Witching Moon (29 page)

He and Delacorte had left as soon as the sheriff had gotten back from stashing Sara. Before moving out, they discussed where to look. Delacorte had chosen the area where the campfire had been that first time. Probably he thought that was the most likely place to find the witches. Adam didn't agree. He was pretty sure they would be somewhere else, somewhere less obvious.

He had a cell phone with him, and he had promised to use it. But getting help would depend on his being able to describe his location, which might be a problem deep in the swamp.

He would have liked to go on this hunting expedition as a wolf. But that was out of the question.

He sniffed the wind and caught a scent he had smelled before. The smoke that had turned his head muzzy. In front of Sara, he had told the others that he didn't expect it was going to be a problem.

Actually, he'd been thinking that the witches might well use the stuff. And if they did, it would lead him to them. But at the same time, he'd have to be damn careful. The fumes had overpowered him last time. This time it wasn't going to happen, because he'd come prepared. He hoped.

First he took a quick breath to tell him the direction the poisoned fumes were coming from. It was still far away, its tendrils reaching toward him, pulling at him.

The effect was dangerous. Not just because it muddled his mind. It was addictive, and he was more susceptible than most, because of his physiology.

Too damn bad.

Before the probing tendrils could choke off his rational thoughts, he took a gas mask out of his knapsack and pulled it over his head, adjusting the nosepiece and the straps so it was comfortable.

Just before they'd left the mansion, he'd told the sheriff it might be a good idea to bring along a mask. He hadn't wanted to talk about that in front of Sara because he hadn't wanted to alarm her.

He'd thought he was being clever by thinking of the protective gear. He'd read a lot about gas masks on the Internet before he'd bought one. In fact, it had been in the package Delacorte had brought into his office a couple of days ago.

It was a good model. At least the reviews said it was good.

But he'd never used one before. A surge of claustrophobia made him grit his teeth like when he tried the thing on. But it hadn't been quite so bad.

Stop it
, he ordered himself. This isn't any worse than a snorkeling mask. You've snorkeled on a couple of vacations.

Yeah, he'd snorkeled plenty of times. And this wasn't anything like the same sensation.

A snorkeling mask only fits over the front of the face. This thing enclosed a lot more of his head.

He took a breath, fighting a choking sensation.

“Stop it,” he ordered again, this time speaking the words aloud because he needed to hear them, as he plunged into the swamp.

SARA HESITATED FOR
a few moments. She needed to lie down, but she wanted to be ready to leave the moment she found out Adam was safe.

So she kicked off her shoes, then folded back the spread on the double bed and lay down. As she closed her eyes, she told herself she had to relax, despite the pain pounding in her head.

Adam had come back to her safe and sound when he'd gone into town to look for the witches. But now he had marched off into danger again and she'd wanted to beg him to stay out of the line of fire. Especially when he was risking his life for a man who might not be worth it.

Unable to lie still, she sat up and fluffed the pillows behind her head. Her eyes stared unfocused at the striped wallpaper on the wall.

She hadn't liked Austen Barnette when she'd met him. Despite how she felt about him, she knew he was in a horrible situation. Unfortunately, that situation had put Adam in danger.

Pressing her fist to her mouth, she struggled not to scream out her fear and frustration.

She had to stop thinking about Adam, had to stop worrying about him.

So she focused again on her father. She still hadn't gotten over the shock of finding out his identity. And she still didn't know how she felt about him. He'd abandoned her all those years ago.

Well, not abandoned, exactly. But it had felt like that to the little girl he'd left to the kindness of strangers.

She'd grown to love those strangers. They had given her a warm, supportive home. A good foundation in life. But she'd always known a piece of her heritage was missing.

She'd met her father tonight, and she'd walked away from him because she'd been in shock. Could she forgive him? She didn't know. But he had brought her back to Wayland. He had made contact with her, although he hadn't said who he was.

Maybe he'd been afraid she'd reject him, which was what it looked like she
had
done. But when she thought about it more objectively, she could see it would be a terrible shame if she never got to know him as an adult.

Her mind made another leap back to the Olakompa. Adam and the sheriff were out there somewhere. She kept picturing the vast wilderness area. The trees blocking out the light. An alligator sliding into dark water.

Then she was seeing a group of naked men and women, their bodies painted with bright slashes and circles, dancing wildly. This time the campfire wasn't the only focus. This time, as they gyrated, they also circled around a tree. And tied to the trunk was a naked man, his face a mask of terror.

She gasped when she saw it was Barnette.

There was no way to know if the image was real or if she had made it up. But it stayed firmly in her brain like a piece of festering shrapnel.

 

THE
dancing stopped, and a hush fell over the group. Falcon stepped up to the old man who was sagging against the bonds that held him.

He struggled to stand up straighter as the leader of the clan approached him. Falcon counted that as a mark of respect—for all the good it would do the old bastard.

“Listen up,” he said.

Barnette tried to focus on him. The smoke had whacked him out some, but not completely.

“You didn't give Jenna Foster a chance,” Falcon said. “But we're going to give you one. We're going to let you loose. We'll give you a head start. And if you can keep us from finding you until it gets dark, we'll let you go.”

Barnette struggled to keep his eyes in focus.

With the delicacy of a surgeon, Falcon cut the old man's bonds and pulled the rope away.

“Go on. Git!” he ordered.

Barnette wavered on his feet as he looked around at the circle of faces.

Then he made a moaning sound and staggered off into the underbrush.

“How long do we give him?” Copperhead asked.

“It won't be any fun if we go after him right away.”

“We could lose him,” Razorback muttered.

“You think so? I think he's going to leave a trail an elephant would envy.”

The rest of the clan snickered. Razorback flushed and clamped his teeth together.

 

PAUL
Delacorte kicked at the cold ashes of the campfire. He had been sure the witches would be here again. But he had been wrong. And now he had no idea where to look for them.

He removed the phone from the holder on his belt and dialed the private line that would connect him to Adam.

After several rings, the park ranger answered. “I can't stay on long,” he said.

“What's up?”

“I had to take my gas mask off to talk to you. And I have to put it back on pretty soon.”

“You're using it?”

“Yeah. There's drugged smoke here.”

“Where?”

“Near that cabin where Sara was living. You'll know by the fumes. Gotta go.”

The line went dead.

Paul sucked in a deep breath. He smelled something strange. Something evil. He remembered Adam's description of the stuff. It was nasty.

Unpacking his gas mask, he pulled it over his head.

 

ADAM
wavered on his feet and shot out a hand to steady himself against a tree trunk. He'd had the mask partially off for less than a minute, and his head was swimming.

Shit. He shouldn't have answered the phone. But he'd had to do it in case Delacorte had some important information.

Now his brain felt like cottage cheese. He sat down heavily, staring off into the distance, trying to remember where he was and why he was here. And the damn Halloween mask over his face was choking off his breath. What he needed was air.

He reached up to free his nose and mouth. Then he stayed his hand.

The thing that felt like it was cutting off his oxygen was a gas mask. He'd put it on because of the drugged smoke. And he'd gotten a couple breaths of the stuff just then. Only a few breaths, and his brain had gone mushy. Because it was worse for him than for other people. It took only a little bit to turn him into a space cadet.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree trunk, thinking of Sara. Thinking about how much he wanted to be with her. To be holding her in his arms.

She should be here with him. She'd like the smoke. It made him feel really good. She would feel good, too. The witches had used it for sex. That sounded like fun.

He blinked. Not good. Bad. This stuff was bad, and he wasn't responding normally.

He hadn't gotten too much of it. Just a little. He was going to be okay if he just sat here for a few minutes.

 

SARA'S
body jerked, then went rigid. Another picture leaped into her mind. Once again she saw the wild, natural landscape of the Olakompa. But the dancers were gone.

The scene was calm. Still.

She recognized the location because it was right near her cabin. Well, not the cabin where she was living now. The cabin that belonged to Austen Barnette.

In the center of the mental picture was a figure sitting with his back propped against a tree trunk. A man, wearing a camouflage shirt and pants. But his face…his face was so strange: elongated like an animal's muzzle, but with the features obscured.

She made a small, strangled noise. Her head pounded as if someone were using it for a drum set. Her vision blurred, but she struggled to understand what she was seeing.

Was it Adam—his face turning to that of a wolf? No. That was no wolf. As she tried to take in more details, she focused on the man's hair. Black hair. Cut just a little too long.

It
was
Adam. Or someone who looked just like him from the forehead up.

And there was something over his face. Something she'd seen before in a movie or on television.

She wasn't sure what it was. Some kind of protection? Then the answer leaped into her mind. It was a gas mask, attached by straps that went over the top and sides of his head.

She watched another figure appear in the scene. A naked man staggering out of the swamp, staggering toward Adam, screaming something she couldn't hear.

Mud coated his feet and legs. Long scratches ran down his thighs and across his chest. His gray hair was matted to his head. His features were contorted with terror and pain. But she knew who it was: Austen Barnette.

She had seen him with the witches. Now he was fleeing through the swamp. Naked as the day he was born. Had he somehow gotten away?

He ran up to Adam, clutching at him, clawing at the mask that obscured his face.

Adam raised his hands, but they seemed to move in slow motion. She watched as the mask came off his face so that she could see his reddened skin and the wide, vacant look in his eyes.

She was out of bed and pulling on her shoes before she knew what she was going to do.

 

RAZORBACK
poured water on the fire.

“What the hell are you doing?” Falcon demanded.

“Getting rid of the damn smoke.”

“Why?” the leader of the clan demanded.

“'Cause I was thinkin' we need to be on top of the situation here. People could be looking for Barnette. What if they find us, and we're all wasted?”

“There's no
they
. There's only Marshall.”

“He could have figured out we don't give a shit about the money. He could have gotten help.”

Some of the clan murmured their agreement. Falcon's eyes narrowed. Razorback was challenging his authority. And that was bad. Bad for him. Bad for the group. But maybe the guy was right. Maybe they'd had enough of the smoke.

“Come on, we've given Barnette enough time. Let's go find out if a gator's got him. Or if we need to finish him off ourselves.”

There were shouts of agreement from the clan. Falcon had them back in hand. But over Starflower's head, his gaze met Razorback's eyes, and he knew this wasn't the end of the rebellion.

 

SARA
came pounding down the stairs and into the kitchen, her eyes wide. Tyreen must have been keeping a lookout for her, or maybe she'd simply heard the heavy footsteps, because she came running toward the back of the house.

“Honey, what's wrong?” she asked.

Sara dragged in a shuddering breath. “Adam is in trouble!”

“I didn't hear the phone ring. Did you get a call on your cell phone?”

Sara swallowed, thinking about what she could possibly say that wasn't going to sound completely crazy. “I…I had a dream…” she said.

“You dreamed something bad?”

“Yes. But I know it's true! Adam is in trouble. I have to go to him.”

When the woman only stared at her, Sara blurted, “My…my dreams can be about things that are really happening.”

Tyreen spoke gently. “Honey, you need to calm yourself. You're under a lot of pressure right now. And your imagination is working overtime.”

Sara clenched her hands at her sides. She
knew
that Adam was in terrible danger. She also knew with absolute certainty that there wasn't going to be any way to convince Tyreen of that.

Sara's gaze flicked to the black purse sitting on the kitchen counter—and the key ring next to it—before she brought her attention back to Tyreen. “I…I'm really worried…” she murmured. “Could you call Sheriff Delacorte and find out what's happening?”

“We don't want to bother him when he's out on a kidnapping investigation.”

“Please. Call him!”

Sara waited with her heart pounding, waited to see if the other woman would do what she asked.