The Sinner (24 page)

Thirty-One

I
walked Dr. Shaw back to Waterfront Park where he'd left his car and then I headed up Tradd Street. As I hurried along the darkened sidewalk, my head spun, but not from the wine. I felt stone-cold somber now. Outwardly, I remained steady. Maybe there had been so many revelations over the course of the evening and I'd had so many experiences and encounters during my time in Ascension I was now immune to shock. Or, I suspected, my composure was merely a defense mechanism. When I finally allowed my emotions to surface, I wasn't sure which disclosure would distress me more—Devlin's engagement or his possible affiliation with the
Congé
.

A breeze rippled through the trees, carrying the scent of butterfly ginger over a walled garden. I could glimpse the dark shapes of trimmed evergreens behind wrought-iron gates and the ethereal gleam of marble faces in dappled moonlight. The evening was balmy and fragrant, the city as alive and lovely as it had ever been, but I couldn't wait to leave it now. I couldn't disassociate Charleston from Devlin and tonight I needed to be free of both.

I was so lost in thought that the sudden glare of headlights startled me. I reacted reflexively, stepping back into the shadows as a car pulled to the curb across the street. The vehicle was sleek and black and sexy, and for a moment, as I admired the low profile, I was pulled right back into Devlin's world. Even the silhouette of the driver reminded me of Devlin. It wasn't him, of course. It couldn't be him. The possibility was too slim and the irony too cruel.

As I stood in the shadows observing from a distance, the driver climbed out of the vehicle and turned to glance down the street as another car appeared behind him. Caught in the headlights, he squinted into the brilliance and my heart started to beat in hard, painful strokes as my gaze glided over familiar features. He was dressed in dark slacks and a dark shirt exquisitely tailored to his tall form. He wore his hair longer than when I'd last seen him, and in the glare of the headlights, I could detect the hint of a beard on his lower face, but I knew him just the same. I would always know that face because I still dreamed about it nearly every night.

He watched the car until it was out of sight and then he turned and strode down the sidewalk to one of the largest houses on the block. He took out a key, unlocked the gate and then glanced over his shoulder as if to make certain he hadn't been followed. For a moment, I thought he might see me huddled there in the shadows. That he must surely hear the sound of my pounding heart. But he did not. He turned back to the gate and disappeared inside, leaving me alone, puzzled and trembling.

I left the shadows and crossed the street to peer through the intricate wrought iron as a feeling of déjà vu tingled over me. I had been there before in a dream. To that very gate. Or had my spiritual self left my body and traveled back to Charleston to find Devlin? Had I encountered him on another plane where he had warned me of danger?

I glanced down the narrow alley, past a lush courtyard to a dimly lit carriage house nearly smothered by bowers of crape myrtle and lemon trees. I tried the gate, but it had locked behind Devlin.

“Use the key,” I could almost hear him whisper.

But I wasn't that brave. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what business he had behind that locked gate. Still, I stood there vacillating until the dazzle of headlights chased me into the shadows of a recessed doorway.

A car even sleeker than Devlin's pulled in behind his. A woman got out, and though I had never seen her before, I somehow knew her. Knew that her name was Claire.

She was dressed all in black, her slacks and top as elegantly molded to her body as Devlin's attire had been to his. Her hair was long and straight and glimmered silvery gold in the moonlight. She was very beautiful. Quite possibly the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on and it took no effort at all to picture her with Devlin.

She walked to the gate and paused to glance over her shoulder just as he had done, but she was more careful than he. She scanned both sides of the street and then turned to peer into the very doorway where I lurked. I drew back holding my breath. When I chanced another glance, her gaze had moved on, but I had a feeling she knew I was there. The way she looked in the moonlight...the half smile that played at her lips. For a moment she reminded me of Annalee Nash. Physically, they looked nothing alike, but there was something about her demeanor. Something about that smile.

She had secrets, I thought with a shiver. Dark secrets buried deep.

She waited another beat and then unlocking the gate, she, too, disappeared inside. I remained hidden in the doorway for several long minutes because I didn't want to risk an encounter with her. Another car pulled up and deposited two older gentlemen at the gate. I didn't recognize either of them, but I imagined that I would find their names on the oldest headstones in the city's oldest churchyards.

Once they were safely ensconced behind the wrought iron, I left my hiding place, but I didn't return to the gate. The night had suddenly become far too dangerous and I would be foolish to linger so near to what I assumed was a congregation of the deadly
Congé
.

Thirty-Two

A
short while later, Angus and I were back on the road. I had originally intended to spend the night in the city and head out early for Ascension. But plans changed. Things happened. Old loves got engaged and suddenly became mortal enemies. I couldn't remain in Charleston a moment longer. It wasn't safe for me there.

I drove with the windows down and the smell of pluff mud permeated the night air, that singular, sulfuric perfume of the Lowcountry. We had left the secrets and intrigue of Charleston far behind us and were now heading back into the pungent world of tidal flats and root working. Of salt marshes, folk magic and, as I had recently discovered, the darker rituals of witchcraft and black magic.

I almost expected Kendrick to be waiting for me when I pulled into the drive. I wasn't particularly in the mood for company and I was still a little wary of him, of
us
, after the incident on the front porch. But I would have gladly accepted his offer to check the grounds while I made sure the house was secure. He wasn't there, though, and I had no intention of calling him. I didn't need Kendrick or Devlin or anyone else to keep me safe. I had been on my own for a very long time. I knew how to take care of myself. Even so, I couldn't suppress a shiver of apprehension as I unlocked the front door and reached for the light switch.

Angus padded beside me as we began our nightly ritual at the back of the house and slowly worked our way up to the front bedroom where he balked at the threshold and whimpered. I went in alone to search the closet and corners and underneath the bed. Nothing appeared out of place. Everything was just as I'd left it a few hours ago, and yet I couldn't shake the feeling that something was different. Something was horribly wrong inside that room.

I thought about the hollow sound of the mewling I'd heard from the bedroom and wondered if there might be a tunnel or passageway underneath the house that ran all the way back to the shed. Maybe that would explain how the kitten had ended up at the bottom of that concrete cylinder when the outbuilding had appeared untouched.

Then I thought about the entity that had been trapped beneath my great-grandmother's house near Kroll Cemetery and I hurried from the room, closing the door firmly behind me.

I retreated to the smaller back bedroom to change out of the dress and sandals I'd worn to dinner. I was too keyed up for bed and I felt a little too vulnerable to go outside and search the grounds in my nightgown so I put on the fresh work clothes I'd laid out earlier. Transferring keys, phone and pepper spray to the pocket of my cargoes, I went into the kitchen to put on the teakettle. While the water heated, I walked Angus outside.

I stood at the bottom of the steps shining the flashlight over the yard and as far into the orchard as the beam would reach. Closing my eyes, I focused on the night sounds, trying to project my senses out into the trees where someone might lurk.

The shrill whistle of the kettle startled me back to the porch steps and I hurried inside to turn off the burner. As the sound subsided, I glanced over my shoulder. I felt on edge for no discernible reason. I'd checked the house and all around the backyard. Angus was still outside. If anything or anyone were about, he would let me know. But the outside no longer concerned me. I felt a sense of wrongness inside the house that no amount of logic could dispel.

I walked across the kitchen to peer down the hallway. Shadows lurked. I had left the light on in the entry when Angus and I first got home, but now it was off and the door to the front bedroom hung open. Either someone had come in while I was outside or they had been here all along. Or more likely, it wasn't a some
one
at all.

The floor creaked from an invisible weight and I felt a shudder go through me. I took a few steps into the hallway and another floorboard creaked beneath my feet. I froze and the house fell into a waiting silence.

I wished that I had brought Angus in with me, but I didn't dare go out to the backyard to call him. I was afraid to take my eyes off the hallway. I stood there for the longest time, straining to hear a sound or pick up a scent that would provide me with an explanation for the creeping fear that prickled my scalp.

I moved deeper into the hallway, telling myself all the while that nothing was wrong. I was just anxious from everything Dr. Shaw had revealed to me. From everything that had happened since I'd seen those hands clutching the mortsafe. I had nothing to fear. The house remained secure and Angus patrolled the yard. And anyway, when had running away ever solved my problems? When had denial and pretense ever chased away my bogeymen? Best to face those lurking shadows head-on. Best to do battle on my own terms.

I reached in my pocket for the pepper spray, thumbing off the top of the canister as I inched forward. Despite my resolve, a voice in my head screamed for me to get out of the house.
Get out now while you still can!

But I couldn't run away. I couldn't seem to fight the compulsion that drew me steadily toward George and Mary Willoughby's bedroom. When I got to the threshold, I balked just as Angus had done, sliding my hand along the wall to feel for the light switch. Then my hand fell away as my heart jerked in shock.

Moonlight spilled in through the tall windows and I had no trouble discerning the tall figure that perched on the edge of the bed. A stray draft rippled his loose clothing and I could see the sheen of a metal talisman at his throat and another at his wrist as he sat motionless, head bowed, shoulders uncharacteristically slumped.

I wanted to turn away from Darius Goodwine. I wanted to run from that house and the secret that was about to be exposed, but I could not. I stood frozen as he finally lifted his head to observe me.

“How did you get in here?” I demanded. But, of course, he wasn't really there at all. He was inside my head. Or was I inside his? It was all too confusing and I couldn't seem to settle my nerves enough to make sense of his visit.

I summoned shaky indignation. “You shouldn't be here. How dare you come into my home uninvited? What do you want?”

He pointed to a spot on the floor at the end of the bed.

My gaze flicked to the large floral area rug and then back to him. “What is it? What do you want? Enough of these games. Just tell me!”

I noticed the smell then. Not the ozone of his magic or the must of an old house, but a thin metallic trace of fresh blood.

My gaze shot back to the unstained rug and then once more slowly returned to him. There was something different about his appearance. From our very first meeting, he had always come to me as a flesh-and-blood man. As real and as solid as if he actually stood before me. But his form seemed to waver in the moonlight. For a moment, I swore I could see right through him.

“Why are you here?” I asked in dread.

His gaze remained fixed on the floor. He again pointed to the rug at the end of the bed and I moved into the room with dawning horror. I knew what he wanted now. I knew what I had to do.

Kneeling at the end of the bed, I rolled back the carpet. Dust tickled my nostrils and fear slid along my backbone. The wood beneath was old and streaked with what I thought at first might be Mary Willoughby's blood. But the splotches were fresh. I ran a hand across the floor, staining my fingertips crimson.

A small indention, worn smooth by time and use, had been chiseled into one of the boards. I crooked my fingers through the handle and pulled. A section of the floor lifted on hinges, revealing a gaping hole similar to the one we'd found in the shed.

Easing to the edge, I peered down into the abyss, but I could see little beyond the opening. I fished the flashlight from my pocket and flicked on the switch, angling the beam down through all those shadows to a form huddled on the concrete floor.

I drew back in shock. My hand trembled so badly I could barely grip the light. I took a moment to compose myself and then I moved back to the rim, stabbing the beam down through the darkness to run it along a bloodstained torso and the pale, mutilated face that stared up at me.

No, no, no!

My mind screamed in protest, not wanting to accept what had already been absorbed into a part of my brain.
First he took their blood and then their hands, their eyes, their tongues.

Almost of its own volition, the light traveled slowly down the body as I duly noted the loose clothing and the metal talisman that hung from a leather cord still wrapped around the arm above one of the stumps.

My mind exploded with a thousand images as reality rained down horror upon me. Understanding came in the blink of an eye. Darius Goodwine had been lured back from Africa out of fear for his daughter's safety, but he had badly underestimated the power and vengeful nature of his enemy. He had been ambushed by Atticus Pope, paralyzed by a powerful drug, tortured beyond any normal person's endurance and then he'd been thrown down into that hole so that the agony from his injuries would rejuvenate Pope's magic.

Without hands, Darius hadn't been able to claw his way out of his prison. Without a tongue, he couldn't call out for help. So he had come to me using the only means available to him. Had it also summoned the kitten? I wondered. To alert me of his presence. To warn me about those holes.

Sick and trembling, I stared at his ghost and he stared back at me. He had started to fade but his lips still moved. He made no sound but I could hear him inside my head.

Save her.

Perhaps it was understandable, though not admirable, that my first thought was not of protecting Rhapsody Goodwine, but of how to save myself.