The Sinner (14 page)

“You heard them?” he asked.

“Yes. Who were they?”

His gaze seemed to burn into mine. “You've spoken with my grandmother. You already know the answer.”

I gave a vague nod as I searched my memory for everything Essie had told me about the two missing girls. “She said they were taken in broad daylight from the railroad tracks on their way home from school. Weeks later, they were found in the swamp, their bodies so mutilated by alligators their own mothers couldn't recognize them.”

“Alligators did not desecrate them,” Darius said. “
He
did that to them.”

“Pope?” I whispered his name fearfully now, afraid that I might somehow summon him.

“Night after night, he brought them here in chains, forcing them to witness his depravity and the atrocities he committed for the sake of his magic. First he took their blood and then their hands, their eyes, their tongues. By the time he removed their hearts, they were beyond fear and suffering in the living world, but from the dead world, they still cry out for justice.”

The picture he painted sickened and devastated me. My first instinct was to flee through the arches and get as far away as I could from those ruins, from Darius Goodwine and his dangerous proposal. From Atticus Pope and his grisly alchemy. I did not. I remained frozen, not from fear of the truth or the aftermath of vertigo, but from a sudden and unholy thirst for vengeance.

“There were others before them,” Darius said. “Runaways and the homeless that no one knew or cared about. But to attain the kind of power Pope sought through his spells, he needed the blood and innocence of the very young.”

Darius came toward me then and I didn't try to scramble away. I wasn't afraid of him now. Our unified quest had dissolved some of his mystique, but I knew I would be a fool to trust him completely. He was who he was, after all. A scorpion with a treacherous nature.

“Essie told me you were the one who brought in the
Congé
to stop him. That's why you remain in the shadows, isn't it? Why it's better if no one knows that we've spoken. You're afraid of him.” My voice held a note of wonder because there was a time when Darius Goodwine had seemed like the ultimate nemesis. But his crimes involving black magic and gray dust paled in comparison to what I'd learned about Atticus Pope.

“I don't fear for my own safety,” Darius said. “There are things more precious than one's life.”

I nodded in understanding. “You're worried he'll come for Rhapsody.”

His eyes flashed fire, a manifestation of his strong emotions. “She's little more than a child, headstrong and foolish and only now realizing the full potential of our bloodline. It will be a difficult task to save her from herself, let alone from Atticus Pope.”

And from her father's influences, I thought. “She said you'd come to her in a dream. You told her that she should trust me because I'm the only one who can protect her.”

“And protect her you must. Not only for her sake and mine, but because there is more at stake than you realize.” I heard a strange element in his voice, one that I didn't dare try to decipher. “If the blood and energy of the very young empower Pope's spells, the heart of a Goodwine could make him invincible.”

My fingers sought the key around my neck as I shivered. “Surely you'd be more equipped to deal with him than I am. You also have powers. I've witnessed your magic.”

“But you're the only one who can see inside his soul.”

“Yet you seem to see so clearly into my thoughts and dreams.”

“Not for much longer, I fear.”

I closed my eyes, toying with the notion of trying to peer into Darius's soul, but I didn't want that connection. It wasn't a good idea to be linked psychically or otherwise to a man such as he.

“I think you give me too much credit,” I said. “If you can enter my head so easily, who's to say Pope can't do the same? What if he's already been inside my thoughts and dreams? What if he already knows about me?”

“If he had an inkling of your capabilities, he would have dealt with you long ago.”

“Like he dealt with the woman in the caged grave?” I got slowly to my feet. “Essie said she was
Congé
, but how could she know that?”

“They mark themselves with symbols and creeds, some more discreetly than others.”

“Like the
memento mori
tattoo on the victim's wrist?”

“A fitting precept, wouldn't you say?
Remember to die.
”

I stared at him with open suspicion. “Did you bring her here?”

He shook his head. “She was an initiate. Young, inexperienced and out to make a name for herself. She was undoubtedly lured here by Pope so that he could send a message to the others. And for his own perverted enjoyment. It was the
Congé
, you see, that buried his twelve disciples alive.”

“They were buried alive? Why?”

“To trap Pope's soul. Make no mistake. The
Congé
were as cold-blooded and ruthless in their mission as Atticus Pope was in his.”

Darius came all the way out of the shadows then so that I could see him more clearly. So that I could take in the menacing set of his mouth and jaw and the warning glint in his eyes. “You have a common enemy in Atticus Pope, but the
Congé
are not your friends. If they knew about you, about your abilities, they would hunt you down for no other reason than their abhorrence of those whom they perceive as unnatural.”

I trembled at his warning, at that terrible gleam in his eyes. He towered over me, ethereal and omniscient, his clothes billowing in a nonexistent wind. I could hear the rumble of thunder in the distance as the scent of ozone deepened inside the ruins.

“I can see that you're afraid,” he said. “You should be. Someone close to you has been assimilated into the ranks of the
Congé
. Someone you think you know well. Someone you think you can trust. But don't be fooled.” His voice faded as he moved back into the shadows. “If they learn of your gift, not even your great-grandmother's key can protect you.”

Nineteen

“W
ho is it?” I asked on a breath. “Tell me!”

But he'd already vanished in the same way that he had appeared, leaving nothing behind but a distant thunder and the lingering chill of his presence.

I wasn't alone, though. Someone was calling to me. Someone I thought I knew. Someone I thought I could trust.

“Amelia? Can you hear me?”

The familiar voice pulled me out of the spell Darius had cast over me. When the haze of his magic began to clear, I found myself kneeling beside a headstone, a brush in my hand and a water bucket beside me. Angus watched me from the shade. Neither of us had moved from our original positions and very little time had passed. But once again, I didn't doubt the encounter with Darius had been real.

“Amelia!”

For a moment, I remained so lost in the swirling haze of his hypnosis that I wondered if the sight of Temple Lee walking toward me through the headstones was another of his illusions or tricks. Why else would she be here when Detective Kendrick had said she wouldn't be free until the following week?

Strange that she should show up at this very moment with Darius's warning still echoing in my head.

I had once wondered about Temple's affiliation with the Order of the Coffin and the Claw. I'd even entertained the notion that she could have been one of the first women inducted into the secret society. She'd never sufficiently debunked my suspicion and, if she were a Claw, would it be that much of a leap to consider the
Congé
may also have recruited her
?

Stop it!
I told myself firmly as I pressed fingertips to my temples.
This is not your thought.

Darius was still there in my head, toying with my emotions and twisting my perception even though I could no longer see him. With an effort, I shook off the remnants of his influence.
Go away
and take your games with you.

He had insisted the
Congé
were not my friends, but neither was he. I'd known Temple for years. I wouldn't let him tarnish our relationship by planting doubts and paranoia for no apparent reason other than to isolate me.

“I was told I could find you here,” she called gaily. “So this is where you've been hiding out all summer!”

I rose and peeled off my work gloves as I monitored her approach. Her attire was almost identical to mine—T-shirt, cargoes and work boots. But unlike me, she'd taken the time to apply lipstick and mascara and I could detect a hint of her perfume on the breeze.

Tossing my gloves to the ground, I gave her a tentative smile. “What a surprise. I had no idea you were coming here so soon. I thought you were busy until next week.”

“Oh, I am. We've been swamped for months. You know how it is.” She bent to give Angus a quick pet when he trotted over to investigate her arrival. “I had business in the area and thought I'd drive down for a quick visit. Actually, I wanted a look at those cages before anything happens to them.” She paused, giving me a worried scrutiny. “Are you okay? You look a little out of it.”

“I'm just tired. I've been working in the heat all day. But what did you mean, before anything happens to the cages?”

“According to James Rushing, the plan is to try and excavate the graves through the gates rather than remove the mortsafes altogether. It seems they're cemented in place and there's a worry about how much damage will be done if they try to pry them loose. But I don't have to tell you how tedious and time-consuming that will be. The police aren't usually so patient. I wouldn't be at all surprised if Detective Kendrick decides to have them dismantled.”

“Wait a minute.” I shook my head in confusion. “When did you talk to James Rushing?”

“Just now.”

“You've already been down to the circle? I didn't see you drive up.”

“I followed Detective Kendrick out here from town and apparently he took the long way around. He was adamant about not disturbing your work by coming through the cemetery.” Temple lifted a brow as she observed me curiously. “So adamant, in fact, I had to wonder if there was a reason why he wanted to avoid you.”

“None that I can think of.”

She shrugged. “In any case, if he decides to remove the cages, I won't be able to stop him. The graves aren't old enough to fall under my jurisdiction. But I still believe those mortsafes have historical value and I'd at least like the chance to study them before they're destroyed.”

“Yes, so would I. You know about the center grave?”

She nodded. “And about the missing skull. You and I both know that skulls have a tendency to disarticulate and roll, but I gather they don't think that's the case here.”

“There is evidence of a prior exhumation and reburial,” I said.

“So I was told. I'd like to hear your thoughts on that, as well, but I don't want to keep you from your work. I'm hoping I can persuade you to knock off early so that we can grab a drink and catch up before I head out.”

“Yes, I'd love to, but I'll need to stop by the house first.” I glanced down at my grubby work clothes. “No respectable establishment will allow me in the front door until I shower and change.”

“I'm inclined to agree,” Temple said with her usual frankness. “Take your time and give me a call when you're ready. I'll be down at the circle with James and Detective Kendrick. Fascinating place,” she said with a strange smile.

My curiosity about the activity in the circle tempted me to halt work and follow her. But if Kendrick really was avoiding me for whatever reason, maybe it was best that I also keep my distance.

Dropping to my knees, I pulled on my gloves and set to work once more, determined not to dwell on Kendrick and the excavations or my conversation with Darius Goodwine. But it was hard to discount Darius's warning about the cold-blooded nature of the
Congé
when Dr. Shaw had told me something similar. He'd even gone so far as to warn me to keep our discussion private. How strange to think that for most of my life I'd feared the ravenous appetites of ghosts when my greatest threat might now lurk among the living.

I worked for another hour or so and then loaded up the car and called to Angus. Once home, I left him in the backyard to explore while I went from room to room making sure everything was as I'd left it that morning. The added precaution had become a daily routine. Checking and rechecking doors and windows, glancing inside closets and underneath beds. With everything that had happened, I couldn't be too careful. I had no one I could trust down here, no one I could turn to for help. Angus and I were on our own and maybe we always had been.

Satisfied that the premises were secure, I filled his food and water bowls and then hurried into the bathroom for a cool shower. A little while later, dressed in a pair of jeans and a sleeveless blouse, I headed into town to meet Temple.

I'd chosen a small establishment that I thought would be mostly empty at such an early hour because we had a lot to discuss. I no longer suspected her of having anything to do with the
Congé
—an utterly preposterous notion—but despite her modest background, she was well connected. She'd attended Emerson University with the offspring of the rich and powerful and she still traveled in privileged circles. If anyone would know about a secret organization affiliated with the Order of the Coffin and the Claw, it would be her. However, I had to take care that no one overheard us. Darius Goodwine's motives might still be in question, but I trusted Dr. Shaw with my life.

As I strode along the sidewalk on my way to the restaurant, my gaze strayed to the locksmith's shop and to that gilded key painted on the window. I thought back to the lurking shadow behind the key and to the flash of those ruby earrings. I'd caught a glimpse of the victim just days before her death, but I couldn't have known then what lay in wait for her, perhaps in the shadows of that very shop.

I had a few minutes before meeting Temple and so I crossed the street and tried the door. When I found it unlocked, I stepped inside before I could change my mind.

I didn't know what to expect. Some dark, sinister place, I supposed, but the shop was well lit and tidy. Display cabinets formed a U around the narrow room and the walls were lined with dozens of old padlocks, reminding me once again of all those hanging keys in Rose's sanctuary.

As my gaze moved over the shop, I experienced the same sensation I'd felt in the courtyard. I'd been led to this place for a reason. Whatever Martin Stark's relationship to the victim, whatever his family's history with Atticus Pope, I had a feeling he was somehow a piece of my larger puzzle.

He stood behind the back counter, head lowered to his work, but as I moved into the shop, he pushed up his headband magnifier to observe me. He wasn't much older than Annalee Nash, mid-to late thirties, I guessed, but sunlight glinted on silvery strands in his hair.

He showed no reaction to my presence and that surprised me. A part of me had expected him to share in that odd feeling of providence, but he didn't seem to recognize me. Not at first. Then as I approached the counter, his eyes flared with the same hostility I'd noticed in the clearing. Our paths had never crossed, but for whatever reason my presence provoked a negative reaction in him.

“Can I help you?” he asked coolly.

“I was told you had an impressive collection of antique locks, but I never dreamed there'd be so many. I hardly know where to look.”

“If you're interested in something specific, I can point you in the right direction,” he said.

“Nothing specific. As a matter of fact, I'm hoping you can tell me something about an antique key that I own.” I stepped up to the counter and removed Rose's key from my blouse, extending the ribbon so that he could study the intricate scrollwork. “I inherited it from my great-grandmother. She was a collector of lost keys. I don't know where she happened upon this one. I don't know anything about it at all except that it looks very old. I was told there was once a sister key, but I have no idea what happened to it.”

“Might be helpful if I could have a closer look,” he said as he pulled the lighted magnifier down over his eyes.

I was reluctant to remove the key from around my neck. I'd grown too accustomed to relying on its protection, but I sometimes wondered if the key was nothing more than a symbol through which I could harness the power that I already possessed. If I lost the key, would I still be able to keep the ghosts at bay with the unbound energy of death? I didn't want to take that chance. However, I was the one who had approached Martin Stark so I could hardly balk at his request. I slipped the ribbon over my head and placed the key in his hand.

At the moment of contact, his fingers parted and the key clattered against the glass top of the display case.

“Sorry,” he muttered. He clenched his fingers into a tight fist as if the key had somehow burned him. Not such a far-fetched notion. I'd also experienced a warming sensation from the metal, usually in the presence of ghosts.

He bent over the counter. “The scrollwork is extraordinary,” he muttered.

“Could you make a guess as to the age?”

“Eighteenth century at least. It's been well taken care of. Treasured, I would say. Even the bit is in good shape, but something has been scuffed out on the shank.” He pushed back the magnifier as he glanced up at me. “Do you see what I mean?” He ran a fingertip across the metal near the bow.

“Aren't those just scratches from ordinary wear and tear? It is an old key, after all.”

“They may look random to the naked eye, but with sufficient magnification, you can tell the marks were deliberately etched into the metal. My guess is to cover up a number.” He took out a powerful-looking scope from beneath the counter and once again bent over the key as he adjusted the light. “I can make out a deeper engraving beneath the scratches. Maybe a three or an eight.”

I leaned in for a closer look. I'd worn that key every day for over a year, ever since it had been placed on my bedside table. How was it that Martin Stark had discovered something in the metal that I'd failed to notice in all that time?

“Why would someone scratch out a number?” I asked.

“Probably to insure the key wouldn't be associated with a certain house or building if it fell into the wrong hands. The Carolinas have always been home to dozens of secret meeting places, especially during times of war.”

I was instantly intrigued. Was that why I'd been led to this shop? Was that Martin Stark's role in my bigger puzzle? To alert me to the snuffed-out number?

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” I asked anxiously.

“You're aware of the signature of the locksmith?”

I shook my head.

“It's integrated into the scrollwork of the bow. See the way the metal curls around on either side to form double
S
's? Samuel Story was a renowned Charleston metal smith. Many of the homes in the historic district still have original Story locks.” He glanced up. “Is that where your great-grandmother lived?”

Was that suspicion I heard in his voice? “She came from humble beginnings so I'm certain she never lived in the historic district. She may have spent time in Charleston as a girl, but she moved to the Blue Ridge Mountains after she married. She lived in Aiken County at the time of her death, but that was a long time ago.”

The bells over the door jangled as someone came into the shop. For a moment, Martin Stark remained fixated on Rose's key. He seemed reluctant to part with it. Then picking up the ribbon, he dangled the key in the air for a moment before dropping it into my palm. “If you ever decide to sell it...”

“I won't. But thank you so much for your help.”