, to destroy yourself, was to disrespect your gift.

Unhealthy patterns. She rubbed the back of her neck. She’d been taught it at the Collegium, and she’d refused the knowledge for herself. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it.

Trauma blasted a person open. When the dust of the explosion settled, it could set like concrete, locking a person into new ways of seeing and interacting with the world. After Mason’s accident, she’d locked into a pattern of self-blame—reinforced by Mason’s behavior, she finally acknowledged. Her parents had locked into a sense of failing her. False guilt had strained their relationship—but not broken it.

That’s what Shawn had seen.

She could see it, now, too. The love her family shared was strong enough to survive anything. They should have trusted it and each other. No one was complete in themselves. No one an island.

The man beside her, the Collegium guardian and hollerider, lived that truth. He could have simply focused on the mission, but he hadn’t. He’d cared about her and her family.

Healers were all taught, “physician, heal thyself”, but she hadn’t been able to. It had required someone to care and reach out.

What if it were the same for Collegium guardians? “Guardian, guard thyself.” But sometimes even a combat mage needed someone to watch his back.

I will
, Ruth vowed. Shawn wouldn’t get hurt in her town.

An afternoon demolishing the kitchen proved surprisingly satisfying. Shawn had bought safety glasses and paper masks at the hardware store, and after moving the old fridge out of the kitchen and into the dining room so that Ruth could store all the food Helen had given them, he started knocking out the cupboards and creating a storm of dirt and debris.

Ruth closed the door on the noise and destruction, but in between hits on the cupboards, he could hear her singing. He grinned. Later he’d have to see if she added any dance steps to accompany the pop songs. Much later; he was too dirty to traipse through the house.

Joe had been right to insist he take a wheelbarrow. The kitchen door was easily wide enough to accommodate it, and although the bigger pieces of cupboard could be carried out, the smaller bits were better barrowed. The heap of debris in the corner of the yard by the porch increased.

Joe had also lent them a camping stove, and as evening drew in, Ruth set it up on the front porch. She heated beef stew Helen had made and frozen.

Shawn ate two servings before they finished the meal with iced tea and slices of chocolate cake. They weren’t exactly camping. He and Ruth had carried the kitchen table and chairs out to the porch before he’d started demolishing the kitchen.

“I like your house.” He stretched out his legs and contemplated the front garden. Much of it had been lawn, years and years ago. Now it was a low-growing tangle. It would need slashing, plowing and re-seeding, but then it would frame the view of the house from the road. Enhance it. “You could fix a porch swing here. There’s no view of the river, but the country looks great.” The hills were gently rolling. “Trees and fields.” And in the distance, the lights of town. They looked friendly, a reminder of people and company.

“A swing seat would be great.” Ruth propped her elbows on the table, cradling her glass with both hands. She looked tired. She’d spent the afternoon washing windows, so her griminess levels matched his. A streak of dirt was smeared on one cheek.

The porch light didn’t work, so she’d found and lit a hurricane lamp, and he’d hooked it on a nail on the porch rafters. Moths darted to it, softly bumping it and sending shadows dancing.

His muscles felt warm and relaxed, a different kind of warm-up than hitting the gym. And underneath everything ran his hollerider nature, eager for tonight’s hunt. He finished his iced tea. Part of his relaxation definitely came from Ruth’s acceptance of him as a hollerider. Today had proved that she hadn’t merely said the words of acceptance, but meant them. He, one of the Wild Hunt, was welcome in her home and life. That felt good. Great. “I’ll grab a shower and head out. I’d like to scout the area around the Moonlit Hearts Club compound before they meet.”

Ruth looked at him over her glass. “I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

Ruth had been prepared for Shawn’s resistance. She had, perhaps, overdone the window cleaning while she thought about her family, and then, about what Shawn faced tonight. Her shoulder and neck muscles ached. She straightened anyway. “This is our best chance to observe the cult setting a curse, if the curse is a group effort. We don’t know it is. But they’re meeting at eleven o’clock, nearly midnight, which is the traditional hour for curse magic. I need to be there to observe the curse if I’m to reverse it.”

“I’ll describe it to you. Heck, I’ll film it on my phone.”

Despite herself, she smiled. “You know that’s not the same.”

“Ruth, I haven’t scouted the area. We haven’t met any of the cult—club—whatever—members, except Erica. We don’t know what we’re walking into.” He ran a hand through his hair, and grimaced as chips of kitchen cupboard fell out. “If I’d thought you’d want to do something this reckless, I’d have scouted the compound this afternoon.”

“Except your hollerider nature is stronger at night,” she observed.

“Which is partly why I waited.” He frowned at her. “Your mom didn’t want you going to the compound. She only told us about Erica’s meeting because she thought I’d go alone.”

“I know. But I need to go with you.”

His frown changed, one dark eyebrow lifting. “Intuition?”

She rubbed her arms, aware that they’d goose pimpled. “I’d like to think it’s commonsense. We’re a two-person mission. It makes sense that we both utilize our skills. I’ll observe along with you. You’ll sneak us in. William said you can mask your magic, and I’ve seen that. Can you show me how to mask my presence so that I don’t set off any defensive wards?”

“No, that takes practice.” He scrubbed at his face, smearing the dirt on it. “Earlier, you seemed okay with me going to the compound alone.”

She sighed. “Okay, so maybe it is intuition. I don’t know. I just…I feel I need to be there, tonight, with you. Something is building.” Her breath caught as Shawn let a wisp of his magic escape. The hollerider search for evil, the terror-inducing cold of it, whipped past her.

He moved to the porch railing, leaning on it to look towards town, then east to the Moonlit Hearts Club’s compound. “I can’t sense anything.” He turned, leaning his butt against the railing, and studied her. “But you’re the one with ties to the town. If there’s something threatening it, maybe your healer’s magic has detected it.”

“I hope not.” But without the distraction of work or eating, anxiety crept through her veins.

“Okay.” Shawn rolled his shoulders. “I’ll take you with me. I can’t teach you enough in a couple of hours to mask your presence from a ward, but I can mask it for you.” He crossed to the hurricane lamp and switched it off.

The moon was out now, providing enough light to outline objects and deepen shadows. Ruth blinked to adjust her eyes to the dimness.

Shawn held out his hand to her. “I can mask your magic while you stay near me, but only if I weave my magic with yours. Can you endure the touch of hollerider magic for a few hours?”

She thought of the aching cold of its terror. She thought of it leaching into her aura, chilling and dulling it, eating into her soul. Could she? Then she looked into Shawn’s eyes.

The shadowed porch, lit only by moon and stars, should have hidden his expression, but perhaps her healer magic let her sense the haunted wariness in him. He waited for her to reject his offer, his magic and him.

She clasped his hand. “Tell me what to do.”

His fingers closed gentle but firm around hers. Warm. “Give me permission to weave my magic with yours.”

“You have it.” Like icy drops of rain, his hollerider magic touched the outer edge of her aura. She kept her breathing even, her gaze locked with his, as mage sight showed her the wonder of it. She didn’t let herself flinch as she opened her magic, the essence of self, and let Shawn’s magic enter.

In mage sight, the rainbow colors of her aura were shaded with gold.

Shawn’s magic trickled in, so fine that it was no more than a mist.

She waited for the hollerider magic to dull the gold of her aura, but it didn’t. Nor did the heart-racing terror of it grip her. Her magic stretched out, weaving with Shawn’s, allowing him to combine their auras in a tapestry of silver and gold that flashed with her healer’s rainbow.

Shawn groaned. His hazel eyes blazed with power, but also with passion.

Ruth guessed her eyes looked the same. “Is it always like this?” She was feverish. The magic had invaded her body, heated it, so that she wanted to be lost in Shawn in the same way their magic intertwined and pulsed.

“Never. It’s never like this.” He groaned. “Our magic is joined. For the next few hours I can mask your presence when I mask mine. I should let you go.” But he lifted their clasped hands to his lips and kissed her fingers.

She stood. Not thinking, just reacting; stepping into his personal space. Moving into the heat of his body.

His mouth came down on hers.

Their kiss was devastating. Raw hunger could have been resisted, maybe—his and hers—but the coaxing demand of his honest desire tore her open. She wanted him, recklessly, utterly. She went on tiptoes to give more, and take more.

He backed up to rest against a column of the porch, and she went into the V of his legs. He cupped her butt, urging her up and into him, aligning them perfectly. And the kiss went on.

They were filthy-dirty, sweaty from the hard work of the afternoon, and that added a grounding note of reality—and only made it more perfect.

The kiss finally ended and she simply collapsed against him. Both of them were breathing fast and deep. Shawn ran his hand up and down her spine and she arched into the caress. It felt wonderful just to stand with him. Their magics swirled and played around them.

Ruth let go of mage sight as she pulled away from him. She smiled at him, feeling shy. They were waltzing on the edge of the Grand Canyon of desire, about to either fall or fly.

He smiled back at her, such a slight curve of his mouth, but his eyes blazed. He touched her cheek, traced the curve of her face. It was a heart-stopping moment of tenderness after passion, with the passion still there, smoldering.

She covered his hand with hers, just for a second, and then, they both focused on practicalities; not ruining the encounter with words as they parted. It was a moment to be treasured, not analyzed or forced.

There was food to be put away, dishes to be washed in the laundry, showers to be had and clean clothes put on. While Shawn was in the bathroom, Ruth sat in her room, cross-legged on the floor. Her hair was wet from her shower, so she’d tied it back. She wore her fleece jacket over a t-shirt with tough hiking trousers and boots.

She sat in the turret section of her room, with its curving external wall and bare floorboards. The boards needed sanding and polishing—and now was not the time to think of home renovation projects. She needed to ready her magic and her thoughts.

Healers healed, but the flipside was that their magic could also disable and kill. Doing so violated their gift, but was occasionally necessary. For self-protection or the defense of others, Ruth had hurt two people. She could tear muscle from bone, bringing down an attacker. She could cause a stroke, stop a heart. But she’d never, yet, had to go that far. Nonetheless, she reached for the coiled magic at her center, wanting to be strongly connected to it and prepared for any eventuality.

Shawn’s magic meshed with hers at the outer edge of her aura, but not here at the center. This was all her, golden fire. When she meditated, she pictured it as a mandala with magic streaming through it.

She let her magic slide through her body, healing her. It lowered her adrenaline levels so that her muscles would function at an optimum rate, well-served with oxygen and cleared of lactic acid.

On the edge of her physical, non-magical vision, a woman’s figure flickered. Ruth turned her head sharply, but the window seat built into the turret’s window was empty. “I’m imagining things.” But last night, there’d been a light here, in the turret section of her room, so how long could she go with the “imagining things” excuse?

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

A branch of the oak tree growing near the house bent suddenly, leaves brushing the glass. Like ghostly laughter.

Ruth scrambled up and stood, poised and uncertain. She didn’t feel threatened, but she was uneasy.

Shawn looked in from the open doorway. “Ready?”

“Absolutely.” She dismissed the possibility her house was haunted. “Let me grab a hat.” She’d knitted the black beanie herself. It would hide the shiny red gleam of her hair. She put it on and stuffed her damp hair beneath it.

In the mirror of the old dressing table, she saw Shawn approach. He was smiling. “I know.” Her hands stilled as she finished tucking her hair away. “I look like a toadstool.” The knitted hat had an odd, puffy shape.

“You look cute.”

He looked deadly. The dark gray and brown of his clothes would blend into the night and he moved with an alert, predatory grace. He stroked a finger along the exposed line of her neck to just nudge the open collar of her jacket.

One little touch and her whole body shivered. She turned to him, and his finger slid along her collar to the hollow of her throat, and paused a moment there, against the fast-beating pulse.

“We should go.” He withdrew his hand.

She walked steadily to the door, but inside she felt wobbly. She felt separated: partly in her own body, and partly stretched backwards, all of her attention focused on the man walking silently behind her. Out of habit, she switched off the light in the room, and darkness engulfed them. “Sorry. Can you see?”

“Easily.” He closed the distance between them, a hand at the small of her back. “Can you?”

“Yes.”

A dim nightlight lit the staircase and moonlight filtered in through the stained glass window, colored with the red tones of the stylized rose.

Downstairs, lights were on in the hallway and parlor, and she and Shawn left them on as they walked down the front porch steps and around to the truck. The wind had the nip of coolness that said Halloween was near. Bonfires and trick-or-treat. Another few weeks and the town would start featuring witches on doorknobs and jack o’lanterns in windows. Ruth wouldn’t be here for it.

She wasn’t going to consider if Rose House was haunted—at least, not tonight—but it would make a fantastic haunted house for a tour. The church fundraising committee would have a blast tricking it out. She could take some holiday leave and join them.

Shawn put the truck in gear and started down the driveway. Its headlights picked up the oaks at the roadside and divided the world into lit and unlit. “I’ll park half a mile out. Further if I sense a ward. Any idea where to hide the truck?”

She appreciated him asking. It respected her judgment as well as her local knowledge. “Just past the bridge there’s a space people park when they fish off it. It’s screened from the road. It’s also a place to leave the truck that wouldn’t call attention even if someone saw it. If someone’s there fishing, a bit further on, the Tennyson’s old driveway is overgrown. We could park there. You can’t see it from their house. They put the new driveway about a mile on.”

They reached the bridge, small and ordinary, that crossed the Bideer River. No one fished from it. Shawn slowed the truck.

“On your right.”

He bumped the truck along the short, bumpy track and parked in the clearing. With the engine off, they were near enough to the river to hear the frogs, but the water wasn’t visible through the trees. Nor was the bridge. “Good spot.”

She flushed, ridiculously pleased by the terse praise, and hid her response by getting out of the truck. She jumped the last couple of inches to the ground and fallen leaves crunched under her boots. It was good the weather was dry. They had a hike in front of them, and it would be both easier and pleasanter without rain.

“Here.” Shawn handed her the truck’s key. “If anything happens, don’t worry about me. Just go.”

“Okay.” She’d over-ride her instincts and do as he said. He was a Collegium guardian as well as a hollerider, and freed of the need to protect her, he could unleash magic enough to make anyone who attacked him regret it.

They cut across country with Shawn in the lead and Ruth doing her best to tread where he did. She could feel his magic, not unmasked, but active as he scanned for wards or other spells. It was a low level vibration at the edge of her aura; something she suspected she sensed only because their magics meshed.

She didn’t feel as if her presence or magic was masked, but she trusted that Shawn had done whatever it was that generally hid him.

Since the Moonlit Hearts Club had taken over the old river resort, they basically followed the river to reach it. The quiet burble of water was comforting. As a healer, water strengthened her magic. It purified and cooled, quieting fever and easing pain.

“Containment ward.” Shawn halted by a cypress pine, its twisted trunk oddly beautiful in the darkness.

“Where?” Ruth couldn’t sense it.

“Ahead.” He clasped her hand. “We’re going to cross it. I’ve masked us and as long as you stay close, no one should sense that we’ve entered the compound. However, we’re not invisible. So move quietly and stay in the shadows.”