Destiny Calling (5 page)

Griffith appeared out of the shadows and I jumped.

“I think I’ll wait out here.” I backed up until I reached the ledge of the steps, almost tripping over my feet in my haste to get back out in the yard. My breath quickened as my attention flickered from the house to the masks. It looked wrong. As if evil seeped from the bricks and mortar like a sickness. Starting across the yard, my steps quickened with the distance I covered between the house and the woods. Even they appeared safer than the feeling accompanying the house.

“Hope, stop.” Griffith raised his palm at me from the porch.

My heart accelerated as the snow thickened and clung to my feet, creating a slippery surface, hindering my progress. A cold sweat broke out on my skin as fear blossomed in my chest.
I have to get out of here.
But I couldn’t. I slowed to a stop at the edge of the trees, unable to move any further, as if stuck in cement. My breath came out in gasps as I started to hyperventilate. Even though I hadn’t for years, not since that nun, Edith, had suggested an exorcism be done to rid me of the devil.

Griffith arrived beside me in an instant, gently pulling on my arm. The snow released my feet as if greased in butter.

Edith was right, the devil had come to claim his child, and that child was me. My chest tightened, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Pulling my arm away from Griffith, I fell forward, getting a mouth full of snow to choke on.

Griffith lifted me up from the snow and spun me around to face him, clutching my shoulders as he stared into my eyes. “You cannot go into the woods. Not now, not ever. You must heed me on this.” His features were flattened and hard as he stressed each word.

At his touch, my breath slowed to a normal rhythm, all fear of hyperventilating gone. I focused on his face as his words sank in. “What do you mean, not ever?” The panic subsided, to be replaced with anger. “Heed you?”
Who even uses that word?
“I certainly don’t have to heed you, or anyone else, now or ever.”

I strained to release my arm from Griffith’s vise-like grip while scanning the surrounding trees, trying to determine which was less of a threat, the beast of a man holding me, or those who might be waiting for me in the woods.

“You
will
come inside, now.” Griffith spoke slowly and deliberately as if I were a small child.

I batted at the hand Griffith placed on my head. “I’m not a puppy, quit petting me.”

“I will protect you.” Griffith’s warm breath caressed my ear. “If for no other reason, to find out what I’m giving up and why she wants you so badly.”

I inhaled his masculine scent, like musky earth. It washed over my face, and the tension in my jaw released. I stopped struggling. “Are you the devil?” My tongue was thick and heavy so the words came out slurred.

“Not even close.” His words soothed and comforted, like having a weighted blanket cocoon me. Each movement was an effort. It wasn’t the same as the thing in the woods. This was more like the feeling after a long massage or bubble bath.

“It’s not safe.” Griffith wrapped his arms around me, and I rested against his broad chest.

“It’s not safe.” I nodded. My muscles relaxed and my eyelids grew heavy.

“It’s cold. We’re going inside.” Griffith kept his arm supporting me as he steered me toward the house.

“We’re going inside,” I parroted and walked up the steps, leaning heavily on him.

Out of the corner of my eye, something was cautiously moving at the edge of the woods. Branches snapped as whatever was observing us crept closer. Griffith followed my gaze and grimaced as he clenched his jaw. A pair of eyes widened as their gazes locked.

Chapter Four

Griffith led me across the foyer into another room and gestured to the plush chairs forming a sitting area in front of a crackling fireplace. “This is the library. I’ll go get the can of tire repair.” He guided me to a chair, and released me. I slumped into it as he backed away and pulled the double doors closed behind him.

Once he left, my muscles relaxed, and the tightening panic in my chest subsided. It was like waking from a nap. I scanned the books lining the walls. This didn’t look like Hell or even purgatory. Maybe all that praying from the nuns had saved me.

Shelves crammed with books, lined the walls to the ceiling. The books’ spines, tattered and peeling, were piled on top of each other, I swiveled my head. Books took up every inch of space.

“Who has a library in their house? Maybe people who use the word
heed
.” I snorted. Sounding a little on the hysterical side. I covered my mouth to stifle the sound that escaped.

Bracing my hands on the arms of the chair, I stood until the shaking of my muscles subsided and my legs would hold me, and then I walked around the room. It wasn’t big, more like a library cave. I’d almost call it cozy if the rest of the house wasn’t so damn creepy. When I ran my finger along one of the shelves, a thick layer of dust gathered and fell. “Gross.” I shook my finger. The room smelled like the old, musty books. “Not much of a reader, I guess.”

I hesitated. A thought played at a corner of my mind, slightly out of reach. Like a feather tickling my memory of a forgotten something. Something I should be looking for. I scanned the walls, stopping on the family portraits. The wooden frames looked handcrafted and expensive, not like the plastic ones I had from the dollar store. I’d hang them with the display picture still inside. The strangers smiled their fake smiles with their fake family, boasting their fake happiness, and I made up their story as I went, like mine.

At least the people in my pictures
were
smiling, unlike the ones in Griffith’s library. They were all men. Unsmiling men. I raised my brows. Must run in the family.

I straightened one hanging askew, grimacing at the filth on the frame. After wiping my hand on my jeans, I reached in my pocket to run the magazine picture between my fingers. It soothed me as I studied the photos. A few appeared to be from the better part of a century ago.

I continued along the shelves, lingering on one section with little dust to examine the titles. Probability and statistics, geometry and a bunch of boring-looking books on data analysis. “These must be for when he can’t sleep at night.” My words echoed off the wood paneled walls.

I slid one of the books out, and flipped through the pages. Finding the material just as mind numbing as expected. I lifted the book to replace it, then stopped and moved closer. There was a book behind this one. Hunkering down, I reached in and pulled out the concealed book. The intense feeling of evil returned full-force, like a sucker punch to the stomach. My fingers tingled and burned, and I dropped the book. It hit the ground and fell open to expose cracked, yellowed pages.

“What the hell?” Sketches of what looked like men, but weren’t, filled the page. I’d seen them before. The first on the night Tessa died. Then again, today.

I spun to the doorway. My conscience weighed heavy with guilt for snooping through Griffith’s books.
Why shouldn’t I?
It is a library.
That’s what people do in a library. But this book felt wrong. Like I’d stumbled across someone’s diary.

I cracked the door and peered out. The foyer was empty. Easing the door shut, I winced as the latch clicked. I held my breath a few seconds until satisfied Griffith hadn’t heard.

Bending over the book, I held my hair back to get a better look at the drawings without touching the pages. The first showed the man-creature in various stages, almost as if in the process of evolving. The last sketch resembled a person. I glanced over my shoulder, listening for Griffith, and then returned my attention to the book.

The second page had images of the man-creatures standing over people cowering and writhing on the ground below them. Handwriting covered much of the pages. The script was varied, and it didn’t appear to be written by the same person, or even the same language. A few sections of writing were faded to the point of being illegible.

I’d never seen a book as old as this one. The spine was obviously handmade. Despite the vile feeling emanating from the book, it was beautiful. I examined the script but couldn’t understand much of it. One word popped out, though. Enchantling. The same word from Tessa’s note. She’d been dead a month by the time I’d gathered the courage to open her note. I’d left that same day. Sticking around wouldn’t help find what had murdered Tessa.

I hunkered closer to the page where
Enchantling
was written on one side. A figure filled the center and on the other side the word,
Oppressors
. The ink looked darker on these words than the rest of the script, as if the words had been added at a later date.

Shifting on my feet, I glanced back to ensure the door remained closed. The figure’s shape looked feminine but had three heads, none of them human. I tried to make out the faded drawing. Once I identified the snake, the horse and the dog were apparent. The same animals as the masks. The heads were drawn as one but smeared together to look as if the figure was in the process of turning its head.

I tentatively touched the page. “Ouch.” Steam rose from the paper, and I sucked my singed fingers to ease the pain. Moving closer, I was careful not to touch the book again. The figure in the middle was labeled with a spidery script, but the words were difficult to make out. The aged paper was worn and faded, and the ink was practically transparent. Heeate? Hecate? I couldn’t be sure. The handwriting was worse than mine.

One of her hands stretched over the side labeled
Oppressors
where black shapes rose out of the ground, taking form underneath. Her other hand pressed down on the side labeled
Enchantlings,
depicting three people cowering on the ground, writhing in agony. I grimaced at the gruesome scene. One word was scribbled in several places,
persuade or persuasion.

Pulling my jacket over my hand to create a makeshift potholder, I flipped the book shut to see the title.
The Brotherhood
was etched on the cover. As I crouched closer, voices carried in from the hall.

I had to have this book.

I’d never stolen anything, but a compulsion overwhelmed me. The answers I needed might lurk within these pages. Anyway, it wasn’t stealing if I intended to return it. My prevalent concern was Griffith walking in and finding me poking around. I arranged the other books on the shelf, dropping a few in my haste.

Unwinding my scarf, I wrapped it around the book to avoid touching it, but the cover wasn’t as hot as the pages. Despite the size of the book, it weighed little. For once, my concern for warmth over fashion paid off. My thickly padded white coat, which gave me the appearance of a giant marshmallow, provided ample room to hide the bulk of the book. I tucked it inside my coat and zipped up. A comfortable heat came from the book, like a little furnace.

Muffled voices filtered in from the hall. Crossing my arms in front of my waist, I secured the book in place, and my belt anchored it. I cracked the door.

Two voices. Someone else was in the house. I leaned out, keeping one hand on the doorknob and the other curled around my middle, supporting the book. Griffith had his back to me. His hands were on his hips, and he was talking to…nobody. I drew back when he turned, but his focus wasn’t on me. I sucked in my breath when a lanky looking man appeared behind him in the midst of a black fog.

In all aspects, he could pass for a man, but he wasn’t. The swirling black fog surrounded him and a feeling of depression and fatigue filled me with his arrival. He, or it, was like the thing in the woods. Except it wasn’t the same. Fog and emotion had made up the entire form of the thing in the woods. It hadn’t resembled a human in any way. Not like this man.

The black fog-like substance had been around Tessa’s murderer, too.

Griffith grabbed the tall thin man’s throat, pushing him against the wall with a thud. “What the hell are you doing? I told you not to flash in here anymore, Drake.”

I closed the door to a crack.

Griffith glanced in my direction then released Drake, who landed with feline grace. Griffith wiped his hands on his jeans, as if to rid himself of the filth circulating around the creature he’d called Drake.

Drake tossed his head, and long dark locks, painted with strands of blond, fluttered around him, coming to rest close to his almond-shaped eyes. “Why? Cause you have that human here?” Drake tilted his head back, his nostrils flared as he inhaled. “You didn’t think we’d know?” He took a step toward Griffith. “Her stink is everywhere.”

I shrunk tighter against the door.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m taking care of her.” Griffith pushed past Drake and started down the hallway, further away from me. I opened the door to keep them in sight, but they were too involved in their argument to notice me. Or else they didn’t care if I overheard. That concerned me more.

“My guess is you haven’t swayed her then, and it’s not just me that’s worried.” Drake appeared in front of him, blocking Griffith.

How in the hell did he do that?
I pressed my back against the wall and slipped out the door, sliding along to keep them in my sight.

“It’s the brothers, too.” He bent toward Griffith, the black fog moving with him. “You should’ve let
me
take care of her the first time. We’re all starting to think you’re getting too involved with the human.”

“You know she’s not just a human.” Griffith’s voice dripped with menace as he glared at Drake until he took a step back. “Don’t involve the others.” He said each word slowly and deliberately. Drake stepped aside so Griffith could pass.

She’s not just a human?
Craning around the corner, I clutched the wall, trying to blend into it.

“You’ve forgotten you have a job to do. A job I’d willingly help you with, if you’d let me. Let’s work together, as it was intended,” Drake said. “Perhaps it’s you who’s forgotten she’s not just a human.”

Griffith lowered his voice. “It’s her choice to make.”

Drake tilted his head. “Oh, is it? We make the choices, and I think it’s your job to make her choose. Ever since Hecate gave you the dreams, you haven’t been the same. The human is taking you away from me, from us.”