Raven (Legends Saga Book 2) (34 page)

“She truly was magic
al,” he murmured to himself, his smiling fading into nothingness.

“She was.”
Hebert George dropped his head for a moment, his expression turning somber when he raised it once more. “And now she is shut in a little wooden box, slowly going mad. You had a very good reason for doing what you did, Edgar—”

“The images of her spree still haunt me,” Edgar interjected and attempted to run his fingers through his hair, stopping when they got tangled in the mess.

“As they would any witness to such ferocity. Which is why we must do what we can to ensure she is never allowed to hurt anyone else.” 

“How?” Edgar hesitantly asked. “I wish to do her no further harm.”

“Nor will we.” Hebert George’s broad chest swelled, drawing in a deep cleansing breath. “It will not be an easy feat. In fact it will take both of us and a few trusted colleagues of mine to manage it. According to your physician, you can be discharged into capable hands due to your condition. That shall work in our favor. Rumors of her resurrection and the massacre that followed have already begun to spread. That means we need to get in front of the fast moving gossip train and derail it, so to speak. We can hide the truth in plain sight under the guise of freshly penned tales, weaving facts into works of fiction that can be easily dismissed as untruths.”

“How do we
accomplish such a deception?” Edgar asked, intrigue leaning him into this mysterious stranger.

Hebert George folded his arms over chest. His warm, friendly smile countered by the impish gleam in his ice blue eyes.
“Tell me, Mr. Poe, what talent have you for writing?”

Epilogue

“Great work, except for the part where Ridley played tonsil hockey with the undead.” Noah commented with a slight lift of his chin. Positioning himself directly in Ireland’s path, he hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans.

The mere sight of him caused
her heart to lurch. Unfortunately, that foolish muscle fluttering away in her chest could no longer be trusted. As ideally perfect as Noah was, with his quippy humor, sculpted jaw line, and hazel eyes that flawlessly reflected the sky’s indigo hue, there was no place for him beside her. At least not one with a long life expectancy, and she’d be damned before she’d
ever
allow herself to hurt him—or anyone else—again.

He makes you weak, gir
l
, the Horseman purred to his audience of one
.
Draw your sword and—

No!
Her own resolute roar echoed off the torturous cell walls of her mind, drowning out his voice altogether.
He will not be harmed!

To her surprise, the beast fell silent.

Squaring her shoulders, Ireland concentrated on keeping her tone ice cold and aloof. “What are you doing here?”

Biting his lower lip, Noah tried to distract from the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“What because I
didn’t
vanish at your blatantly obvious
White Fang
technique? You know, the one where you try to get rid of me under the guise of protecting me? I don’t know. It’s a mystery why that didn’t work.”

“Yes!”
Sauntering up behind them, Ridley threw his hand in the air, fat drops of black ooze flinging from his arm. “I
knew
that whole scenario seemed oddly familiar!”

Their cavalier attitudes
threw gasoline on the fire of Ireland’s resolve. Her fingers drummed against the handle of her axe, in a tangible reminder of the new identity that claimed her. One she now had to draw strength from. “You both saw what I did to Rip. I tried to cling to normal, surrounding myself with people I cared about, and
he
paid the price. This is
my
curse. I will
not
allow it to become your death.”

“You’re right. We
were
there,” Noah agreed. His one tentative step forward forced her back three paces. “We saw what happened, and
it wasn’t you
! In the same situation, it could’ve happened to any of us.”

“Any of you?” Ireland
huffed a humorless laugh, her gaze momentarily drifting skyward. “So, you all have homicidal monsters living inside you, too? Fantastic, we’ll set up play dates.”

Noah opened his mouth to argue, only to snap it shut again. Pausing for a deep, calming breath, he laced his fingers behind his head, his biceps straining against the fabric of his cotton t-shirt sleeves.
“You know the cloak clouds your judgment. Why don’t you shrug that thing off, and we’ll talk this out.”

Staring him straight in the eye, Ireland thumbed her clasp free. T
he fabric rippled into a pool at her feet. Her lips parted, intent on informing him to run for his life, when a bucketful of icy awareness sloshed over her. She hadn’t felt the swell of her skin fleshing back out. Her nerves and senses hadn’t dulled down to normal levels. Her breath caught.
Nothing
had changed. 

Noah’s hands fell to his sides. His head and
Ridley’s volleyed from her, to the cloak, and back again. Their brows puckered in matching looks of confusion.

“W-why didn’t you change back?” Noah directed the question to the cloak.

“Maybe it’s because you didn’t get to kill anyone?” Ridley offered. “We could troll by a prison, find you a truly awful specimen you could—“

“I beg you not to finish that sentence.”

“Sorry,” Ridley cringed to Noah. “I knew I crossed the line, but couldn’t seem to stop. Oh, look, I’m still talking.” Pressing his lips in a firm white line, he dropped his stare to the ground.

A hot breath
warmed the back of Ireland’s neck, Regen having inched up behind her as if sensing her spiraling mood. Reaching a hand over her shoulder, she sought comfort in the tender brush of his velvet soft muzzle.

The mysterious allure of night shadowed Noah’s eyes, yet his anxiety was audible in the tremor of his throaty tone.
“You’re understandably upset by Rip’s death. We all are. But if you concentrate on calming down, then maybe—”

“No amount of deep breathing or mediation is going to change facts
.” A quick sweeping motion and Ireland collected her cloak, fastening it back into place. Regen dipped his head, permitting her to hook her arm around his powerful neck. Once she had a firm hold, he raised up, drawing her feet from the ground. Angling her body, she kicked a leg over his mane and settled into the supple leather saddle.

“I’m almost afraid to ask what you think that fact is,” Noah grumbled
through grinding teeth.

Retreating into obscurity beneath the fabric of her hood, Ireland hid the pain stamped across her features.
“That there
is
no separation anymore. I
am
the monster.”

Yanking the reins hard to the side, Ireland
coaxed Regen into a sharp turn. Breaking into a full canter, the stallion shook the ground with his thunderous strides, chunks of earth flying from his hooves.

Noah and Ridley
stood powerless to do anything except watch The Horseman disappear into the night.

Whistling a merry little melody, his peach and navy necktie flapping out from beneath his black trench coat, the blue-eyed man locked the museum’s backdoor behind him.

Ireland watched from her perch up high. Her ebony cloak snapped in the wind behind her, a malevolent entity crackling with its own devilish intent. Regen pawed anxiously against the liquor store roof, patience clearly not a defining characteristic of the resurrected equine. Leaning forward, she scratched his neck, her soft cluck cueing him that it was time. One flip of his mane, lashing enthusiasm against her wrists, and he launched them forward at a speed that stole the breath from her lungs. Ireland kept her stare locked on her target, who spun at the ominous drumming of hoofbeats. Regen whisked them across the roofline, precariously close to the edge, yet neither flinched at the drop-off.

Ireland listened hard,
noticing the effect of their echo resounding in the alley below. The sound seemed to shift at their incoming charge, as if abruptly changing direction. Like the true phantom she’d become, the Hessian was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Riding the shadows
.

Claiming the darkness.

Regen bounded off the roof’s edge without a fleck of hesitation. His taut muscles outstretched as they soared. Powerful legs bent, absorbing the shock of the fall, to deliver his precious cargo to the ground with a pillow soft landing. Tucking her chin to her chest, Ireland threw herself off his back in a tight tuck formation. She landed in a low crouch, one hand gripping the hilt of her sheathed sword. From beneath the shadows of her hood, she peered out for the man’s reaction. If she was going to burn in the eternal hell fires for embodying The Horseman, she might as well enjoy the dramatics of it.

No
t one gasp of dread was earned, or even a surprised jerk, nothing except a somewhat bored expression from the blue-eyed man that folded his hands beneath his doughy mid-section. “You did take your dear, sweet time getting here. Didn’t you, Ireland?”

With the fluidity of predatory
cat, Ireland rose to her feet. Rage bubbled through her, scorching her from the inside out.

“You know me
,” she rumbled in a demonic purr.

The hilt of her sword hummed with energy as she coaxed it free from the leather that enveloped it.
Flipping the blade over her forearm, she caught it in an inverted grasp and lunged. The air left the heavy set man’s lungs in a labored gasp, his back slamming against the red brick wall behind him. Pressing the razor sharp edge of her blade to his trachea, the lone light swinging overhead gleamed off the steel like a lone distress flare.

The fingers of her free hand curled into the fabric of his coat, pinning him where he stood.
“That should save us some time.” 

She expected to see fear widen his eyes, for the color to drain from his ruddy complexion. Once more she was
met by nonchalance.

His head merely cocked, as if she were a fascinating slide he would like to shove under a microscope and study.
“In your Horseman form, no less. I wasn’t anticipating that.”

“What can I say?
” she murmured against his ear. “I made friends with the monster in my head.” Twisting the blade beneath his chin, she dimpled the wobbly flesh that hung there. “Now how about if you and I have a nice, long talk about why you’ve been sneaking in and out of my life, and what it is you know?”

His broad chest shook with a throaty chuckle.
“Sneaking? Now that’s rich.” Pressing his palm against the flat of her blade, he shoved it away and took a brazen side-step around her. “My dear girl, I was
painfully
obvious in my charade. The names alone that I chose should have been a giveaway; Granger, Potter, Mallark.
All
taken from popular literature of your time. You know, as the actual embodiment of a Washington Irving character, you might want to consider picking up a book on occasion.”

With a showy bounce of her
palm, Ireland readjusted to a standard grasp. “My free time has been sparse lately, thanks to a ghostly possession
you
seem to know an awful lot about.”

“Yes, well.” Glancing down at
the leather-banded watch on his wrist, he wound it once and then paused to give it a listen. “I would be happy to tell you a bit more about all of that. However, I first must ask that you stow away the sharp and murderous objects.”

Knowing it would take nothing more than a simple thought to free either weapon, Ireland showed him her blade and sto
red it away. Regen snorted and stamped his disapproval behind her.

“For now.” A cavalier i
ndifference dripped from the clipped edge of her words. “But if I find out you had
anything
to do with what led to my friend’s death, I
will
kill you.”