Curse of the Nandi (Society for Paranormals Book 5) (28 page)
We didn’t traverse far before the storm arrived with a vengeance. It was as if the water we’d lacked for several months had been stored away and was now being dumped all at once.
The ferocity of the rains neatly matched the turbulence of my heart, and both raged on, one within me and one all around our little wagon and the ox’s valiant efforts to maintain traction in the churned-up mud. The wind bent trees to and fro as if the towering plants were little more than tender twigs. Branches snapped, leaves spun through the air, and the tall Savannah grass whipped about in a frenzy. Thunder rumbled overhead, drawing to mind Kam’s voice, as if he were reaching out to me with promises and threats.
My sunhat did nothing to protect me, and I cared little for it, so I pushed it off my head. The weather suited my mood, and I lifted my face so that large raindrops could hammer against my cold skin. I could barely breathe through the onslaught, yet reveled in the violence of it all.
The path, once cluttered with animal droppings, bleached bones and bits of branches, was swept clean from the sheer force of the combined strength of millions of wind-driven drops. Likewise, my heavy heart rejoiced in the display of nature’s passions, and I allowed my own to vent through tears that were instantly diluted and absorbed by the water rushing over my face, down my shoulders, through my clothes and off the wagon where they joined the rushing rivulets that transformed the parched earth into a swamp.
The ground around the cottage seemed more a marsh than a garden. While Jonas led the ox to the barn, Mr. Timmons and I marched through ankle-deep, muddied water that was littered with bits of broken vegetation. By the time we reached the covered veranda, the hem of my skirt was dirty beyond redemption.
I paused under the awning and turned to face a waterlogged world. As if eager to take advantage of the rain, drought-wilted plants were already beginning to straighten up, tinges of green touching their limbs.
“We should go inside,” Mr. Timmons suggested, a hand brushing down my back.
I could barely feel his fingers through the sopping material of my shirt. A perverse part of me wanted to remain outside in the dark cold. Cilla was at this moment on a train all by herself, hurtling through the storm toward a loveless future. And Drew… Where would he sleep tonight in this landscape so utterly transformed that it was unrecognizable to the wilted, dusty one of yesterday? How could I allow myself comfort when two people whom I loved so dearly were out there, each embarking on a lonely journey for the benefit of others? And had I ever adequately communicated my tender feelings to them?
Sensing the darkness of my mood, Mr. Timmons gathered me into an embrace and kissed my forehead, his lips warm. “We’re going to be fine,” Mr. Timmons whispered as he clutched my shivering, sodden form to his own. “We’re all going to be just fine.”
Perhaps I was experiencing sentimentality, or maybe I needed an optimistic vision in which to believe. More likely, I was suffering from mild hypothermia and shock at the loss of both my brother and my friend. But for a few moments, for a few hours, maybe even for a few days, I allowed myself to believe him. The fate of the Nandi, the impending meeting with a giant spider, the shadow of a battle as-yet vague and ill-described: all these and more would eventually happen, but not that night.
“I suppose we will, for a while,” I mused. “And if nothing else, at least we won’t have to contend with any zombies.”
“There’s that,” Mr. Timmons said with a snort as he rubbed my back, only succeeding in causing more rivulets to trickle down my skin. “What about the bloodsucking fireflies?”
An image of Yao in his manly form came to mind, and I suppressed a smile with a pursing of my lips. “Oh, they’re tolerable enough.”
After a moment of standing on the drafty veranda, Mr. Timmons asked, “Shall we go inside now?”
“Well, only if you insist,” I said with a smile, more than willing to do so. “You’re no fun though.”
He gripped me closer, and this time I noticed his heat through the drenched clothes. “No fun?” he whispered by my ear. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”
Despite the miserable weather, I couldn’t suppress a grin as I allowed myself to be led into the warmth of our home.
Chapter of Stuff
- The short story,
The House of Stone
, is right after this, so keep reading! - After the short story, read on to find out what was fact and what was fiction. It’s a lot of fun!
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A Spider Comes Calling
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The House of Stone
“If the ropes snap and I die, I shall not be impressed,” I informed my demonic guide.
Koki turned to me, her full, purple lips lifting in the slightest of smiles. Tall and beautiful, her abundantly exposed skin could best be described as blue-black. Her shortly cropped hair accentuated her strong cheekbones while nothing could detract from the bright cold in her eyes. I dared not inhale deeply, yet still her peculiar scent lingered in my nose, a disturbing blend of slightly rancid meat, freshly cut grass and a rich, flowery perfume.
“Why so sad, little girl?” she asked in a voice that could easily seduce the unwary, despite its mocking tone.
I had the distinct impression that the African she-demon would rather enjoy the snapping of ropes, if it meant I perished painfully in the process. While I had no specific issue against death — the truth being that death is the ultimate destination for everyone — I was less than enamored with the thought that I’d be a horrendously messy corpse. And what would Mr. Timmons say to that?
Then again, why would Koki care if the gondola plummeted into the shallow ocean and smashed upon the rocks glittering just beneath the smooth surface? She would merely transform into her giant Praying Mantis form and crawl away after decapitating whatever remained of me.
After all, that was her dearest aspiration: to exact her revenge on me for cutting off one of her six legs. She was such a vindictive creature, and thoroughly unjustified really. The beast had five more legs, in perfectly good working order. And in her human form, you couldn’t discern any alteration in the number of limbs.
“Why are we here?” Gideon whispered to me as he floated through the gondola’s front window. “There’s nothing on the other side but stones and skeletons.”
“Gideon, how many times must I tell you not to float through walls,” I lectured automatically, my frown deepening. “Being dead is no excuse for bad manners.”
My deceased but not departed husband chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. He certainly wouldn’t have to worry if the ropes broke. I chose to overlook his bad ghostly habits, but discounting his question proved more of a challenge. To distract my restless thoughts, I fixed my gaze upon our destination, which was a ginormous, castle-sized boulder jutting out of the ocean ahead of us.
I determinedly ignored the swaying of the gondola, the delicate nature of the ropes that held us suspended between sky and sea, and the likelihood that I wouldn’t survive the day. If the ropes didn’t give way under the strain of our weight, then surely the two small columns of rock holding up the giant boulder would collapse. How was it even possible for the mansion on top to still be standing on such a precarious pedestal?
As the gondola squeaked along the ropes, I studied the mansion. Built by a prince for one of the numerous women in his life, it was hewn from the same material as the boulder of which it was seemingly an extension. Its roofs curved in a pointy, oriental style. There were a few trees gripping the sheer sides, but they were the only signs of life, apart from the shrieking of a pair of seagulls, the hissing wind and the splash of waves underneath us.
I wondered what the chances were of being offered a pot of tea upon arrival and decided that they were very slim. There was a greater likelihood of being offered dismemberment or torture. I had to admit if only to myself: Gideon had a valid objection to this mission. And I quivered when imagining what Mr. Timmons would have to say on the subject should he ever learn of my latest adventure.
Despite these attempts at distraction, I was all too acutely aware of the emptiness of space beneath me. I won’t deny my relief when the gondola swung into an opening in the rock, its swaying motion halted by a wooden platform against which it scraped. I did manage to restrain the urge to leap out of the little death trap, but Koki saw through my attempt at bravado and snickered.
If I ever have the opportunity
, I vowed for the umpteenth time,
I shall cut off all her remaining legs, whatever her form may be
.
“Welcome to the House of Stone, Miss Knight,” Koki said with a grand gesture of her hand, a mocking bow and anything but a welcoming glitter in her dark eyes.
“I can’t imagine why it’s called that,” Gideon said to me in his whispery voice, grinning at his own cleverness.
“Indeed,” I muttered, in no mood for frivolity and unimpressed by his wit.
I tapped my fully loaded walking stick against the rock floor. I was neither old nor infirm, but this was a particularly useful stick for someone in my line of work as a paranormal investigator, and included all that Victorian science could devise. One of its unique features included a saber that could pop out of the end.
Koki eyed the device with a good deal of hostility, and well she should, for she’d had a previous encounter with the hidden blade. With a grim smile, I tapped the stick against the ground again, to remind her in case she had any fleeting idea of transforming into a giant insect and decapitating me.
I had no intention of dying quite so easily, and certainly not so untidily. The reality is that I abhor a scruffy corpse; it makes for a nasty funeral experience. If you’re going to die, at least have the decency to dress appropriately and don’t make a mess of yourself. After all, that’s the last thing you’ll ever wear, and what would the funeral attendees think?
Not one renowned for patience, Koki cleared her throat and twitched an eyebrow. Her dark, lithe limbs flexed in anticipation. “Come along, Miss Knight, I have other places to be, where the people are still alive and the sport is fresh.”
She waved toward a couple of skeletons seated against the wall, and strode into a damp, narrow tunnel lit with torches that sputtered in the whistling, salty breeze.
“What a delightful home she has acquired,” Gideon murmured to me.
“This isn’t hers,” I replied, keeping a bit of distance from the demon in case she decided to turn on me. While her spider husband had prohibited her from killing me, he hadn’t prevented her from inflicting pain. My missing left hand attested to that fact. Then again, I mused, perhaps I’d prefer if she did act against me. I would then be free to respond in kind and with the legitimate excuse of self-defense.
The tunnel widened into a corridor lined with more skeletons dressed in scraps of leather and metal armor. I wondered what had become of them. More pressingly, I wondered what would become of me. If I managed to survive the day, I vowed to have a few words with Kam. He’d pressed me to attend this reunion with little explanation.
I should’ve known this would mean trouble
, I reflected. Then again, given the possibilities that could result from today, how could I have said no? I snorted, almost hearing Mr. Timmons’ disapproving response.