Midnight Sacrifice Page 5

  “Let me make you some breakfast.”

  Ashley shook her head, then winced. She pressed three fingers to her temple. “No. I couldn’t put you to any trouble. I’m not very hungry. I’m going to take some aspirin and go back to bed.”

  Mandy pulled down a tray and bustled around the kitchen. “At least let me give you some muffins in case you get hungry later.” She added a bottle of water and a banana to the tray.

  “Thank you.” Ashley took the food and retreated. Her slippers scuffed on the hardwood, leaving Mandy and her mother alone in the big kitchen.

  The muffled sounds of lightsabers and speeding spacecraft seeped through the apartment door. Mandy rooted under the sink for a scrubber sponge. “He needs a new movie.”

  Mae sighed. “Sorry, hon. He’s a Star Wars junkie. That’s not going to change.”

  “It could be worse, I suppose. At least it’s a classic.” Mandy scoured the remnants of sausage from the frying pan. “I wish he were more comfortable with strangers, though.”

  “It’s not like we haven’t tried.”

  “True.” If a lifetime of living in a bed-and-breakfast hadn’t accustomed her brother to strangers, Mandy doubted anything would.

  “Those muffins looked good,” her mother said wistfully. “I’m getting tired of egg whites.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Mandy rinsed her pot. “I have a new whole-grain muffin recipe for tomorrow, and I’ll work on a heart-healthy French toast, OK?”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry.” Mae collected her dishes and brought them to the sink. “You’ve done everything for the past month. I have no right to be grumpy. I am so grateful for everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Mae rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. “Every day I thank God I have you. It’s a comfort to me knowing that Bill has you to look after him. I’m not going to be around forever.”

  “Don’t talk like that, Mom.” Mandy was not ready for that responsibility.

  “I’m just being realistic, Mandy. I’m fifty-eight years old, and I’ve already had a heart attack.”

  Mandy’s heart clenched. “If you stick to your diet and exercise plan, there’s no reason you won’t live a long time yet.” Her mother’s recovery was much slower than anyone expected, including the doctors.

  “I sure hope so, but eventually, Bill’s going to depend on you permanently. I’m sorry, but there’s no getting around it.” Mae poured another cup of decaf and sank onto a stool. With a shaky hand, she stirred artificial sweetener into her coffee. Her face was pinched with pain, her eyes sad. “As much as I wish he could be independent, we both know that isn’t in the cards.”

  “I know, Mom.” Mandy put a hand on her mother’s arm. “I’ve always known.” Though she’d hoped to experience a little of the outside world before the responsibility came crushing down on her.

  “You’ll never finish school or work in a fancy restaurant.”

  “I know that, too.” Mandy shook her head. There was no sense dreaming about things that could never be. She peered out the window. Sun gleamed on the dew-wet grass. The yard seemed so wholesome and fresh now, unlike last night, when she imagined all sorts of evil hiding in the shadows. She shuddered. Jed’s pickup pulled into the lot. “Jed’s here again?”

  Mae wiped the counter. “He called earlier. He’s going to prune the maple tree out back.”

  “You should have told him not to come,” Mandy protested. “Jed isn’t completely recovered yet. He needs to rest. That tree doesn’t need to be pruned today.”

  “He isn’t well enough to hike around in the woods for days on end, but he’s well enough to be bored out of his wits,” Mae said. “It’s good for him to be needed. He’s a big help. You could do worse than Jed.”

  Mandy choked on a mouthful of coffee. “What?”

  Mae turned and gave her a level you-heard-me stare. “Jed is a good man. He loves you.”

  “I love Jed as a friend. I don’t love him that way.”

  Her mother pointed at her with the sponge. “Romance is for fools. I wish I had listened to my brain instead of my hormones or my heart. I wouldn’t be alone. Your father left as soon as things got tough.” Mae lowered her voice. “Bill was a lot of work back then. The therapy and doctor’s visits. The bills.”

  Fear sprinted through Mandy’s belly. She dumped the remains of her coffee in the sink. Could she handle Bill all by herself? Jed had been a big help these last few weeks. She barely remembered her father, but her memory of the night he left was clear. At five, she learned all about abandonment. Taking care of Bill alone was a frightening proposition. What if she wasn’t as patient as her mother? What if she screwed up and he got hurt? What if something happened to her? Bill would end up homeless or in a state facility, completely vulnerable.

  “Jed would never leave you,” her mother said.

  Mandy shook her head. “It’s not enough, Mom.”

  “It should be. I worry about you. I’d feel much better if I knew you’d be with Jed. He’d take care of you and the inn. He’s used to Bill.”

  “I can’t marry Jed.” But as she objected, a little voice in her head said why not? She reached for the bottle of aspirin in the cabinet.

  “I’m so glad I have a good girl like you, but I worry. You shouldn’t have to do this all alone.”

  In front of the garage, Jed got out of his truck and opened the overhead door. Yesterday she’d cleaned leaves out of the gutter, and today Jed arrived to trim her tree. He couldn’t control her, so he’d do what he could to make sure she was safe. Maybe her mother was right. Jed would take care of her. Exhaustion pounded in her temples. With three hours of sleep and a whole day of innkeeping ahead of her, being taken care of sounded pretty appealing.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Boston, February 1975

  Scuff, scuff, scuff.

  Nathan looked at the ceiling. He didn’t need to go upstairs to identify the source of the sound. Above his head, his mother’s slippers moved across the hardwood as she paced the length of her bedroom. It’s what she did now.

  Cross-legged in front of the TV, Nathan tuned out the Fonz and concentrated on the low conversation in the kitchen. He shivered. The redbrick fireplace in the corner sat cold and empty. He pulled the afghan off the sofa and wrapped it around his shoulders.

  “I don’t know what to do.” Despair edged Dad’s voice, as always when he talked about Mom these days. She hadn’t been the same since Christmas, when she started wandering the house at night instead of sleeping. It was as if the insomnia she’d suffered from for years went berserk.

  Scuff, scuff, scuff.

  Fear wormed through his stomach.

  “Aye. It’s verra bad indeed, Robert.” Nathan’s uncle Aaron, Mom’s brother, had just come from Scotland a few months ago. When he talked about Mom, sadness thickened his accent. Tonight it sounded like a foreign language. “Bloody hell. Our mother had the same sickness. Did Gwen ever tell you about that?”

  Probably not. Nathan had never met anyone in his mom’s family except Uncle Aaron. Mom’s parents were dead, and her few remaining relatives still lived in the mountains of her homeland.

  “I dinna think so.”

  “I’ve taken her to five doctors. The medicine they gave her made her worse.” Dad sniffed and his breath hitched.

  Was he crying? Nathan’s stomach cramped. Couldn’t be. Dad didn’t cry. Dad was tough. Nathan pulled his knees to his aching chest and wrapped both arms around them, but he still felt like he was going to fly apart.

  “Doctors canna help her, Robert.” Uncle Aaron’s voice rang with certainty.

  Even from the rec room, Nathan’s dinner hardened in his stomach.

  “The priest is coming tomorrow to talk to her,” Dad said.

  “You must listen to me, Robert. No one can help her. Not your doctors nor your priest. This…sickness. It will get much worse. She will do things…” The deep voice hushed to a murmur.

  Nathan rose and switche
d off the TV. Happy Days disappeared with a blip as the glass screen went blank. He eased to the kitchen, hesitating in the doorway. At the table, his father’s blond head rested on his bent arms. Uncle Aaron put his hand on Dad’s shoulder and squeezed.

  “But I’ve been researching something that may work. Something old and powerful.” His uncle’s burr deepened.

  Nathan pulled back. Eavesdropping wasn’t polite. But Uncle Aaron’s blue eyes lit up. He gave Dad’s arm a final, comforting pat. Broad arms nearly spanned the small room as Uncle Aaron opened them wide. “Come here, lad.”

  Nathan slid into the embrace, even though he was too big for hugs. He leaned into his uncle’s solid bulk and rested his head against his wide chest. The scent of the beef stew his uncle brought hung in the kitchen, like the kitchen used to smell before Mom got sick.

  Like Nathan wanted it to smell again.

  He inhaled, trying to bring back the past. A sour odor lingered under the smell of dinner. Something in the icebox must have gone bad. Dad wasn’t as good at housekeeping as Mom.

  “Robert, I need you.”

  They turned. His mother stood in the doorway. She twisted her hands together over and over, like she was holding a dishrag that refused to wring dry.

  “Gwen.” Dad rose and moved to her, pulled her close. Her thick brown hair mingled with Dad’s straight blond. Usually, they were perfect complements: the dark and the light.

  But tonight everything was just dark.

  Nathan wiggled the last two-by-four into place and secured it with a screw. He stepped away and admired his winter’s work. After four months of toiling, his masterpiece towered over him, a hollow wooden sculpture composed of three cages stacked on top of one another. The finishing touches lay to one side, ready to be added on the special night.

  The bottom section was occupied with the fisherman and the boy, both sprawled in a drugged slumber. The top two cages remained empty. He hoped six sacrifices were enough. The barn roof limited the size of his effigy.

  A breeze drifted through the converted barn. He glanced through the open doors. From the meadow beyond, the scent of fresh grass swept over him, obliterating the stale odors of mold and dust. Originally built to house dairy cows, the building had been gutted years ago to store large equipment. The farm’s deceased owner had been a fisherman. Nathan had discovered a flat-bottomed boat and trailer under a heavy tarp. He’d made use of the old but working tractor to pull the boat along the mile-long track to the lake. A day on the water did wonders to restore a man’s soul. Water was cleansing, almost as purifying as fire. Spotting the fisherman and his son had been a sign. The gods were pleased with his plan.

  Nathan crossed the open space to the office. Like the rest of the structure, it had been built of solid materials in an age that valued quality. Though the deep-red paint had peeled from the exterior walls, the heavy timber was still solid. He drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. A window high up on one wall filled the space with light. A doorway in the back led to a half bath. On a cot against the far wall, his son, Evan, reclined, one arm thrown over his back, the other attached to a support beam by a wrist manacle and chain. His son’s wrist was raw where he’d struggled against the metal cuff. With the aid of the sedative Nathan had slipped him, Evan was sleeping deeply.

  A sliver of guilt sliced through Nathan. Keeping his son prisoner was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but no one ever said parenting was easy. A father often had to make unpopular decisions for his child. Someday, Evan might forgive him. But as long as the boy remained healthy—and able to sleep—Nathan could live with the consequences. Nothing mattered more than his son. Modern medicine had no cure for the disease that waited in Evan’s genes. Nathan would follow in his uncle’s footsteps and try the old way. As his Druid ancestors had bargained with the gods to repel the Romans from the shores of Britain, he would make a deal for his and Evan’s futures. No sacrifice was too great.

  Nathan would walk through fire to save his son.

  He watched, mesmerized, as Evan snored. His son was as yet unaffected by the sickness. Once afflicted, sedatives and sleeping aids only worsened the condition. Nathan should know. In the beginning of his illness, his uncle had been prescribed every known tranquilizer. Nathan thanked the gods he’d had the foresight to accumulate the medication.

  How long would Evan be spared? Genetic testing had confirmed that his son carried the disease marker. It was only a matter of time.

  He reached into his pocket and withdrew a lighter. A spin of his thumb generated a small flame. He held the flame to his opposite forearm. Hot pain licked into him, a physical release for the agony trapped in his mind. The smell of singed hair and skin filled the space.

  A car door slammed. Nathan released the red button. The flame flickered out, and he withdrew from the room, carefully securing the lock. He moved to the shadow of the barn door and peered around the edge. His assistant was crossing the barnyard.

  Nathan walked out into the sun. Inactive for years, the old farm had been searched months ago, while Nathan and his son hid in his assistant’s basement. They’d moved here and set up headquarters after the manhunt had been abandoned. As long as the assistant didn’t lead anyone back to the farm, Nathan was free to pursue his goal. “You’re sure no one followed you?”

  “Of course.”

  Nathan turned his face to the sun and closed his eyes. Warmth rejuvenated his skin.

  “Danny Sullivan is back.”

  Fury rose in Nathan, as hot as the burn on his arm. “And?”

  “And he’s asking questions. He visited Mandy yesterday and again today. I’ve already reminded her to keep silent.”

  Nathan clenched a fist.

  This could not be.

  Come Beltane Eve, she was to be his May Queen, his flower bride, the pure one who signified strength, renewal, and growth. Once the Bel-fire had eradicated Nathan’s disease, he would tap into nature’s energy through Mandy. Like the Green Man, Nathan would die and be reborn youthful and healthy. He would have a brand-new life after the ceremony. He could begin again.

  With Mandy at his side.

  Evan would be spared. He would be the first member of the family to escape the curse. The three of them could be a family.

  Nathan had a beef with Danny Sullivan. It was his fault Mandy wasn’t at Nathan’s side right now.

  Mandy was his. No other man would touch her.

  “You’ve done well. She won’t say anything. Her brother is too precious to her.” Nathan always kept his affairs secret, a habit that had served him well over the years. The others had been married and just as determined to keep silent. Mandy had been harder to convince, but he was glad he had persevered. If people knew about their relationship, they might guess his plans. If anyone knew the extent of his love for Mandy, it would be all too obvious that he could never leave her. That couldn’t be.

  Plus, he had his assistant, but he might need another person in town to manipulate. He also couldn’t take the chance that the police would interrogate Mandy about him. He didn’t remember giving her too much real personal information, but he could have slipped in those more intimate moments. No question his memory was slipping.

  No one must know that he’d been intimate with Mandy, that he loved her beyond all else, save for his son. Too many variables would be unleashed with that knowledge, and Nathan’s plan didn’t allow for variables.

  Plus, he liked her knowing that he hadn’t forgotten about her. There’d been nights he’d hidden behind her house and watched her stare out her bedroom window. Could she feel the depth of his love from across the yard? Was she looking for him, waiting anxiously for his return? They’d ended things on a sour note, but surely there was love for him burrowed deep into her soul. He turned to his assistant. “Beltane arrives in four short days. There is still much to do.” It was almost a blessing that he rarely slept now. “I need some things.” Nathan pulled a list out of his pocket.

  “Where will I find
stuff like this?” His assistant’s brow knitted.

  “The address is on the back of the list.” The forest provided most of what Nathan needed. But since the police had confiscated all the treasures from his uncle’s collection of spiritual objects, a few specific items needed to be procured. Homage must be paid to the gods who would be asked to cure him and spare his son.

  “You want me to steal these things?”

  “Those things are sacred. They belonged to my ancestors. Think of it as reclamation,” Nathan said. “Besides, the power you wish to gain from the ritual comes with a price. No gain comes without sacrifice. It’s time you anted up.”

  “I’ve hidden you for months. Isn’t that enough?”

  Nathan dismissed his assistant. “It’s never enough.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Danny took the exit for Huntsville. On the country road that led into town, lunchtime traffic consisted of a tractor, three SUVs, and a few minivans. Irritation at Rossi churned in his gut. Chill. Begrudgingly, Danny admitted that the cop didn’t have many options. Budget dollars and manpower were limited. The state of Maine had tried damned hard to find Nathan.

  Maybe he really was dead. Maybe Danny was just paranoid. Maybe some hiker would come across Nathan’s decomposing body this spring.

  But something still felt wrong. The little antennae on the back of Danny’s neck had been attentive way before he’d gone to Iraq. Danny had always known when shit was about to hit, which was how he’d avoided juvie and jail for ten years of troublemaking. Except for that last time, when he had gone too far and gotten caught red-handed. That had been a game-changer. But then, everybody’s luck runs out eventually.

  Just outside town, Danny glanced at his phone. Snap. He had bars. Last night he’d written down the number for the local pizza joint in town. A large pie would take care of lunch and dinner. He ordered, then turned the stereo volume up. The first drum beats of “Paradise City” emanated from the speakers. Danny tapped his fingers on the wheel. Green grass and pretty girls sounded like heaven.