Shadow Lover (Siren Publishing Allure) (10 page)

She hesitated. "Quinn, what made him lose control like that? What made him go on such a rampage?"

"How do I know? He probably just got a look at himself in the mirror. By the looks of it, he must have been pounding on it and got all cut up."

"But Quinn, that…"

"Elaine, get out and do what I told you."

“All right,” she mumbled as she reluctantly headed upstairs.

Quinn pulled up a chair close to his brother’s bed and sat watching him for the slightest movement, but none came. After asking himself the same question Elaine had, he pulled something out of his pocket and gazed down at the photograph of Chyna Marsh. Her lips were parted in a sensuous half smile that would send any man running for the nearest bedroom, or in his case a cold shower, or—cutting his gaze over at the moonlight dappled body of his younger brother—suicide.

The old widow, her body slightly stooped, stood against the rail at the top of the lighthouse tower. The winds buffeted her frail body, whipping her ankle-length skirt and her kinky gray hair wildly. She knew a storm was hovering off the coast, and had been paid a handsome fee to use her magic to seize it. Lifting her gnarled hands to the sky, she called out an incantation that pierced the clouds, her voice rising above the storm—

I call upon thee, Mighty Hecca,

god of the wind, to send your power!

I call upon thee, Mighty Thorr,

whose beard is as bright as the

evening sunset, to crack the

storm clouds with your lightning power!

Thunder roll, thunder shake,

the sky is yours to rent and quake!

In response to her powerful commands, the high winds gave forth a piercing cry, bringing with it the flash of lightning and the roar of thunder from out of the dark sky. She continued to watch the turbulent sky with her piercing eyes, repeating the commands until she knew she had captured the attention of the gods of the storm.

When the ritual was at last complete, the lightning, thunder, and wind roared around her, growing stronger by the minute. She held on to the rail, languishing in the hurricane power that she herself had unleashed. Looking up she saw the dark clouds roil, the lightning piercing them while the powerful thunder cracked and quaked. But in only seconds the velocity of the storm became such that she was almost picked up by the wind and dangerously buffeted along the lighthouse balcony. She began to struggle, pulling herself slowly along the rail until she finally managed to get through the door that was being pushed and pulled by the strong wind.

* * * *

Chyna’s phone rang suddenly, sending a shrill sound throughout her house. Being thankful that it still worked, she reached for it. "Hello?"

"Hey, kiddo, you all right?"

"Hi Joni, I'm fine."

“You sound scared.”

“No, really. I’m fine.”

“Well, I just wanted to check on you before all the phone lines go down. There's a hurricane off the coast you know, and since you're so close to the coastline, I was a little worried. You want to come over here and ride it out with me?"

"No, I don’t think so.” She scowled with concern as she looked out the window. “I’m sure I'll be okay. The weatherman seems to think we’ll just get the edge."

"Okay, but keep your radio on, and if they say anything about evacuation, get the hell out! That'll mean it's moving inland, and you won't have a minute to spare. The village already looks like a ghost town."

"Okay, I will. Hey, by the way, how's your car?"

"Poor old Bessie died a noisy death. The mechanic actually laughed at me when I asked him to fix her. You know what that creep had the gall to say? He looked around like he could see through the walls and said, ‘Tell me the truth, am I on Candid Camera?’ How do you like that bum? I know I ain't no beauty, but what the hell do I look like, Peter Funt?"

"That's too bad. What'll you do now?"

"Monday I'm going to a used car lot I know about up near Luger Pass. Wanna come along?"

"Sure, I guess so. What time are you going?"

"Around ten."

"How about we stop somewhere for lunch after we buy you a new clunker?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Okay, see you then.” She chuckled. “That is if I haven't blown away."

Just about the time Chyna hung up, she heard a high, whining sound. The wind was making horrible music through every crack in her house. Alarm began building in her and she jerked her head around at every sound. First she heard limbs cracking, then anything outside that wasn’t nailed down began blowing in the wind, some of it bumping up against the door. When the windows began rattling, she felt panic coming on. She stupidly thought of the three little pigs trapped in a house of straw.

I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll bloooow your house down!

With those words ringing through her head she spilled her coffee when she jerked her whole body around, hearing a horrible ripping sound.

* * * *

Elaine looked outside at the threatening sky and listened worriedly to the horrible sound of the whipping wind. She thought about Chyna Marsh alone in her little cardboard house, and worried about her safety. She kept watching Quinn who was looking through the window toward the lighthouse.

While looking out at the storm, Quinn was amazed. The power the old widow had unleashed was absolutely staggering. Such
force, such power,
he thought, his lips twisting upward in an evil grin. Finally, he moved away from the window and walked over to the coffee table in front of the fireplace and poured some tea. Sitting down, he put the cup to his lips, remembering the price he’d paid for the widow’s powers. It hadn’t been cheap, but if it did the job it was well worth it. From the looks of the storm he halfway expected to see Chyna fall from the sky and land in his arms.

“You’re sure you got everything secured?” Elaine asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Absolutely,” he answered, and turned to see her troubled eyes watching him.

“What’s wrong?”

She didn’t say anything, just kept staring at him.

“What?” he finally bellowed out.

"I'm worried."

"I told you, Kirk is going to be fine."

"No, I don't mean Kirk. I'm worried about Chyna Marsh down there in that little paper-thin house she lives in. Quinn, she'll never survive this storm if she stays there. Can't you go get her and bring her up here to ride out the storm where she'll be safe?"

"Elaine, it's too late to be thinking of something like that. The wind is much too high, I would never make it. Besides, she's probably already found a place to stay." He looked at the front door almost expectantly. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d come knocking any minute now.

Elaine touched his arm. "Yes, but what if she hasn't? She may be scared to death. She's from New York, she's not used to violent coastal weather like this. She wouldn't have known what preparations to make." Elaine jerked her head around when she heard a high, screaming wind.

While Elaine’s head was turned, Quinn’s evil smile returned, tugging at his lips. Now he knew.
God, it was almost too easy,
he thought. When she looked back, the smile quickly slid away, replaced by a look of concern. "Well, no use getting out in this storm for nothing. Try calling her first."

With a sigh of relief Elaine jumped up and rushed to the phone. Since she didn't know Chyna's number she dialed the operator, but got no response. The line sounded hollow, dead, so she pounded the disconnect bar over and over again, trying to get some kind of response.

She turned to Quinn with the phone still against her ear. "Oh God, Quinn, it's getting worse, the phone lines are down."

The mask of concern still on his face, he got up, walked to the front door and looked out. "It would be suicide to try it, Elaine."

“But we just can’t—”

“I know,” he began thoughtfully. “All right, I’m going,” he assured her. Then cutting his deceitful, controlling gaze over at his gullible sister, he added as dramatically as if he were giving a performance at the Kennedy Center, "But if I'm not back in half an hour, I may not be coming back at all." With the last words of the tense, moving speech out of his mouth, he grabbed his jacket, then gripped the doorknob, feeling the wind shake it in his hand.

Elaine watched him battle the door, then put a frightened hand to her mouth as she ran and looked out the glass panels to watch him as he weaved toward his car. With her hands forming a trembling fist in front of her mouth, she prayed that he wouldn’t be too late.

* * * *

Chyna could hear her porch swing twisting and turning violently in the wind. One side had already been fully ripped from the porch ceiling, and now she heard another ripping sound, followed by a loud thud. She knew it was the thick chain dropping like lead. She ran to the door and tried to open it just a little to see what the damage looked like, but the wind pushed it back with such a mighty force it swung out of her hand. The wind blew furiously into the house, and she staggered back, falling on the floor.

The force of the wind was so strong, it slowly pushed the furniture back against the wall. She fought against the wind, trying to get to the door and force it shut when she saw it begin to move back and forth wildly as if by some unseen hand. Before she knew what was happening, the door flew off the hinges and began hurtling down the hall. Furniture, cushions, and pictures flew in the air around her. Knick knacks crashed against the wall, and books were being ripped from the bookcases. All at once she felt herself being picked up and thrown brutally against the wall. A terrible pain pierced her head like a lightning bolt, then she felt herself sliding down the wall, blackness engulfing her.

Just then the dark figure of Quinn Grayson loomed in the doorway of Chyna's cottage. His long hair was flying in the wind, and he could hardly stand up. He looked around at the damage being done to Chyna's home, but he didn't see her anywhere. Holding on to anything he could find that was stationary, he managed to get inside. There was so much wind and debris flying around he could hardly see, so he lifted his arm and shielded his face, resembling a vampire looking for his victim.

“Chyna!” he yelled as loudly as he could, only to have the roar of the violent wind take his words. He pushed broken pieces of furniture out of his path and squinted through the swirling mass to find Chyna. Finally, over against a wall he saw a crimson path trailing down the wall, making the water in her garden fountain pattern appear as if it were spewing blood. Just below it, she lay there dangerously still while leaves, tree limbs, broken furniture, and all kinds of debris flew above her quiescent body. He stumbled over and quickly removed all the clutter the wind had piled upon her. He felt for her pulse while getting a closer look at the trail of blood that streaked frighteningly down the wall. She was still alive, but her pulse was weak. He knew he had to get her out of the storm, and fast. He hastily dug her out of the clutter that might have been her grave and pulled her up into his arms.
What had he done?
he asked himself.
Had he allowed the widow's power to go too far?
Looking down at the face of the woman he loved, he ached inside when he saw those beautiful bedroom eyes closed—maybe forever.

* * * *

Elaine paced restlessly by the front door. She kept looking outside, then down at her watch. She looked around when she heard something, and saw Kirk standing in a shadow.

"Kirk. What's wrong? Are you feeling all right?"

"Elaine, you can’t bring that writer into this house," he rasped.

"Kirk, we have to if we can. She's alone. She needs someone."

"She must have friends."

"That’s us, isn’t it, Kirk? Aren’t we her friends?” When she heard no response, she continued. “Kirk, please, if we don't help her, she may die. She lives in a little cottage at the end of the road. It'll never hold up in this kind of weather."

"She should have thought of that before she moved here," he said, sounding bitter.

"She's not used to living on the coast, how could she have known?"

"The damned realtor would have told her."

"Kirk, you know better than that. Hector Jackson sold her that place. He isn't going to tell her anything that might ruin a sale. Not when there's a commission in it for him."

Just about that time, Elaine jerked around when she heard someone pulling up into the drive. Both she and Kirk ran to the panel windows and looked out. When they saw Quinn pull a limp, bleeding body out of the car, Elaine gasped and swung the door wide open. The wind was so high, Quinn could hardly stay on his feet, but he finally made it into the house. He promptly laid her on the couch in front of the burning fireplace.

"Get a room ready for her!" he shouted at Elaine.

Elaine immediately ran up the stairs and Kirk backed away into his favorite shadow—watching the beauty he loved fight for her life.

* * * *