Forests of the Heart (16 page)

Leaning against the wall by the front door of the community center, he found himself thinking about all of that now. Maybe everything hadn’t ended when Ria walked out the door. He just had to put some meaning back into his life, some import that didn’t depend on anyone else for its worth. Easier said than done, he knew, but at least it was something to shoot for. And it sure beat the idea of wallowing in self-pity as he’d been doing for the past few weeks.

Donal and Ellie and a few of the others were going out to a coffee shop, now that the cleanup was done. When Miki asked if he was coming, he decided he might as well tag along. Not because Miki was going, because something might work out between them. And not even because of Ellie, who was gorgeous and smart and seemed to like him; he’d been in her company for most of the evening now and found that he’d quite enjoyed being there. He was going along with them for himself.

So he was waiting for the last of the musicians’ gear to be packed away, errant scarves and jackets, parkas and snow boots to be tracked down, final swallows of beer to be finished before the cans went into the recycling bins in the kitchen.

Dancing tonight, he’d used more muscles than he remembered having. It had been a long time since he’d let himself relax enough to become one of what Jilly called the “mad, ballyhooing bohos” that she claimed the band needed to carry the music up to new heights. Polkas were obviously the general favorites—not the German beer garden variety, but the Irish ones that seemed to require twice the energy and steps of a reel. Or at least they did with this crew.

Tomorrow he’d definitely be feeling each and every one of those unused muscles. He knew, because he could already feel them aching. He appreciated this moment to catch his breath, to be alone for a few moments before he was plunged back into the pleasant maelstrom of their infectious camaraderie. When the door opened beside him, he barely registered the man who stepped through until he stood directly in front of him.

It was one of Donal’s hard men.

Up close like this, Hunter decided the appellation was a good one. The man had intense eyes, cold and dark, and a slit of a mouth that one could easily imagine had never attempted a smile. His suit smelled of old cigarette smoke and something else Hunter couldn’t quite identify. It wasn’t until much later that he remembered the last time he’d experienced that odor. It had been at the zoo. A musky, wild dog scent that had hung around the wolves’ enclosure.

“An dealbhóir,”
the man said. His voice was thickly accented. “The sculptor.”

The only sculptor here was Ellie, Hunter thought.

“What about her?” he asked.

“She’s not for you,” the man said, his dark gaze boring into Hunter. “Do you understand?”

Hunter shook his head. He was feeling somewhat nervous now, not to mention slightly tipsy and definitely out of his league.

“She has other work to do,” the man told him.

Hunter swallowed thickly, cleared his throat. “And this is somehow your business—?”

The man gave him a quick, sucker punch to the kidneys. It happened so fast, Hunter never saw the blow. He gasped at the sudden pain and had to lean against the wall to stop from keeling right over. Hand on his side, he stared incredulously at his attacker.

“What—?”

“Careful now,” the hard man said. “You don’t want to fuck with us, you little shite.” He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled Hunter’s head up, bent his own dark face close. “Keep sniffing around her, and I’ll have to have another little chat with you and it’s my thought you’ll be enjoying it even less than the one we’ve had tonight.”

“But—”

The man jerked Hunter’s hair. “Might we have an understanding now, do you think?”

“Hey!”

Hunter recognized Donal’s voice, but it seemed to come from far away. Beside him, the hard man glanced over, then gripped Hunter by the shoulders and held him upright.

“Your man here seems to be feeling ill,” the hard man told Donal. “Can’t hold the drink.”

He gave Hunter a little push in Donal’s direction. While Donal was busy trying to keep Hunter from falling, the hard man did a quick fade out the door and was gone.

“Are you all right?” Donal asked.

Hunter nodded, feeling anything but. He straightened up, taking his weight from Donal’s support, and backed up until he could lean against the table that stood by the door. Earlier, a couple of members of the Newford Traditional Music Society had been sitting behind it, collecting money and stamping the backs of people’s hands once they’d paid. Now, in place of the cashbox and flyers describing the society’s upcoming concerts, there were only a few jackets piled on the table, along with somebody’s knapsack. Without the table to help hold up his weight, Hunter was sure he’d have fallen down.

Donal’s gaze went to the door where the hard man had made his quick
exit,
then returned to Hunter.

“What happened?” he asked. “Are you really feeling sick?”

It was odd, Hunter found himself thinking. One could see far worse fights on a TV show or in a movie. But where in those choreographed brawls the participants were back on their feet in moments, all he felt like doing was curling up on the floor. He wasn’t sure which was worse: the adrenaline crash, now that the moment of danger was past, or the sharp pain in his side.

“Was your man there giving you some trouble?” Donal said.

“He was … warning me away,” Hunter finally managed. “From Ellie.”

“From Ellie?”

Hunter nodded. “And then he … hit me.”

Donal’s gaze dropped to where Hunter was holding his side. He gave Hunter a sympathetic look.

“Jaysus and Mary,” he said. “You’re going to be pissing blood for a few days.”

“Lovely.”

“It could’ve been worse. The lot of them could have waited and jumped you outside.”

Hunter nodded. Donal was right, though it didn’t make him feel all that much better.

“What do you suppose he wanted with Ellie?” Donal asked.

“I have no idea.” Hunter thought for a moment, playing the conversation back in his head. “He didn’t exactly mention her by name—he just said ‘the sculptor’—but I knew who he meant.”

“There’s a half-dozen sculptors here tonight,” Donal told him.

“Maybe. Only I wasn’t talking to any of them except for her.”

Donal nodded, a frown furrowing his brow.

“Look,” he said. “Do us a favor and don’t mention this to Ellie, would you? There’s no point in upsetting her until we know more.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something.” Donal gave him a critical once-over. “You still up for the cafe?”

Hunter shook his head.

“I didn’t think so,” Donal said. “I’ll make some excuses for you—might as well use the hard man’s line and tell them you’ve come down with a lager flu.”

“Whatever.”

“And then I’ll help you get home.”

“I think I can manage to walk on my own.”

Donal shook his head. “I wasn’t planning on carrying you home, boyo. But I was thinking, maybe it’d be good for you to have some company, just in case somebody happened to be waiting for you to leave on your own “ Shit. Hunter hadn’t even thought of that. “Thanks,” he said.

He stayed where he was, resting his weight on the table, while Donal went off to tell the others. Miki and Ellie returned with Donal, obviously worried, but Hunter managed to convince them that all he needed was a good night’s sleep.

“Call me sometime,” Ellie said. “When you’re feeling better.”

“I will.”

“Do you want me to open up tomorrow?” Miki asked.

“No, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Look, I’m sorry about all of this. I feel like an idiot.”

“Oh, we’ve all partaken too much of the brew now and again,” Miki said, giving her brother a mock-stern look.

Ellie nodded. “And dancing just makes it goes to your head all that much quicker.”

Donal took Hunter’s arm. “Right. Well, we’re off. If I don’t catch up with you at the cafe,” he added to Miki, “I’ll see you at home.”

“I’ll be waiting, breathless with anticipation.”

Donal smiled. “You did good tonight,” he told her. “Real magic.”

He eased Hunter out the door, but not before Hunter caught the surprised look on Miki’s face.

It was funny, Hunter thought, as they made their way down the street. Tonight was the first time he’d felt normal since Ria had left him. Or at least he had been feeling normal until the confrontation with the hard man. And then he remembered what Ellie had said, just before he’d left.

Call me some time.

Not the hard man’s warning, nor the pain in his side, could stop him from smiling.

S
UNDAY MORNING
, J
ANUARY
18

Bettina had come outside to check the birdfeeders when the green Volkswagen minibus turned off Handfast Road into Kellygnow’s driveway. She heard the
chug-chug
of its motor first, followed by the spin of the bus’s wheels on the packed snow and ice that covered the asphalt. Hands in the pockets of her wool coat, she watched the odd little vehicle make it up the last of the slope and complete its approach to where she was standing, its apple-green panels standing out sharply against the snow-covered lawns on either side.

You didn’t see many of those old minibuses in Newford, she thought as it coughed to a halt. Or even the old VW bugs. Not like at home. The bodies rusted out too quickly from all the salt they put on the roads up here.

She didn’t recognize either the driver or his passenger, but that wasn’t unusual. There were always new faces arriving at Kellygnow. The driver was a short Anglo—at least she assumed he was short since all that showed of him above the dashboard were a pair of dark eyes surrounded by a full beard and a mane of thick hair. There was something about him, a shadow clinging to him that told her he had either experienced great sorrows, or would cause them. Perhaps both would hold true. Bettina had already met too many people like him since she’d moved to this city.

His companion was much more interesting: an attractive woman about Bettina’s age. She sat taller than the driver, her long dark hair spilling over the collar of her parka, her eyes bright with interest in her surroundings. In her, Bettina could sense
la brujería
flowing strong and pure. It came up out of her in a torrent, flooding her immediate surroundings.

Y bien,
she thought. Wouldn’t Lisette have a time painting
that
aura. One would have to be blind not to see it, to feel its pulse in the air, though curiously, the driver appeared oblivious. Perhaps he was merely used to it.

Bettina walked toward them when they disembarked.

“Hello,” she said. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, I love your accent,” the woman told her. “Is it Spanish?”

Bettina smiled. “Close enough. My name’s Bettina,” she added, holding out her hand.

“I’m Ellie Jones,” the woman said.

Her handshake was firm,
la brujería
rising up from her fingers like a static charge, and yet, Bettina realized, the woman was as unaware of what she carried as her companion appeared to be.
Qué extraño.

“And this is my friend Donal Greer.”

Bettina dutifully shook hands with the driver. He smiled at her as though they were sharing a private joke, but the humor never reached his eyes. Bettina didn’t get the joke, and wasn’t particularly interested in pursuing what he meant by it, so she returned her attention to his companion.

“Can I help you find someone?” she asked.

Ellie hesitated, suddenly shy.

“Ah, go on,” her companion said.

“It’s just…” Ellie paused to clear her throat. “Is there someone named Musgrave Wood staying here at the moment?”

“The name is unfamiliar “

“Tall,” Ellie went on. “Sixtyish and very striking—distinguished even. The last time I saw, um … him, he was wearing a dark, somewhat threadbare overcoat and a hunter’s cap.”

Bettina noted the hesitation before Ellie referred to a gender. There was only one person she could think who fit both that ambiguity and description.

“Perhaps you mean the Recluse,” she said, regretting the words as soon as they were out. If this couple were friends of the odd woman staying in Hanson’s old cottage, they might not take kindly to having her referred to in such a fashion.

Ellie and her companion exchanged glances.

“The … recluse?” Ellie repeated.

“I’m sorry,” Bettina told her. “I didn’t mean to be rude. Just because sometimes people keep to themselves, it doesn’t mean … well, anything,
¿de acuerdo?”

But Ellie didn’t appear to be at all upset by Bettina’s slip of the tongue.

“The person we’re looking for,” she said, “could easily fit that sort of description.”

“Y bien,”
Bettina said. “Let me take you around back to the cottage where your friend is staying.”

She led the way along the side of the house to the rear, their footsteps crunching in the snow as they crossed the lawn. The sun was bright on the snow, awaking a pattern of blinding highlights on the open ground while deepening the subsequent shadows under the trees where the old Hanson cottage stood. As they neared the cottage, a pair of crows rose from the woods behind it, leaving in their wake an image of black wings touched with iridescent blue and the dwindling sound of their cawing.

“I’ve never been up here before,” Ellie said. “It’s so beautiful.”

Bettina nodded. She liked this woman who spoke what came to mind and carried her own
brujería
sun inside her.

“I know,” she said. “I feel so blessed to live here.”

“Ah, yes,” Donal said, tramping along at her side. His breath was forming frost in his beard. “What could be better than living the life of the rich and famous?”

“I’m neither rich nor famous,” Bettina told him.

“No, but your benefactor is, or this place wouldn’t exist, would it?”

“I suppose….”

“Don’t mind him,” Ellie said. “He thinks being grumpy is charming and there’s no point in trying to convince him otherwise, though Lord knows I’ve tried.”