The Splendour Falls (42 page)

‘So … there's a real basis for this superstition?'

He demurred with a frown. ‘I don't know about
real.
'

‘I mean historical.' I don't know why that made it seem less silly and annoying, less dismissible.

‘What you're going for,' said the reverend, ‘is that there is a basis in folklore.'

Folklore.
Hexen
. Witchcraft. People of Holzphaffel and Hannah's day hadn't just thought a Davis/Maddox union was lucky, but something more than that. Something magical.

I stroked Gigi's fur with one hand and traced the cover of the book with the other. I found myself picturing the mazelike pattern of my garden circle and remembering what Professor Griffith said about the plants there, and their lore.

‘May I borrow this?' I asked, indicating the book.

‘Certainly.' He slid it towards me. ‘That's why I brought it to you. I figured you'd want to read more of Hannah's story.'

‘Reverend …' I began hesitantly, ‘you don't believe this
hexen
idea, do you? That there's some kind of magic at work when a Davis and Maddox get together?'

Contemplating his answer, he said, ‘I don't know
what to tell you, except there's power in belief. So tread carefully, Sylvie.'

His carefully phrased warning didn't ease my mind. Was it that far a stretch from the notion of ghostly echoes to the spine-chilling idea of magic? Maybe not sword-and-sorcery stuff, but the subtle influencing of events?

Gigi licked my face, and I realized I'd said goodbye to the reverend and hardly noticed he'd left. I was sure that made a great impression.

I'd not noticed a lot of things. Like how my guard came down and my uneasiness disappeared while I'd been sitting with the council. How the sway that Shawn had over people really was more than his charm could account for.

Gigi pawed my knee. In a distracted daze, I set her on the ground, slipped the reverend's journal into her carrier tote and walked her to a strip of grass beside the bank, away from the crowds. I wished I was back in my garden, where I could take off my shoes. My control was fisted tight around too many emotions – fear and disbelief and hysteria. If I loosened the knot even a little, they might all come bursting out, and then I
would
end up in a mental ward.

The summer sun was sinking slowly, painting everything in a golden glow. Methodically I traced the pattern of inexplicable events to their beginning. What was the
first
thing? The aproned woman in the kitchen? The scent of lilacs in my room? Or the shadow at the window?

With a start, I realized I had to go back further than that. To Central Park. What had changed that night?

I cast through my very fuzzy memory. I'd been loaded. I'd been talking about my dad. I said something stupid about believing in magic, and then demonstrated—

My knees folded up under me, and I sat down hard on the kerb. Gigi ran to me and jumped in my lap, anxiously licking my chin, and I hardly noticed.

The world as I knew it didn't change that night.
I
did, when I'd admitted – sheepishly, jokingly, with only a small part of myself – that magic could be real.

Superstition, ghosts, magic. What linked these things together? Was it me, or was it Alabama, or was it both?

W
hen I returned to the TTC table, I must have looked convincingly wan, because no one questioned me when I said I needed to go home. Kimberly in particular was solicitous, offering to chauffeur me, but of course Shawn insisted.

I stayed quiet on the drive, petting Gigi and thinking. The late-afternoon glow had turned to purple dusk, and Shawn switched on the headlights in the shadows of the tree-lined road. He was savvy enough to let the silence stand, but at the turnoff to the Hill, he finally spoke. ‘I hope Kimberly didn't upset you.'

That was an unexpected tack, and I glanced at him in surprise. ‘Why would she upset me?'

‘I saw y'all talking, and … well, I know you're touchy about the ghost thing.'

‘I'm touchy' – anger got the better of my sense, but it was good to feel something besides dazed and confused – ' because you keep putting words in my mouth, telling people I've
seen
things.'

‘Do I?' His brow wrinkled in confusion. ‘I thought you said you did.'

That might have worked, made me doubt myself, if Addie hadn't tried the exact same thing. ‘I know I didn't.' Say it, that is. ‘Are you trying to make people think I'm crazy? Or maybe just a little kooky?'

He did a double take between me and the curving road. ‘Why would I want to do that?'

My sense of self-preservation kicked in before I blurted my first thought. If it got around that I saw ghosts, then I would be the girl who cried wolf if I ever tried to tell anyone that a bunch of high school students were influencing the success of the Maddox Point development. And that was
without
mentioning magic.

But if I said that aloud, I might as well go jump in the river myself. So I said, convincingly, ‘I have no idea.'

Pulling the truck into his usual spot at the side of the house, he set the parking brake and turned to me. We were out of sight of any of the windows, and the deepening twilight made the cab seem more close, more intimate. ‘Can I walk you in?'

The low rumble in his voice implied something more lingering than a handshake on the porch.

I counted cars, and seized on an excuse. ‘Paula's here. And my leg really hurts, Shawn. It's been a long day.'

‘All right.' He picked up a strand of hair that had escaped from my ponytail, and twirled it around his finger. ‘I just don't want to end our first date on an argument.'

‘It's our second date,' I said thoughtlessly.
Stupidly
. He grinned, and I realized my mistake.

‘In that case,' he said, and leaned forward, with a slow, tempting smile – tempting in spite of
everything
– and brushed my lips with his.

Gigi stirred in my lap and sat up, putting a puppy barrier between us. Wilful, wonderful dog.

Shawn sat back with a disappointed laugh, and I opened the truck door, trying not to look like I was making a break for it, running from him, and from my own reaction to him.

‘I'll call you about going out to the Point this week,' Shawn said, when I'd extracted Gigi and myself from the truck. ‘And maybe we can talk about the TTC.'

That stopped the ‘don't call me, I'll call you' on my lips. ‘What about it?'

‘Well, I know you're not here for long.' He propped a hand on the steering wheel, still turned to face me. ‘But I hope you'll be back to visit. Maybe you'd like to have some say in how things go here.'

I was too stunned to say anything more committal than ‘Maybe.'

‘Great.' Shawn flashed his smile, and released the
parking brake. I closed the truck door, and wondered what the hell
that
invitation meant.

Everyone was in their usual spots around the table when I came in – Clara and Paula, Rhys and his dad. The kettle was steaming, the tea canisters were out and it was all very domestic and cosy. The adults watched me with a paternal sort of expectation that would have been amusing if I didn't feel like someone had wrung out all my emotions and left me as limp as one of Clara's dishrags.

Rhys looked me over critically, but before I could register more than that, Gigi ran in behind me and made a flying leap into Professor Griffith's lap.

‘Sylvie!' barked Paula, about to harp on me about the dog. But after another glance at me, she softened her tone. ‘Lord, honey. You look done in. I'll bet today was just too much for your leg.'

Clara put her hands on the table to push herself up. ‘Come sit down. I'll make you some tea.'

Crap. I must have looked as bad as I felt. It wasn't my leg, though it did ache. I was completely spent, like I'd done three shows in a day. But in a way, I'd been onstage since the church bell rang that morning.

‘I'll make it,' I told her. ‘Then, if you don't mind, I'll take it upstairs and go to bed.'

‘That's an excellent idea,' said Paula. ‘A warm drink and an early turn-in.'

Her agreement was a little pointed, but she didn't
need to worry about nocturnal wanderings. No ghost chasing for me tonight. At least, not in the woods. I planned to read more of Hannah's diary, and maybe the reverend's.
If
I could keep my eyes open long enough.

Rhys followed me on the pretence of refilling his own cup, though from his father's passing smile, he wasn't fooling anyone. At least, not about the fact he wanted to talk to me. While I refilled the kettle, he stood close by, letting the running water cover his voice. ‘How was your date?'

As tired as I was, I managed to find the retort I wished I'd made that morning. ‘You know, it's not as if you gave me a reason to turn Shawn down. Like, say, asking me yourself.'

He grimaced ruefully. ‘By the time I thought of that, it was too late.'

‘Nice.' I was glad to know that asking me out wasn't something that leaped quickly to his mind. The bruise to my ego made me cranky. ‘For someone so concerned about me, you were nowhere to be seen this afternoon.'

His gaze slid from mine, and he became very intent on opening the tin of cookies on the counter. ‘I had something to do.' Then he looked at me again, gaze narrowing. ‘What happened to “I can swim, don't worry about me”?'

How did I admit that I'd had no idea how deep the waters were without inviting an ‘I told you so'? Besides, it wasn't just depths, it was riptides and maybe sharks. That was a lot to deal with.

‘Your kettle is overflowing,' he said, interrupting my thoughts.

I said a word that made Paula chide me from the table. Setting the kettle on the flame to boil, I turned back to Rhys. ‘I don't suppose you're going to tell me where you were.'

‘Not rock hunting.' He took a mug from the cabinet and handed it to me. I dropped in a tea bag, then handed him one for his own refill.

It was a small thing, but we moved as if completing each other's motions. If Shawn and I were supposed to be some kind of Davis/Maddox superteam, why did
this
feel so natural?

Rhys was asking me a question. ‘Did you learn anything that was worth eating catfish for?'

‘Nothing is worth eating catfish for.' A nice evasion, I thought. But from his expression, not an effective one. I glanced at the table to make sure the adults were caught up in their own conversation. ‘Why are you asking me, when you obviously know everything?'

‘If I knew everything,' he said, ‘you wouldn't be such a huge variable.'

I found enough energy to be outraged at the unfairness of that. ‘That makes me this kettle and you a pot.' The kettle wasn't black, but he took my point.

It occurred to me that maybe I wasn't asking the right questions. Given the incredible possibilities I was juggling, maybe I needed to be wondering not
what
he knew, but
how.

At the table, Professor Griffith talked in his lilting accent about his theory that the settlers he was looking
for had integrated into the tribes of Kansas and the Mississippi Valley. I listened absently until the simmering of the water on the stove drowned him out, then turned to Rhys, knowing the sound would hide our voices, too.

‘How do you know there's something weird up with the TTC?' I asked softly, reaching for one of the cookies in the tin as an excuse to stay close and keep my voice down.

His look said I wasn't as subtle as I thought. ‘Because I have eyes, and ears. And a bit of horse sense.
You
knew there was something out of kilter, even before I said anything.'

Yes, but my mind didn't leap to supernatural possibilities. It still wasn't quite making the stretch. But was his?

Just to see what he would say, I swallowed a bite of cookie, then casually mentioned, ‘Shawn talked about my joining the TTC meetings while I'm here.'

Rhys's gaze sharpened to a razor's edge. ‘Don't,' he said, a clipped demand, all teasing gone. I froze, not just with shock, but with a tremor of something darker. The single word was harsh, and it seemed to come from the deeper part of himself that he was so careful to keep hidden.

Something in my immobile face made him twitch, as if cursing himself, and he continued, just as urgently, but without the iron edge of a command. ‘Sylvie, do not get involved any more than you already are. I know it must seem to you like kids just messing about with stuff, but it's not.'

I stared at him, a piercing alarm going off in my ear and twisting the muscles of my shoulders into knots. His words confirmed everything and nothing, and raised new spectres to compete with my fear of the Colonel.

‘Sylvie!' Paula's voice cut through the sound, and I realized it was real. ‘For heaven's sake, turn off the kettle!'