The Deepest Cut (10 page)

I needed to be careful with her in the future.

Tom cleared his throat loudly, a mocking grin on his thin lips. I could tell he wanted me to bail, but I had to go through with it—if only to tell him to stick it, and plus, it was a good way for me to face my fears.

“I’ll do it.”

“This is seriously fucked up,” Shane said, running a hand down his face.

“Someone needs anger management,” I heard someone behind me say.

I wanted to defend Shane, but I already felt at a severe disadvantage. My fingers dug into my palms and I welcomed the pain.

“Ready?” Tom said, motioning for me to follow. The group all stood and started filing toward the cars. The cemetery was right up the road, and apparently everyone was going to make sure I went through with the dare.

“I’m going in with her,” Shane said adamantly.

“No way.” Tom planted his meaty hands on his hips. “She goes alone.”

“Come on, Shane,” I said, knowing he was ready to say something to Tom.

As I followed the others, I realized the enormity of what I had agreed to. I would be locked into the mausoleum in a cemetery where Laria was a resident. She hadn’t necessarily harmed me, but would she have more power to do so in her territory?

“Hey, listen, none of us knew about your mum. You don’t have to go,” Johan said, coming up beside me. “Or I’ll go in your place.” He sounded sincere, and I appreciated the offer, but I would never do that to anyone. Plus, I needed to prove myself.

“Thanks, but I’m fine. I’m not afraid.”

He watched me like he didn’t believe me, and he shouldn’t of, because I was scared to death.

“Has anyone ever spent time in the mausoleum?” Shane asked Megan, who appeared more concerned than anyone else. I think she was tweaked by Shane’s outburst about our mother. She obviously hadn’t expected that bit of information. Honestly, I didn’t want anyone’s sympathy, and I know Shane didn’t either. In fact, he looked irritated with himself that he’d said anything about Mom. But he had, and to protect me, which really let me know we were on the mend.

“Ronald Green lasted about twenty minutes,” Tom said with a satisfied grin. “He screamed his bloody head off until he was let out. Come to find out, he shit himself, and to this day he won’t go near the cemetery. I don’t know who or what was in that mausoleum with him, but whatever it was it really messed with his head.”

“I could have gone without hearing that story.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Shane said to Tom, who merely laughed.

Grabbing the pint from Richie’s hand, I took a long swallow, much to the delight of everyone around me. If they only knew I didn’t do it for show, but to warm my insides that had gone cold—and to give me the liquid courage to face whoever was waiting for me inside that mausoleum.

The graveyard was so dark I could barely see my hand in front of my face.

Tom handed me a flashlight, or what the locals called a torch, and wished me good luck, his expression saying the exact opposite. “No one is allowed past the gate,” he said, pushing me toward the mausoleum, while the others stood back by the fence, their fingers curling around the wrought iron.

I glanced at my brother and he didn’t look at all buzzed anymore, his eyes wide and alert, a nerve ticking in his jaw. “I’m not leaving, Ri.”

“The rest of us will return to the glen so the police don’t come poking around,” Tom said, which brought mutters from the majority who obviously wanted to hang out and see what would happen. Did they expect me to freak out? If so, they’d be disappointed because I was determined to stick it out,

regardless of who was in the mausoleum with me.

“That means at least two people need to stay to make sure she goes through with it…aside from her brother and Megan, because they’d probably let her out the second we left.”

“Get stuffed, Tom,” Megan said, not at all hiding her agitation with him.

“I’ll stay,” Johan said.

“Me too,” Cassandra was quick to add.

Johan rolled his eyes and sent Cassandra an annoyed look.

“Only one car stays in order to avoid suspicion.” Tom, who didn’t wear a jacket, rubbed his arms and glanced at me. “Get on with it already.”

What was this guy’s problem?

Tom followed behind me, up the pathway to the mausoleum. It was the longest thirty feet of my life, and I tried my best to look calm and cool, which wasn’t easy when on

either side of the pathway gravestones loomed up to meet me. When at last I stood at the large heavy-planked door, I experienced an overwhelming urge to turn and run.

Maybe it was my imagination, but I swear I felt the spirits stir in the cemetery and knew I wouldn’t be alone tonight. I couldn’t show fear, period. Not to Tom or the dead.

It would be a long hour, but I knew my brother wouldn’t leave me, and if I yelled he’d be close enough to hear and help me out. Tom jimmied the lock off the door with an ease that surprised me. How ironic that a cop’s son just happened to have the right tools to break in.

Tom pushed open the door and I flashed the light on the interior. Straight ahead of me was an altar covered by an emerald green velvet cloth. A huge candle sat in the center of the table in front of a gold, expensive-looking cross. A stained-glass window was

high above the altar, and on either side tombs rose from the floor to the ceiling.

I swallowed hard.

“You can do it, Ri!” I heard Shane say just as Tom closed the door. It sounded like he slipped a chain lock onto the door, which made me believe he had planned this all along.

Seconds later I heard footsteps rush down the pathway, and then the gate opened and closed.

The cold air seeped right through the lining of my jacket, and I hugged my arms closer to my body for warmth.

An old, musty scent hung in the air, making it hard to inhale. With heart pumping like crazy, I walked toward the altar. I flicked on the lighter Megan had slipped into my pocket, and with trembling hand, I lit the candle.

The wick sputtered at first and went out. I tried again, and this time the flame caught

and burned. I placed my hands above the flame to warm my fingers.

I could hear the footsteps of the others fading, car doors opening and closing, and then cars driving off, back to the glen. Although I knew my brother, Cassandra, Johan and Megan were out in the parking lot, I still felt very much alone. It’s only for an hour,” I said to myself. The space felt smaller by the second.

I took a deep breath, breathing through my nose and releasing it out of my mouth…just like my mom had taught me to do whenever I’d get a shot at the doctor’s office.

My flashlight already started to dim, and I wondered if the spirits were using it for energy. I flashed the light on the bottom tombstones, and my heart lurched seeing the name MACKINNON engraved in the white and gray marble. The MacKinnon’s were all buried here? I should have guessed given the

close proximity to the castle. The dates started from the early fifteen hundreds.

“Duncan, Kenneth, Grayson,” I said, noting the dates on each. As I continued to the next line of graves, I realized how young these men were, most not reaching their fortieth birthdays, and in some cases, their mid-twenties.

I remembered my dad saying that life in the old west was tough, and if you lived to be thirty you were damned lucky. It must have been the same in Scotland.

Not finding Ian’s name among the graves on that side, I turned and started searching the markers on the opposite side.

I was midway through when I saw IAN

DAVID MACKINNON. My stomach coiled tight. “Born 1767, died 1786.” The words stuck in my throat. “Beloved son, brother, friend.”

I put my hand on the marble, my finger sliding along each of the letters carved into

the stone. I’m not sure if I was feeling the sadness from the other family members, or if it was the fact I was so close to Ian’s physical body, but tears welled in my eyes and tightened my throat. I wished he was here with me now.

Since arriving in Braemar, he had become my friend and confidant. He knew all about me, my ugliest secrets, and still he didn’t judge me. “I swear I won’t stop until I find a way to help you,” I said, and from the corner of my eye, I swore I saw the altar shake. I held my breath, hoping it was my imagination, when the altar shifted again, causing the candle to fall over and the flame to extinguish.

My gut clenched as the silhouette of a woman appeared in the window—a window that was high above the ground. Either the person stood on a ladder…or they were just levitating there.

Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.

A deep growling came from what sounded like right behind me, an evil noise that had me too terrified to turn around.

To make matters worse, my flashlight died and I instantly flicked the lighter on. A huge gust of wind blew through the mausoleum and the flame went out. “Leave me alone, Laria. Go away. You’re not welcome here.”

The temperature dropped even more as I felt something slide over my head and tighten around my neck. A rope? I thought, grabbing at my throat. There was nothing physically there, and yet I felt an invisible noose that kept cinching tighter by the second. I found it difficult to swallow, let alone breathe.

Female laughter sounded all around me and I fought the fear that was beginning to consume me. Laria wanted me to panic.

Instead, I focused on Ian and how I felt about him; on the comfort I experienced when he was near, and how together we would find a way to give him peace—a life free of Laria and her cruel curse.

The laughter vibrated the mausoleum, shaking me to the core. I closed my eyes and slid to the ground, hugging my knees to my chest. My heart pounded hard against my breastbone as the growling started again.

I positioned myself so my back was up against the wall, beside the altar, and below the window where Laria had been levitating.

I dug my fingernails into my legs and pulled upward, scratching the surface. I wished I had a razor with me. I wanted to cut—to focus on something, feel the blood form against my skin, and experience the release that always came after. I could feel the panic begin to take hold.

The pressure at my throat eased and the altar stopped moving. I looked up to see that

the figure in the window had disappeared.

An orb passed by me, up toward another grave. I reached for the flashlight and turned it on. It worked, but gave off little light.

“MARGARET (MAGGIE) ETNE

MACKINNON. 1744-1814.” Ian’s mother. I remembered the beautiful woman in the painting in the castle’s dining room. Suddenly, a sense of peace washed over me, calming me. I found Ian’s brother’s and father’s tombs as well. His sisters weren’t here, which made me think they must have been married, and thereby buried along with their husbands.

I glanced at my watch. Only ten minutes had gone by, but it already felt like an hour.

Remembering I had a new cell phone, I pulled it from my pocket, only to find I had no charge. Not a big surprise. Spirits used energy from any available source.

Knowing I had a long wait ahead of me, I grabbed the candle from the altar and took a

seat beside the table closest to the side where Ian was buried. The fear that had gripped me upon entering the mausoleum and seeing Laria had lessened, and now I felt a strange calm. Setting the candle in front of me, I rested my hands over the flickering flame, savoring the little warmth it gave.

The orb appeared again, dancing in front of Maggie’s grave.

“I see you,” I said with a smile as it came closer. Suddenly, a cold rush washed over me, and I saw a flash, and then an image in my mind.

I remembered how Anne Marie had closed her eyes and focused on what the spirits were telling her. I did the same thing and at first struggled to see anything, but as I continued to focus and block out my surroundings, I saw a leather-bound book in my mind’s eye. The vision quickly flashed to a dark room with a concrete type floor that I didn’t recognize, but I don’t think it was the

inn. The place in the vision felt older. The image flashed over and over again.

It was like I was watching a slide show. I saw a picture of the castle, and then Laria’s face. She didn’t look scary like she did now, but younger looking; almost innocent. The vision shifted and I saw thick woods where a small crowd had assembled. Dressed in black cloaks that covered their heads, the group stood in a circle. Dread filled me as I heard chanting. A lamb was brought into the circle, and when a tall man stepped forward and pulled out a knife, I knew the lamb’s fate.

Without further ceremony, he sliced the lamb’s neck, and filled a jewel-encrusted goblet with the blood. He drank from the goblet, then passed it to the next person, and one by one the gatherers drank.

A shiver raced along my spine.

Ian had said Laria had dabbled in the Black Arts and that’s where the curse had come from. Was Maggie trying to warn me,

or was she just showing me what I was up against—and how dangerous Laria was?

The image shifted again. Laria sat in a small room, writing in the journal, occasionally glancing toward the door. When she finished writing, she placed the journal beneath her cot, laid down, and blew out the candle beside her bed.

The image faded and a mixture of fear and excitement rushed through me as I opened my eyes.

I heard a creak seconds before the door flung open and a dozen people were staring in at me.

“Has it been an hour already?” I asked, putting my hand up to ward off the glare of Shane’s flashlight.

“Yeah,” Shane said, relief shining in his eyes.

“Were you sleeping?” Milo asked. I could hear the admiration in his voice.

I hadn’t been sleeping—more spacing off really, thinking about the visions I’d seen and how to move forward with helping Ian.

“She’s got ballocks,” someone else said.

Shane held out his hand to help me up.

He was grinning from ear-to-ear, and when he hugged me tight I was surprised. Tonight he’d shown genuine concern for me and it felt incredible.