Edgewise (33 page)

“I was scared half to death.”

“That's what makes you all the more of a heroine.”

Lily sat down on the couch next to him. “I still can't really believe that it happened.”

“Oh, it happened all right. I went back to Mystery Lake late last night and had your SUV removed by a tow truck. George Iron Walker's, too. I also talked to those people whose RV you totaled. Fortunately they didn't really understand what they were looking at. They simply thought your truck was on fire and you were panicking.”

“What about the Wendigo? Any sign?”

“Ash—that's all I saw. And what was left of my net.”

“How about the wolf?”

“Gone. Some predator probably dragged it off for a late supper.”

“I promise you, Nathan. That wolf was George Iron Walker. He could change his shape. Maybe it was some kind of hypnosis, but he could do it.”

“Well, I'll be going out to his place in Black Crow Valley this afternoon. If George Iron Walker is still there, alive and kicking, we'll know different. But if he isn't—who knows? Maybe he
was
a wolf.”

“If he
is
there, will you be charging him?”

“What with? Reckless endangerment with a Native American tree spirit?”

“Nathan—he was going to have us all slaughtered.”

Special Agent Kellogg took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “I know, Lily. But even if he
is
still alive, I doubt that he'll be coming after you again. I think all the scores have been pretty much settled, don't you?”

“I hope so.”

“What about you? Have you thought what you're going to do?”

Lily shrugged. “I don't know. For starters, I have to take care of little William. I may have to look after his brother and sister too.”

“Hell of a houseful.”

“I know. I started off trying to get two children back and now it looks like I'm going to have five.”

“Guess I can give you a hand. I come from a family of seven. I know all about looking after little kids.”

“Nathan—that's an offer I might very well take you up on.”

That night, after she had put little William down and Tasha and Sammy had gone to bed, Lily poured herself a large glass of red wine, put her feet up by the fire and tuned her TV to
Sleepless in Seattle.
For one reason or another, she had never seen it before, and she felt like watching something silly and romantic.

She felt as if her whole life had been turned inside-out. Not only had she lost Agnes and Ned, and Jeff, and seen John Shooks killed, but she could never look at the world in the same way again. She would always feel that there was another country, an older country that was populated by spirits and wonder-workers and animals that could change their shape. She knew that it was very close beside her, but she would never be able to see it, because it was always edgewise-on.

She stifled a yawn. She really needed a good night's sleep. But she was just about to get out of her chair when she thought she heard a clicking noise, like the front door being unlocked.

She stood up, switched off the television and listened. Nothing. She must have imagined it. Now that the snow was melting so fast, the house was full of creaks and cracklings and sudden shifting sounds. All the same, she decided to fasten the chains and the bolts on the front door, and set the alarm for the night.

She went out into the hallway and listened again. She had the strongest feeling that there was somebody close by—somebody watching her, somebody trying to suppress their breathing.

“Tasha?” she called. “Sammy?”

No reply. She shrugged to herself and crossed the hallway to the front door. She was annoyed to see that it wasn't quite closed properly. Those kids. They rushed in and out of the house every five minutes and they were always leaving the doors open. But she was just about to go over and close it when all of the lights went out.

She turned around, her skin prickling. “Who's there?” she demanded.

Still there was no reply.

“I'm warning you, this house is connected directly to the police station, and all I have to do is push one button.”

Gradually, her eyes were becoming accustomed to the gloom. As they did so, she realized that somebody was standing in the kitchen doorway: a tall, dark figure, with an arrangement of horns on its head that looked like antlers. It stood perfectly still and made no sound at all.

“Who are you?” said Lily. “Get out of my house, right now!”

The figure moved toward her. Then it spoke, in a harsh Minnesota accent. “You don't remember me, Mrs. Blake? You and me—we have some unfinished business.”

“You get the hell out of my house,” said Lily. “You get out and you never come back.”

The figure came closer. “I don't know how you escaped the divine retribution that you so justly deserved, Mrs. Blake, but when I found out that you were still alive, I was sorely vexed, believe you me. Especially since it turned out that you really are a witch, after all. What you did to my friend, what you did to my office, what you did to your ex-husband—witchery, that's all, plain and simple. Fortunately, I still have the key that your ex-husband gave me before.”

“Victor Quinn,” said Lily. “You sad, miserable excuse for a human being.”

“Oh, you think so? Well, let me tell you something: you are the spawn of Satan himself, and I am going to make sure that you never again have the opportunity to wreak the kind of destruction that you wreaked on those two innocent men whose only crime was that they wanted to be reunited with their own flesh and blood.

“But we're going to see some flesh and blood now, Mrs. Blake, and that flesh and blood is going to be yours.”

Lily hesitated, feinted, and then she made a dash for the alarm panel beside the front door. But Victor Quinn was quicker. He seized her wrist just as she was about to push the panic button, and twisted her arm around behind her back, so fiercely that her hand was forced right up between her shoulder blades. Then he clamped his other hand over her mouth, gripping her jaw. She could smell the same reek of tobacco that she had smelled on him before—tobacco, and stale sweat.

“Got your kids back, didn't you, Mrs. Blake? But only through witchery. And now they're going to be orphans, which is your fault entirely.”

Lily struggled and kicked and tried to bite his hand, but Victor Quinn frogmarched her into the kitchen and forced her to sit down on a chair. He dragged a black rag out of his pocket and gagged her with it, tying it in a painfully tight double knot at the back of her head. Then he produced two military-style belts, khaki webbing with brass buckles, strapping one around her arms and her upper body and the other around her ankles.

I can't believe this is happening. Not again. Not the same nightmare repeating itself. I destroyed the Wendigo. Don't tell me I'm going to die like this.

Victor Quinn switched on the kitchen lights. This time he hadn't bothered with the transparent plastic mask that he had worn before. He had a plain, pasty face, with pale-blue eyes and a bulbous nose. The devil's horns on his head were nothing but sticks, fastened with adhesive tape. Lily thought,
You could be anybody. I could have passed you in the street a hundred times and I never would have noticed you.

Victor Quinn reached under the kitchen table and hefted up a red plastic gasoline container. “This time, we're going to do it right. This time, we're going to make sure that you start burning and keep on burning until there's nothing left of you but ashes.”

He unscrewed the cap, and without any ceremony he sloshed the gasoline all over Lily's head, soaking her. Her eyes smarted and the stench was so strong that she almost vomited behind her gag.

Victor Quinn took out a plastic cigarette lighter and flicked it into flame. “So where'd you like me to apply this, Mrs. Blake? Feet? Hair? How about the tip of your witch's nose?”

Lily could only struggle against the straps and grunt at him.
There are children in the house. For God's sake, even if you kill me, think of the children.

“I think the hair is good. That way, you'll burn like a candle.”

He reached forward, holding out the cigarette lighter at arm's length and pulling back his coat-cuff with the other hand so it wouldn't be scorched when Lily burst into flame.

Oh God, please don't let this hurt too much.

There was a deafening bang. Victor Quinn flew sideways as if somebody had seized him by his coat collar and flung him on to the floor. He lay behind the kitchen table, and all that Lily could see of him was his feet shuddering.

Special Agent Kellogg came into the kitchen, holding his Desert Eagle with both hands. He stepped over to Victor Quinn and peered down at him. Then he holstered his gun and came back to Lily. He tugged off her gag, unfastened the webbing belts, and helped her to stand up.

“Is he dead?” asked Lily. She didn't want to look at him.

“Unless he can live for the rest of his life with half of his head missing, I would say so.”

“It's Victor Quinn. It's the man from FLAME—the one who tried to burn me before.”

“Looks like he got what he deserved, then.”

“How did you . . . ? Thank God you did.”

“I came around to tell you about your SUV, and some other stuff about children's services. The door was open and I know how freaky you are about security. Come on, Lily, let's get you out of here. You need to wash that gas off.”

She was shaking so much that Special Agent Kellogg almost had to carry her upstairs. They were only halfway up when Tasha came out of her room in her pink-striped pajamas.

“Mommy? What's happening? I heard this really loud bang.”

Sammy's door opened and Sammy came out. “I heard a really loud bang too!”

“Mommy, you
smell
! You smell like gasoline! What's going on?”

Lily climbed the last few stairs to the landing. “I'll tell you what: I'm going to take a shower and change my clothes. Something nasty has happened and I don't want you to go downstairs. But I promise you this: nothing nasty is ever going to happen to us again. We're safe now.”

She turned to Special Agent Kellogg.

“Your mom's right,” he said. “I have a couple of calls to make, then I'll come upstairs again and make sure you're okay.”

Lily went into her bathroom, stripped off her gasoline-soaked sweater and pants, and reached in to turn on the shower. As she did so, she looked into the mirror over the washbasin, the same mirror in which she had seen the Wendigo.

She didn't smile. She had no expression at all. She looked like a different person.

In the early hours of the morning, while it was still dark, she suddenly sat up in bed. Something had woken her, and she didn't know what. She sat there, listening, for almost a minute. Then—somewhere in the neighborhood—she heard the high, eerie howling of a wolf.