The Serpent in the Stone (The Gifted Series) (35 page)

Sara stood there shivering, hugging her arms close against her body, teeth chattering.
“
T-Thomas Callander.
”

Ian grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside.
“
Callander, the guy who
’
s working on your team?
”

She nodded breathlessly.
Rainwater dripped in steady rivulets down her face.
“
Just before I left the hospital, I read Becky
’
s mind.
”
He saw her hesitate, and then she plunged ahead again.
“
Ian, Tom Callander
’
s a telekinetic.
I think he
’
s behind Cameron
’
s death.
”

Ian stiffened as the implications hit him full force.
He remembered his father and the horrible day that had wrecked his disillusioned, young life.

And then he thought of the woman standing before him now.
Oh, God.
“
Sara, Callander works for Lambertson, doesn
’
t he?
”

“
What are you saying?
”
she asked, icy warning in her tone.

“
I
’
m saying that if he
’
s involved, how do you know Lambertson isn
’
t?
Callander is on loan from Eurocon, am I right?
”

She shook her head fiercely.
“
No.
Lamb wouldn
’
t do this.
He wouldn
’
t.
He
’
s a friend of Cameron
’
s family.
A friend of
my
family.
”

Ian bristled.
“
I don
’
t trust anyone anymore, and that includes Lambertson.
He was there with everyone else when Cameron died, and now he
’
s conveniently gone home.
”

She stepped back toward the tent door.
He took a corresponding step forward.
“
Sara, listen to me.
Faith told me he got you the job here because he knew Shetland was your father
’
s life
’
s work.
He was one of your father
’
s best friends.
He
’
s in a perfect position to know about that amulet, and maybe the ley lines, too.
”

He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.
The words he didn
’
t say hung in the air between them:
Maybe Lambertson is responsible for your father
’
s murder.
Pained, Ian raked his fingers through his rain-damp hair and moved away from her.
“
You
’
d better go see Faith.
She
’
s waiting.
”

Chapter Thirteen

By the time she arrived back at the dig, Sara felt feverish with chills and exhaustion.
She
’
d run most of the way as a wolf, but even its heavy double pelt could not withstand this much rain.
Her stomach twisted with dread that Ian might be right, and that there was no longer anyone whom she and Faith could trust.

The lantern in Faith
’
s tent threw a dim glow.
Sara approached with caution and opened the flap.

Her sister looked up from a pile of books and released a long, weary sigh.
“
Becky?
”

“
Hospital.
She
’
ll be all right.
”
Sara went to Faith
’
s cot and sank down, holding her roiling belly.
She lowered her head until wet locks of hair swung, dripping, into her face.

Before she could add anything more, Faith stood up.
“
I was able to find out a little more about this druid serpent ceremony.
”
She came to the cot with a worn leather book, and sat beside Sara.
“
A sect of druids created the serpent ceremony to allow them to travel the ley lines in a kind of half-life, drawing knowledge from the ghosts already walking the lines, and bringing it back with them when the lines closed again.
”

Faith ran a hand through her hair.
“
It made them powerful, but the ceremony got more and more unstable as time went on.
To balance it, they had to sacrifice people in increasing numbers.
Eventually, even the sacrifices weren
’
t enough, and the ley lines shut down for all but twice a year, on the days of the spring and fall equinox.
”

Sara looked up as the weight of her sister
’
s words sank in.
Faith
’
s expression sent a new chill dancing down her spine.
“
Where did you get all this?
”

Hands shaking, Faith slid the book into Sara
’
s lap.

With a concerned glance at her sister, Sara opened the book
’
s tattered cover.
Drops of water from her sodden hair fell onto the dog-eared flyleaf, smudging the ink of the inscription:
Robert Markham, 14th April -

No end date.

Sara slammed the book shut and hugged it to her chest, feeling the blood drain from her face.
“
W-What is this?
”
she gasped, even though she knew the answer.

“
Dad
’
s last journal.
He started it the month before our tenth birthday.
It was in with the stuff I threw together from his research before we left for Shetland.
”
Faith
’
s voice shook.

Sara reeled.
Her churning stomach threatened to bring up what little food she had eaten that day.
“
Do you think he knew about us, about what we would be able to do?
Do you think that
’
s why he gave us the lockets?
”

“
If he did, he never mentions it in there.
He wrote all that in the context of a legend.
I don
’
t even know if he believed in it himself.
I was afraid to use my power to read it.
”
She reached anxiously for the book again.

Sara released it.
Faith cradled it in her hands, and added,
“
He must have found the amulet and tracked down its history, or the other way around.
I
’
ve looked everywhere for information on this serpent ceremony and the amulet, and found nothing until now.
”

Distracted, Sara rubbed at her forehead.
“
The druids didn
’
t keep written records.
They passed their culture on through spoken word.
We
’
d be lucky to get anything in scattered pieces, like the fairy tale books.
Which don
’
t mention anything about druids, anyway.
”

“
I know that.
”
Faith stood up.
“
Dad knew something about all this, but where are his sources?
He doesn
’
t reference any in his journal.
”
She paced the length of the room, holding the book close.
“
He doesn
’
t say how the ceremony goes, either.
I
’
ll have to try to reach Hakon again.
”

The mention of the Viking
’
s name brought the sword back into Sara
’
s thoughts, and then Becky
’
s recent confession.
Her stomach turned over again.
“
Faith, Becky
’
s a conduit.
”

“
She
’
s what?
”

“
A conduit, she
’
s a conduit.
She amplified me when I was trying to use telekinesis to steady the boat.
She saw what I was doing, and
wham
!
”

“Conduits don’t exist. They’re just a theory!”

“
So are we,
”
Sara reminded her acerbically.
She sobered, grasping at the last threads of her focus and self-control.
“
I told her to go to Holly as soon as she
’
s out of that hospital.
She needs to be somewhere safe.
”

Faith began to look frantic, pacing faster around her tent, scanning the interior as if looking for an emotional anchor.

“
There
’
s more.
Faith, sit down.
I
’
m still tapped, and you
’
re making it hard to think.
”

Her sister dropped onto the cot
’
s edge, but her eagerness for action screamed from every muscle.

Sara drew a long breath.
“
Tom Callander is a telekinetic.
He used Becky to push that scaffold down and kill Cameron.
Ian thinks Lamb is behind it.
”

Faith froze.
“
How are we going to prove any of this?
What do we do?
”

Sara fought a surge of anger.
Could Faith believe so readily that Lamb might be involved in Cameron
’
s death?
There had to be an explanation—
any
explanation—to absolve the man who
’
d been a second father to them all these years.

As bitter a task as it was, she forced herself to consider the possibility.
“
We need to keep this quiet.
Until we
’
re off this island, everyone is suspect.
”
She swayed, and propped herself up where she sat.

Faith laid a hand on her arm.
“
God, you
’
re like ice.
Get out of those wet clothes.
You
’
re going to get sick.
”
She reached for the blanket at the end of the cot and shook it out over Sara
’
s lap, then rummaged through her trunk for a clean, dry sweatshirt.

Sara took it and peeled off her soaked shirt.
“
You can stay here,
”
she heard her sister say.
She gave a groggy nod, only half hearing, and lay down.
Faith pulled the Viking sword out from under her cot, and Sara fell fast asleep.

****

Faith turned her lantern down as low as possible.
She sat at the table and laid the oilcloth bundle across her lap, then unwrapped it ever so gingerly.
When she drew back the last layer of cloth, the sword blade shone in the dim light.

She stared at it, holding her breath, sensing the anger flowing from the weapon without having to touch it.
She lifted her hand and let it hover over the blade with a frown, dreading what she
’
d see.

No help for it...and no choice.
She let her hand fall on the sword hilt, and released her power.

Fury like an ice storm swept all around her. Shuddering, Faith clutched at her power with single-minded determination.
I am here, and you will not push me out,
she ordered the maelstrom.

As if just now sensing her, the anger subsided. The presence inside the sword darted around her, questing, wondering who she was and what she was doing there.

Then it swallowed her.

Longing gripped her, so fierce that it forced the breath from her body.
Tears stung her eyes.

Love.
Aching, desperate, passionate.
Any emotion she
’
d ever had felt hollow and soulless by comparison.
The sword hilt sizzled under her fingertips.
She warred with the need to let go of it.
There was bitterness, too, that a sword—an artifact of action—had been made useless by becoming its own wielder
’
s prison.
“
H-Hakon?
”