The Witch of Stonecliff (22 page)

“Is that what this thing is, then? A demon?” Kyle asked. Did he believe any of this? Did they? Carly and Reece looked like rational people—for the most part.

“That’s
one
possible theory. Interstellar travel is another, while others believe shadow people are a manifestation of evil, which—” Carly turned to Reece “—is the theory you liked best.”

“It fits with the property’s history,” Reece said. “Currently, there’s evidence of two separate killers murdering people on the estate. What are the odds?”

“I considered the same thing,” Carly said, excitedly, and started flipping the pages in the file. “You’ve heard of ley lines?”

Reece rolled his eyes, but Kyle stepped closer. He had heard of them, but only vaguely. “It’s pseudoscience.”

“They didn’t start out that way. Initially, they were just believed to connect ancient sites, possibly even trade routes. In the late 1960s, early 70s, there were claims the lines had mystical qualities, giving off energy possibly from magnetic fields. None of this has been verified. However, these straight lines do connect ancient sites, standing stones, megaliths that sort of thing, and natural sites—groves, streams,
bogs
.”

Reece stood with a muttered curse, raked his hand through his hair and started to pace. “I know where you’re going with this.”

“And you don’t believe me?” Her eyes widened. “Think about what you’ve already told me. The Devil’s Eye gives off an energy so strong you can barely go near it without your head exploding.”

“But I did. I got past the gate and even into the bog itself.” Despite the conviction in his words, Reece’s expression was far less certain.

“I don’t understand,” Kyle broke in. “Why would Reece have any reaction to The Devil’s Eye at all?”

Kyle had been there twice, and aside from nearly dying the first time, he hadn’t experience anything unusual.

Carly snorted and tilted her head to one side, grinning wide at Reece. “You didn’t tell him?”

Reece stared.

“What about what’s her name? Brenda? Did you tell her?”

“Brynn.” Impatience edged his voice. “Of course I have.”

“What hasn’t he told me?” Kyle’s gaze bounced between Reece’s scowl and Carly’s bemused smirk.

“Reece is sensitive. A natural medium,” Carly explained. When Kyle stared blankly, she lowered her voice to a theatrical whisper. “He sees dead people.”

“I hate that fucking movie,” Reece muttered. “Can we please get back to the point?”

“Fine,” Carly said, serious once more. “What was past the gate?”

“Voices.” Reece’s own voice turned soft, thoughtful, then he shrugged and said more forcefully, “I don’t remember, really. I’d been too focused on getting to Brynn.”

Carly nodded and jotted something else into the file.

“So these shadow people are manifestations created by the energy given off at The Devil’s Eye?” Kyle asked.

He thought back to his time at the magazine. If someone had come to him with a story like this, he’d have squeezed it for all it was worth—the more over the top the better—all the while laughing out the side of his mouth. Now he was smack-dab in the middle with no rational explanation to offer.

“Not entirely. It’s the evil acts committed at The Devil’s Eye that have manifested shadow people. Now, one could argue evil acts are committed everywhere and they don’t attract unexplained shadows. So perhaps it’s the combination of a high level of mystical energy mixed with whatever has been happening at that bog.”

Reece nodded slowly. “Could that energy turn people evil?”

Carly shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that. The energy is neutral, or at least it starts that way. It’s like this pen. I can use it to make notes, or I could stab you in the eye.”

Reece cocked a brow. “Pretty violent, Carly.”

She grinned.

“But the pen is your tool,” Kyle said, brows pulling together in a frown. “Energy is energy. Whoever’s committing these
evil acts
isn’t using the energy?”

Carly tilted her head to one side, eyebrows lifting. “Aren’t they? There’s a reason ancient civilization chose those sites for their rituals.” She turned her attention to Reece. “Your girlfriend told you the throat had been cut on the body she found in the bog, right?”

Reece nodded.

“Combined with the location’s history, it could be ritualistic. Have any details about the other bodies been released?”

Reece glanced at Kyle and shook his head. Warmth tingled along Kyle’s neck.

“Harding’s holding the press at bay, claiming authorities are trying to contact the murdered men’s families.”

Kyle knew what Reece was thinking. He cleared his tight throat. “I don’t understand how the location has anything to with how the men were killed.”

A perplexed frown pulled at her features. “The Isle of Anglesey belonged to the druids—it’s where they trained and learned until the Romans burned them out. There are neo-druid groups active today—none practicing ritualistic sacrifice, mind you—especially on Anglesey.”

“Do you believe modern day druids are murdering people at The Devil’s Eye and that’s what’s brought on these shadow people?”

Flashes of dark robes played across his mind’s eye. Cold sweat sprang to his skin.

Carly shrugged. “I can’t say for certain. Ancient druid teachings were primarily oral, and none are believed to have survived in their original form. It’s a common belief that modern druids have no direct link to their ancient brethren. And I can’t even be sure there are any signs of ritualistic killing without confirming that the other men died the same way. “

Kyle could feel Reece’s gaze boring into him. “What if I could confirm at least one other person suffered a similar injury?”

Her brows rose. “Can you?”

“Someone tried to murder Peirs at The Devil’s Eye two years ago,” Reece said.

Carly’s eyes widened and she leaned closer as she looked at him.

“Is that what happened there?” She wiggled a finger at his throat.

He nodded and swallowed hard. Cold crept inside him like ice forming at the edge of standing water, but he managed to stammer through relaying the experience to Carly.

When he finished, any trace of humor had vanished from Carly’s face. “They tried to strangle you first?”

“Is that significant?”

“One of the most famous finds related to the druids and human sacrifice is Lindow Man. His mummified remains were found in a bog about thirty years ago. There was evidence that he suffered trauma to the head, he’d been strangled and his throat cut. Physical characteristics indicated the man was in his twenties and of the upper class , possibly a druid himself.”

Kyle’s stomach churned. “No one hit me in the head.”

“A hit to the head might have been to incapacitate the sacrifice. Whatever drug you’d been given would have had the same effect. The thing is,” Carly said thoughtfully, “if this is a neo-druid sect, they’re not terribly well versed. Druids used other methods of sacrifice—fire, drowning, hanging—all dependent on the god they were sacrificing to. I find it telling that they’re emulating Lindow Man, who received such notoriety. Provided these murders are ritualistic at all, of course.”

“There’s a pattern to the dates the men disappeared,” Kyle told her. “Always the same four months. January, April, July and October.”

“Seasonal.” She nodded slowly. “Could you send me the exact dates?”

“Sure. Are they significant?”

“They could be.” Carly wrote out her email on a Post-it note and handed it to Kyle. “The four main Gaelic holidays revolved around the changing season. I’ll see what I can dig up.”

“Have you ever heard of anyone sacrificing their own child?” Reece asked.

Kyle jerked his attention to the other man and frowned.

Carly shook her head. “Not in druid or Celtic practices. I’ll check in to that, too.”

Reece nodded. “I’d appreciate it.”

Carly stood and handed him her file, flashing a brilliant smile. “Sure you won’t come this weekend?”

Reece smirked and shook his head. “Have to pass.”

“You know, I could come out, see what you’re dealing with for myself. Might be more help that way.”

Despite implying that her interest in visiting Stonecliff was for their benefit, the gleam in her gray eyes said otherwise.

Reece snorted. “I’ll get back to you.”

* * *

“What’s happening at Stonecliff had better never appear in print.”

Kyle stiffened and turned away from the dull gray skies outside the passenger window, holding tight to his growing irritation. Reece stared ahead through the windscreen, one hand lightly gripping the steering wheel, the other resting on the shift. The man had barely uttered more than a grunt since they’d gotten into the car and Kyle was quickly losing patience.

“I haven’t written anything in two years. I’m not about to start with the possibility I might have been used as a human sacrifice.”

“Are you sleeping with her?”

By
her
Kyle assumed Reece meant Eleri. “Is that any of your business?”

“No, but if you are, and you’re using her for a story, it’s a shitty thing to do.”

Maybe Eleri was wrong about her sister’s boyfriend. Maybe he was as determined to help her as Brynn was. Despite the other man’s hostility, the possibility pleased Kyle. If something happened to him, at least Eleri wouldn’t be on her own.

“There’s no story.”

“Good.”

Silence filled the car once more until Reece asked, “Did anything Carly say hit home for you?”

Too many things. “Her theories make as much sense as anything else. Doesn’t bring us any closer to figuring who, though.”

He felt like there was a piece he was missing. If he found it, everything else would make sense. He needed the dead hours between stumbling out of the pub and waking next to The Devil’s Eye filled in.

“Drop me at The Iron Kettle.”

Reece scowled at him before returning his attention to the road. “Have a drink on your own time. I don’t want to leave Brynn alone longer than I have to.”

“I want to see Paskin.” Though, after his last run in with the man, he wasn’t certain Paskin would talk to him at all. “He was the last person to see me before I wound up at The Devil’s Eye, and he lied to police.”

Reece muttered a curse. “Fine. We’ll speak to Paskin.”

“Just drop me. He’ll be more likely to talk if I go alone.”

“There’s no bloody way I’m going to leave you there. Eleri will have my ass if I go back without you.”

Reece pulled into the car park and cut the engine. “Don’t be long.”

Kyle started for the door beneath the swaying sign creaking in the wind, but stopped before he reached it. He spotted Stephen Paskin at the side of the building locking up cellar doors where he took his deliveries.

“Mr. Paskin,” he called out.

The bigger man faced him and scowled. “What do you want?”

“A moment of your time.”

Paskin snorted. “You didn’t have time for me when you were protecting that little bitch.”

Kyle’s jaw tightened. The memory of the man grabbing for Eleri heated his blood all over again. He swallowed and cocked his head to one side. “You believe she murdered your son. I’d like to hear your side of the story.”

He didn’t give a shit what Stephen Paskin’s version of events was, but he wanted the man to believe he was on his side—or at least neutral—even if pretending churned his stomach.

“I remember you,” Paskin said, grin widening. “From when you were here before asking all those questions
.
Heard you were writing a book. Is that why you’re so chummy with her?”

“She’ll tell me more if she trusts me.”

Paskin chuckled and nodded to his flat around the rear of the building. “Better come in, then.”

* * *

Reece tapped his thumb against the steering wheel and watched Kyle disappear down the side of the large Tudor building. He felt a nervous energy buzzing beneath his skin.

He shouldn’t have let Kyle go on his own, should have insisted they stick together. But Kyle had been right; Paskin wouldn’t have said anything with Reece in tow. Brynn standing by her sister and his relationship with Brynn made him an outcast.

Invisible pressure bore between his shoulders. The hair at the back of his neck prickled as if he were being watched.

Frowning, Reece scanned the car park. His gaze snagged on a thin, pale woman standing a few feet from the pub’s door. She stared at him with wide, sunken eyes, her arms limp at her sides, oblivious to everything around her except him.

“Shit.” They sensed him the same way he did them.

Dull stringy hair framed her gaunt colorless face. Her clothes, though modern, were worn and faded. She looked washed out, whitened.

White ladies are bad omens
.

A chill scurried up his spine at his own words coming back to him.

What the hell did she want?

Not his problem. The energy and strong emotions given off in busy public places like pubs or shopping centers—airports were, in his experience, the worst—always attracted the dead. He had enough happening just now. No need to add whatever the dead-eyed girl watching him wanted.

He leaned back against the headrest, pinched the bridge of his nose and strengthened his mental blocks. When he looked out through the windscreen, the girl was gone.

Chapter Seventeen

Kyle followed Paskin inside, down a short hall and into a small lounge. Pink carpets, white walls and furniture with sunny yellow throw cushions assaulted his eyes. He had to squint against the brightness after the outside gloom.

“Take a seat.” Paskin nodded to the settee. “How about a drink?”

“Ever the barman,” Kyle said, lowering himself onto the settee. “I’m fine.”

Paskin clinked glasses at a makeshift bar set on a trolley in the corner of the room. “Nonsense, a little something to warm you on such a miserable day.”

He turned away from the trolley, a glass of scotch in each hand. He set one on the white veneer table before him then sank onto the loveseat opposite.

“Stephen, I need you to…” Dylis Paskin entered the room and stopped dead. Her gaze landed on Kyle and all animation drained from her puffy face. She turned to her husband. “What’s he doing here?”