Cusp of night, p.18
Cusp of Night, page 18
“Graham?”
Jillian nodded. “I called 911.”
A sliver of breath eased through Maya’s teeth. “Thank you.”
“You don’t understand.” Jillian leaned closer. “Before the ambulance came, I kept telling Graham everything was going to be all right. That he was safe and help was on the way, but he was messed up. Really agitated.”
“What do you mean?”
“He said no one was safe as long as it was out there.”
Maya curled her fingers into her palms. “It?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but he said he was attacked by a horrible blue creature. He called it a monster. He said it almost killed him.”
Chapter 12
From the journal of Lucinda Glass
April 1900
The dawn of a new century has come and passed, and with the transition, my desire to continue this journal grows. Simon may not have loved me, but I am forever grateful he ensured I could read and write. What better way to set down my story than to commit the journey to this book? Especially now, when all has come to ruin.
Perhaps I should have listened to Emma in those waning days of the old century. She foresaw that moment when I set my feet on the path to doom. Despite her frostiness, I know she had my goodwill at heart. Frequently, she tried to convince me Henry would betray me as Simon had. I was foolish to disregard her warnings, but I was content in my role as mistress.
Blind to all that could go wrong, I never saw the darkness coming. I will bear some of the guilt for Charlotte, but refuse to carry the burden alone. Henry must stand his own blame, well aware his wife was my most ardent admirer.
Charlotte believed in my power. A willowy girl, pale like a bird, she was the ideal sitter, so simple in her trust. Till the end, she never suspected me or Henry of wrongdoing. The Fiend took her life unjustly. It is an abomination that kills without reason. The townspeople live in fear of its return, I more than most. I know the evil of which it is capable. Even now, I weep at the memory of Emma’s lifeless body in my arms.
Dear friend—you who were more mother to me than my own—you did not deserve your fate.
Maya closed the journal and folded the book to her chest. The pang in her heart speared deep. Lucinda was no longer merely a name from history and a face on a poster, but someone with emotion and feelings. It chilled Maya to think she held the most accurate account of the Fiend in her hands. If everything Imelda had told her was true, Lucinda would have died a few days after writing this passage, falling victim to the nightmarish creature who’d terrorized Hode’s Hill.
The thought of the Fiend made her recall Graham’s words to Jillian. The creature of legend was lithe rather than massive, but it couldn’t be coincidence a monster prowled the streets now as then.
Stretching in her chair, Maya switched on a lamp. Outside, the light had dimmed, trapped between the hazy gold of late day and the dusky slate of twilight. Rather than read downstairs, she’d gotten comfortable in the bedroom, settling in the chair by the fireplace. On any other Friday evening, she might have called Ivy to grab dinner or catch a movie. Instead, she’d heated soup for dinner and planned to pass the hours with Lucinda’s journal. After a few dozen pages devoted to the spiritualist’s early life and marriage, there was nothing for several years. As if Lucinda had lost the desire to write, only taking up the habit again after Emma’s death.
Maya’s gaze travelled to Lucinda’s rocker. She still hadn’t worked up the courage to sit in the chair but wouldn’t part with it. She was becoming too intimately acquainted with the medium. What were the odds the spiritualist had engaged in an affair with Henry Hode? As much as Maya’s life seemed destined to intersect with Lucinda’s, her friendship with Collin appeared equally orchestrated by fate.
Wandering downstairs, she made her way to the kitchen and brewed a cup of coffee. She considered checking in with Collin or Ivy, but didn’t feel close enough to contact Collin on the fly, and Ivy had texted shortly after noon to say she’d decided to spend the entire day with Graham’s family. Maya was glad her friend was there for support.
She’d caught Christy Catterman’s feature on the six o’clock news. The reporter had kicked off the leading story with an update on Graham, stating he’d spoken with police, but authorities remained sketchy on the details. According to Catterman, Tina Sanford’s family was also seeking answers but found themselves frustrated at every turn. Media hype included rumors of a monster, a creature with blue skin dubbed the new Fiend of Hode’s Hill.
After her discussion with Jillian Cley, Maya probably knew more about what happened the night Tina and Graham disappeared than the viewing public.
She carried her coffee back upstairs and resettled in her chair. Opening Lucinda’s journal, she picked up reading where she’d left off. The passage that followed had no date.
From the journal of Lucinda Glass
I often wonder how Simon would view the twists that have led me to this point. He has been gone for nearly two years, and still I measure the milestones of my life by him. I was content with Henry, dare I say happy, but some things are not to be.
I wonder if my feelings for Simon are similar to those he held for Josette, neither of us able to move forward, forever trapped in a past that constricts the heart with pain.
Henry never felt slighted. He enjoyed the prestige of a public marriage while dabbling in our illicit affair. We were cautious in our meetings, sometimes having only moments to fall into bed before he was forced to leave again. Emma, of course, was wise to our tryst, doing whatever was necessary to protect our secret. We no longer argued about Henry, but it was plain she detested our union.
For his part, Henry frequently declared his love for me even as he bemoaned his marriage. He described his efforts to conceive a child with Charlotte as more toil than pleasure. I felt badly for the girl, but not so badly as to give Henry his leave. He was my retaliation against Simon. If the man I had loved so passionately could blind his heart to me, surely I could do the same.
I recall last summer when Henry gifted me with a gorgeous emerald necklace. He took Charlotte on a holiday for their anniversary, but insisted his thoughts and heart would remain with me. He was always quite fluent with poetry and fancy words. Never so cultured as Simon, but there were moments when he came close. Pretty platitudes rolled easily from his tongue, but they always fell flat when I recalled the times Simon graced me with tender endearments. Oh, to hear my beloved’s voice, if only one final time.
Maya shifted, casting a glance at her watch. It was still early in the evening, but she felt as if she’d disappeared for decades. Lucinda’s words were so fluid, her voice so strong, it was as if Maya had been spirited to a past where Simon Glass loomed larger than life. Her heart ached to think he’d treated Lucinda so shabbily.
Needing a break, she stood and stretched. Curiosity prompted her to roam down the hall to Lucinda’s séance room. Diffused light angled through the windows, creating a washed-out glow that kept the heavier shadows at bay. The smoky flush suited her mood, no need to bother with a lamp. Collin had cleaned up the plaster from the wall-niche, but Lucinda’s poster remained tacked inside.
Maya met the pale eyes of the spiritualist. There had to be a connection between Lucinda and the blue-skinned monster who’d attacked Graham.
Maya nibbled her fingernail. “What aren’t you telling me? I feel like I’m missing something.”
A bell tinkled behind her.
Startled, she whirled around.
The instruments Collin found within the cubbyhole stood in the corner of the room. Lucinda’s spirit trumpet, chimes, and a small hand bell. Maya had read enough of the medium’s journal to know spiritualists used the devices to communicate with their sitters.
“Are you here?” The hair prickled on the back of her neck. Goose flesh crawled over her arms. Cautiously, she stepped closer. “Lucinda Glass, are you in this room?” Her voice slipped from her lips in a strained whisper.
The bell tinkled again.
Maya’s heart lurched to her throat. Blood pounded in her temples. It took everything she had not to bolt from the room. Cold sweat trickled down the back of her neck.
“Okay.” She said the word to calm herself, every muscle tensed in preparation of flight. “I think I understand what’s happening. You were with me in the Aether.” Her heartbeat kicked higher as she extended a hand to touch the bell.
It was a harmless looking thing, constructed of tarnished brass and a plain wooden handle. The thought of grasping it made her weak in the knees. At the last moment, she drew back. Savage and swift, cold spots bloomed around her. An icy chill swept up her spine.
Maya flinched. “I don’t know what you want.”
The bell rose a foot in the air, hovered a second, then dropped to the floor. Before Maya could draw a breath, the spirit trumpet soared over her head. It crashed into the wall with a deafening clang as if hurled in anger.
She yelped and darted for the door, half-expecting the barrier to swing shut at the last second and seal her in the room. Light from the hallway beckoned, familiar warmth that promised an escape from the supernatural. The Aether lay behind—a fringe of disturbing memories and fear. She paused on the threshold, one hand clutching the doorknob. Lucinda had not tried to imprison her as she’d done twice before.
Slowly, Maya turned.
The light in the room seemed dimmer, oyster-gray. Her gaze tracked from the trumpet where it lay on its side to the right of the windows. A woman stood wreathed in shadows, nearly a shadow herself. The black fall of her hair fused with the dusk of the room, the fabric of her old-fashioned gown, nearly translucent. Only her eyes stood out, near-white and pleading in a face the color of river water.
Her mouth moved, and although her voice was muddled by the veil of the Aether, Maya heard her words clearly.
Find him.
* * * *
Collin found his mother in the kitchen, making tea.
“How’s Dad?”
She spared a glance over her shoulder. “Improving.” Deftly, she swirled a spoonful of honey into a meringue-colored cup with gold trim. Collin seemed to remember the set coming from his grandmother or great-grandmother. It was surprising how little he knew about his family.
“Did he have dinner?”
She set the spoon aside. “I set it out for him. I think he ate.”
“Mom.” Irritation crept into his voice. This was the side of his parents he found hard to rectify. “Didn’t you check?”
Raising the tea to her lips, she braced a hip against the counter and turned to face him. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, tinted with amber and wheat, always immaculate. “Your father is a grown man, capable of taking care of himself.”
“He’s been sick.” Was this the same woman who’d staged a drama at the hospital?
“He hasn’t been sick. He was attacked.” No mincing words. Her voice was sharp, edged with glass.
Collin stared. He’d spent the day at his office, catching up on details he’d let slide while helping Maya. Afterward, he’d grabbed dinner with friends, then finished the night off with a whiskey sour at his favorite bar. Carole had shown up, clinging to the arm of her latest conquest as he was leaving. He’d tried to avoid her, but they’d exchanged a few awkward words, no longer friends, not quite battling exes.
He’d cranked the radio on the drive home, hoping to unwind with music, catching the latest on Graham Kingtson instead. The kid was awake and had told police he’d been attacked by a massive creature with blue skin. Not a human, but a monster. He hadn’t seen what had happened to Tina but believed the thing, whatever it was, attacked her too. Collin had been ready to debunk the story until he heard the reference to blue.
The report had gone further, tapping into speculation from the street which went both ways.
Some were certain Graham was crazy, others that he wanted to deflect suspicion. Still others believed Hode’s Hill had become the hunting ground of a new Fiend. Someone even remembered the Blue Lady. There were plenty who recalled the attacks on Leland and Dan Britton. Britton, assaulted the same night as Collin’s father, had described his assailant as being giant-sized and having “freaky blue skin.”
Maya’s account of Leland’s attacker was a match for size. Collin had wanted to text her but decided to put it off until he got home. Once there, he’d headed to the kitchen where he crossed paths with his mother. Lately, she’d become as remote as his father. The aloofness between them could only mean one thing.
“Mom, are you and Dad having problems?” He rooted inside the refrigerator for a bottle of spring water. If his parents were on the outs, he needed to man up and face the situation, even if the thought left him sick in the gut.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Collin shut the door. “You stay in your room, especially in the evenings. Dad spends his time in front of the TV or in his den.”
Her spine stiffened. “We each have our lives.” She put the honey away, consigning it to a cabinet above her head.
“I remember when you used to have a life together.”
“That was a long time ago.” Unspoken words hung between them: Before Ford.
“Do you at least know where he is?”
“Where else? In his den.” She retrieved her purse from the counter, a fashionable lavender clutch to match her blouse. “I’m going to my room to read. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Frowning, Collin watched her leave. He set the water aside and withdrew his phone. A few taps of his thumbs sent a quick text to Maya.
Have you seen the latest on Graham? Large blue creature.
He unscrewed the cap on the water and took a long pull. Almost a minute passed before his screen lit up with a reply.
Saw it. Found more references in L’s journal. Something happened here tonight.
Apprehension made him clench his jaw. He should have checked with her earlier.
What happened?
I saw her. Lady Glass.
Her ghost? He started to pace, typing as he walked. Are you okay? Should I come over?
I’m fine, and no, all is good. But we should connect tomorrow. She wants me to find someone.
His brows drew together. Who?
I don’t know yet. Call me in the morning?
He exhaled, signing off with an emoji okay. A few days ago, he would have considered the idea of a ghost ludicrous, but that was before experiencing Lucinda’s reach firsthand. Maya hadn’t seemed rattled, so she must have adjusted to being alone. Possibly, she’d even gotten used to the idea of living in a haunted house. If the ghost was appearing outside of her normal hour of haunting, maybe he’d camp out tomorrow. Assuming Maya didn’t mind. Between the two of them, they might be able to decipher what Lucinda wanted.
Collin grabbed his water from the counter, then headed down the rear hall toward his father’s den. A lamp burned in the Great Room, the television flickering through commercials as if his dad had only just wandered off. He found the door to the den sealed tight. When a knock brought no answer, he stepped inside.
His father sat behind his desk, staring vacantly into space.
“Dad?”
Leland roused with a jerk. “Collin.” He blinked rapidly as if caught off guard by the realization he was no longer alone. “I didn’t hear you enter.” The same folder Collin had glimpsed before lay open on his desk. This time, he made no effort to conceal the contents.
“I knocked first.” Collin hooked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the door.
“It doesn’t matter.” His father waved the gesture aside. “I’ve been sitting here trying to work up the nerve to talk to you. Circumstance is spiraling out of my control.”
“What does that mean?” Collin was fairly certain one of his parents was having an affair, but his father’s statement sounded more ominous than confessional. “If this is about the alley…another woman…” His father had been attacked by a jealous husband. It was the only thing that made sense.
His dad swiveled in the chair. “Sit down, Collin.” Retrieving several papers from the desk, he shuffled them into a neat stack. “It’s time to dispense with lies. I only hope you’ll listen with an open mind.”
Alarm bells clanged in Collin’s head. He was edgy, too wired to sit, but he eased onto a chair facing his father. The size of the room dwarfed Leland—towering shelves with books stamped in gold leaf, windows shuttered against the darkness, stodgy prints of foggy city streets and snow-covered hillsides arranged on the walls.
“What is it you’re trying to say?” Collin rolled the water bottle between his hands.
His father huffed out a breath. “I’m not sure where to start.” He dragged a hand through his hair, nervous energy rolling off him in waves. “I need your help to find someone.”
That wasn’t so bad. “Who?”
“Your brother.”
Collin recoiled, certain he’d heard wrong. “Who did you say?”
“Your brother.” Leland fiddled with a pen before meeting his eyes. “Ford.”
“Is this some kind of game?” Slamming the bottle onto the desk, Collin shot to his feet. “I finally think you’re going to be upfront with me, and you pull this shit. I’m out of here.” He whirled to leave.
“Collin, wait.”
Something in his father’s voice—desperation? fear?—made him pause. He glanced over his shoulder. His dad had risen to his feet, misery contorting his face.
“I don’t blame you for being angry.” His father scrubbed a hand over his mouth. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. “I’ve lied to you for years. Your mother and I both.”
“What are you talking about?” Belligerence sharpened Collin’s voice.
His father blanched, his skin turning the dingy gray of ash. “You were right about the alley. The person who attacked me wasn’t anything like I described. I wanted to throw Gregg off…get him looking for someone else.”
