Raven (Legends Saga Book 2) (21 page)

“
She actually
was
a witch, we’ve met.” With one finger Ireland attempted to wiggle the teeth, only to find them locked firm despite Rip’s slack jaw. “He’s going to go on a full-blown tizzy tirade when he wakes up, because these babies aren’t moving. Where did you even get them?” she posed the question over her shoulder to Ridley.

“They were in the box …”
Ridley gulped, forcing the words out as if purging razor blades, “… with Lenore.”

Three sets of eyes slowly turned in Rip’s direction
. A stream of drool streaked down his cheek and dripped to the ground.

“So, you found them on a shelf in the cottage you say?”
Noah prompted.

Ridley flinched, his head slowly shaking in confusion
. “No. Poe appeared to me and told me to fish them out right after she exploded from the floor boards. They were down by her feet in the coffin.”

Still crouched down, Ireland rested one arm on her knee as she explained, “I believe what Noah is asking is if when Rip wakes
, is he going to find out he has teeth stuck in his mouth that are laced with a couple centuries worth of decomposing feet tissue,
or
the slightly less gag worthy dust from sitting on a shelf for display purposes only.”

For a beat Ridley merely stared. “I misunderstood,” he finally nodded, “they were most definitely on a shelf.”

Two quick blasts from a police siren preempted a silver and blue patrol car gliding up beside them with the fluid nonchalance of a post-meal shark. The passenger-side window slid down three-quarters of the way, revealing a shadowed silhouette hidden behind reflective sunglasses.

“Everything okay here?”
the officer called out. “Does that man need an EMT?”

In an instant the air around Ireland came alive, sparking with energy and a tangible threat.
She rose to her feet. Tendrils of darkness twined up her spine, veiling the edges of her vision with thick clouds of red that churned with burning embers. It was
him
. Officer Granger from Sleepy Hollow. Mr. Mallark from the library. The doctor that injected her with God only knows what. He’d shaved off his moustache and hidden those unmistakable eyes. Even so, every fiber of her being
screamed
it was him.

“Everything is fine, officer,” Noah said with a forced smile. “Truth is
, our friend here suffers from stress induced narcolepsy. He thought he saw that zombie-chick everyone is talking about and hit the ground.”

Ireland didn’t tear her murderous gaze away,
her hope being to magically bore holes in his stupid, lying, serum-injecting face. If he noticed, he kept his expression at a practiced neutral. He did, however, shift in his seat. Sticky vinyl could’ve been to blame, but Ireland chose to take credit anyway.

“
Your friend has reason for concern. There is a perp out here tonight that is said to be armed and dangerous.” The officer shoved his glasses further up the bridge of his nose with one sausage link finger. “I’d advise you all to get off the streets for your own safety. There’s a subway tunnel terminal one block up and three blocks east of here. That will take you where you want to go.”

“Where
we
want to go, or where
you
want us to go?” Ireland vehemently snarled.

The officer huffed a humorless laugh, as if contemplating introducing her to his b
aton.

“
Ireland, what are you doing
?” Noah hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

Ridley raised one
hand, craning his neck to be seen around Noah. “I’m not with them and am far too pretty to go to jail.”

Officer Fake-Identity
casually adjusted the brim of his hat. “No worries of that, son. She is just a confused, frightened girl speaking her mind about matters she doesn’t understand.” Tilting his chin, he fixed his stare on Ireland. In spite of those reflective lenses she could feel his piercing eyes peering into her, exposing all her sins and truths. “You have many choices before you, my dear. Many of which will be paved with regret. I can tell you with the utmost certainty the tunnel is the
least
of many possible evils.”

Without the courtesy of further explanation, he gave a brief nod and pulled away from the curb.

19

Edgar

Six
months’ worth of changes, not all of them welcome. If Edgar’s parents had searched for them, their efforts had been fruitless. Not a day went by that he didn’t think of them. Despite what he had done, would they—could they—ever be proud of the life he had forged for himself and Lenore? The bungalow he had found them was a modest one. It consisted of little more than four rooms and a water closet, yet Edgar had put great care into restoring it. That, along with lovely view of the pond out the back windows, made it quite the cozy abode.

The beginning, however, was
n’t all comfortable bedspreads and afternoon tea. It was overcoming one agonizing obstacle, only to be struck by another without the luxury of a pause to exhale. Lenore couldn’t rest for more than a few minutes at time. Each time she dozed it ended with her bolting upright in bed, trembling and shrieking to the heavens. Edgar watched her while she slept, at her insistence, so that the very moment she woke in her fit of terrors he could gather her in his arms and shush her quietly while they rocked. His lips would nuzzle her clammy forehead. The front of his shirt soaked from her tears.

The
spirits, now visible to her, haunted her mercilessly. Many a time he had found his troubled angel cowered in a corner, chanting soft pleas under her breath. Her clawed hands scrapping against the walls until her fingers bled as if trying to burrow her way to a safety. How he wished there were tricks he could teach her to help her manage the torment. He viewed himself a failure for having suffered through the same curse for so long without having one shred of helpful counsel to offer. The only solace he could provide was the same he had often opted for; the occasional pull from a flash of brandy to dull the senses and provide momentary interludes of calm. 

Just when Edgar resigned himself to that being their new norm, things changed in the most perplexing way. Lenore stopped cowering. Gave up sleep altogether. Would no longer humor him by even attempting to nibble at food. Instead, she
spent hours staring out the picture window at the two white swans that paddled around the pond in an enchanting water ballet. No longer did a trace of melancholy mar the serenity of her stare. Curled up in the quilt he had bought her at market, she rocked in the worn wooden chair that had come with their furnished home. Hour after hour, day after day, she would sit, unaffected by the world around her. At least externally. Edgar toyed with the idea that perhaps the apparitions had relented. Their power over her finally fading to nothing, allowing her to simply revel in the solitude of her restored sanity.

Then he heard the first giggle …

Penning a letter in regards to a much needed job prospect, Edgar paused. A foreboding chill skittering down his spine.

“Everything okay, dearest?” he called from the other room.

Only silence answered.

Wetting his suddenly parched lips, Edgar rose from his desk chair
. As he rounded the bend into the sitting room he felt fear’s icy fist plunge into his chest and clasp his pounding heart tight.

Surprisingly, h
er rocking chair was vacant, the door to the veranda open and swaying in the slight spring breeze. For reasons he couldn’t yet explain, that creaking door held the ominous threat of a swinging noose.

He found her on the settee,
her legs curled casually beneath her. His soul ached at the warm smile that brightened her face. It had become such a rarity he thought it extinct. Edgar’s gaze flicked to the side in search of what had drawn out that elusive beam by his beloved. She leaned in toward … nothing … engaged in an intimate discussion of muted chatter with an unseen force.

Catching sight of him in the doorway, Lenore shushed the vacant seat beside her and righted her posture.
“Edgar, have you finished your letter?” 

“Nearly
.” His upper body pivoted back toward the door he entered through. The woman before him was the embodiment of his very heart. Why then was he fighting the urge to bolt from the room? “I took a pause to ensure you were well.”

Her head cocked
as she rose from the settee. Sunlight gleaming off her alabaster skin, she closed the distance between them. Curled lashes batted over her enchanting amethyst stare, somehow made more hypnotic against their black backdrop. “You never need to fret over me. I am here because of
you
, to take care of
you
. After all you have done, and all you
can
do,” she purred, her gaze wandering down to his hands. “I know now what a true treasure you are.”

The curves of her body skimmed against him,
her chest rising and falling in breathless anticipation.

“
Ahem
, thank you,” Edgar cleared his throat and fidgeted with the suddenly constricting collar of his shirt. While he enjoyed her affections
immensely,
the transition from patient to vixen after so many months proved a hard one to accept. “I should get back to work. Our finances are tight and it has become mandatory that I secure employ.”

Edgar
turned on his heel, only to have Lenore catch his arm and draw him back to her with a force he could not have resisted if he tried. The chill of her fingers curled into his hair and held firm, her stare locked with his. “Tonight Winston Miller, unarguably one of the most influential men here in Brooklyn, is having a masquerade ball. The very contacts to which you were just writing will be there, their bellies full of decadence and wine. We can go! You will be your charming self. I will be your sweetly demure paramour. They will be so taken with us that you will find yourself tripping over job offers.”

“H-how do you know of this?”
Catching her wandering hands, he held them over his rapidly thumping heart.

“News of it is all over town
; it is all anyone is talking of.”

“
You never leave the house, pet.”

One narrow shoulder rose and fell
. “True enough, however I still hear the clucking of the neighborhood hens.”

“
You truly believe you could handle such a gathering?” Edgar’s gaze scoured her face, as if he would find the reason for this abrupt change miraculously scrawled there. “With all those people?”

Her full lips curled to the side,
dimpling the thinly healed flesh of her scar. “I am not the delicate flower you think me to be, Edgar. For the promising path before us to come to pass, our attendance at that ball is
mandatory
.”

Unable to form a convincing argument to the contra
ry—though many plagued him—Edgar could only gulp down his trepidation and dip his chin in a nod of agreement to his beautiful lotus—flowering forth from the murky pond of death.

20

Ridley

“How could you not recognize him?”
In the middle of her red-faced rant, Ireland tripped over a dip in the crumbling cement stairs that lead down into the subway. Catching herself on the wobbly handrail, she huffed an inaudible string of expletives under her breath. “He worked at the museum! You were face-to-face with him!”