The Hollow (18 page)

“ ‘He waited for me. This I knew as well. He waited for me to come to him, to see him, to know him. When we met we spoke of simple things, as is proper. We spoke of the sun and the wild berries I picked, of my father, of the hide Giles tanned.

“ ‘We did not speak of gods and demons, of magic and destiny, not then. That would come.

“ ‘I walked the wood, wandered my way to the stone cabin and the altar at every opportunity. He was always waiting for me. So the love of lifetimes bloomed again, in the green wood, in secret. I was his again, as I ever was, as I ever will be.' ”

Quinn paused, sighed. “That's the first entry. It's lovely.”

“Pretty words don't make much of a weapon,” Gage commented. “They don't provide answers.”

“I disagree with that,” Cybil said. “And I think she deserves to have those words read as she wrote them. Lifetimes,” she continued, tapping her notes. “That indicates her understanding that she and Dent were reincarnations of the guardian and his mate. Time and again. And he waited for her to accept it. He didn't launch right into, ‘Hey, guess what, you and I are going to get cozy. You'll get knocked up with triplets, we'll hassle with some Big Evil Bastard, and a few hundred years from now our ancestors are going to fight the fight.' ”

“Boy, a guy hits me with a line like that, I'm naked in a heartbeat.” Quinn traced a finger down the page. “I'm with Cyb on this. There's value in every word because she wrote it. It's hard not to be impatient, just skim over looking for some magic formula for destroying demons.”

Layla shook her head. “It won't be like that anyway.”

“No, I don't think so either. Should I read on, in order?”

“I think we should see how it evolved, from her eyes.” Fox glanced at Gage, at Cal. “Keep going, Quinn.”

She read of love, of changes of seasons, of chores and quiet moments. Ann wrote of death, of life, of new faces. She wrote of the people who came to the stone cabin for healing. She wrote of her first kiss beside a stream where the water sparkled in the sun. She wrote of sitting with Giles in the stone cabin, in front of a fire that flamed red and gold as he told her of what had come before.

“ ‘He said to me that the world is old, older than any man can know. It is not as we have been taught, nor what we are told to believe in the faith of my father and my mother. Or that is not all of it. For, he said, in this old, old time before man came to be, there were others. Of the others there were the dark and the light. This was their choice, for there is always the freedom to choose. Those who chose the light were called gods, and the dark ones demons.

“ ‘There was death and blood, battles and war. Many of both were destroyed as man came to be. It was man who would spread over the world, who would rule it and be ruled by it. It was coming to, he said, the time of man, as was right. Demons hated man even more than they hated gods. They despised and envied their minds and hearts, their vulnerable bodies, their needs and weaknesses. Man became prey for the demons who survived. It came to be that those gods who survived as well became guardians. Battle after battle raged until there were only two, one light, one dark. One demon, one guardian. The light pursued the dark over the world, but the demon was clever and cunning. In this last battle, the guardian was wounded mortally, and left to die. There came upon this dying god a young boy, innocent and pure of heart. Dying, the god passed his power and his burden to the boy. So the boy, a mortal with the power of gods, became guardian. The boy became a man, hunting the dark. The boy became a man who loved a woman with the power of magic, and they had a son. At his death, the guardian passed his power and his burden to his son, and so it was done over all the years. Lifetime by lifetime, until this time, until this place. Now, he said, it is for us.

“ ‘I knew he spoke truth, for I saw it in the fire as he spoke. I understood the dreams I have had all of my life that I never dared speak of to any living soul. There, in the firelight, I pledged myself to him. There, in the firelight, I gave myself to him. I would not go back to the house of my father but live with my beloved in the wood, in the stone cabin near the altar Giles called the Pagan Stone.' ”

Quinn leaned back. “Sorry, my eyes are blurring.”

“It's enough for now.” Cal handed her the glass of water he'd poured. “It's a lot for now.”

“It jibes with some versions of the lore that trickled down.” Shifting, Cybil studied her notes. “The battles, the passing of power. The way I'm reading this is there's only this single demon left. I'm not sure if I buy that, I'm a little too superstitious. But it could be interpreted that this is the only demon known to walk the world freely, at least every seven years. Why didn't he mate before Hester Deale? That's curious, isn't it?”

“Maybe he couldn't get it up.” Gage smiled thinly.

“I don't think that's far off. I think, however sarcastic, it's a viable theory.” Cybil held up a finger. “Maybe they couldn't mate with humans, it couldn't. But as Giles apparently discovered a way to imprison the thing, at least for a time, it discovered a way to procreate. Each side evolving, so to speak. Every living thing evolves.”

“Good thought,” Fox agreed. “Or it might be that up until Hester, it was shooting blanks, so to speak. Or the women it violated never came to term for one reason or another. We should take a break. Quinn's been at it a couple hours now, and I don't know about anyone else, but I could use some fuel.”

“Don't look at me,” Cybil said firmly. “I cooked last time.”

“I'll do it.” Layla pushed to her feet. “Can I root around in the kitchen, Cal, until I come up with something?”

“Have at it.”

She was bent over, head in the refrigerator, when Fox walked in. When a man thought how good a woman's ass looked in baggy, drooping shorts, he decided, that man had it bad.

“Thought I could give you a hand.”

She straightened, turned with her hands full of a pack of American cheese slices, a pound of bacon, and a couple of hothouse tomatoes. “I thought grilled cheese, bacon, and tomato sandwiches. Maybe a quick pasta salad on the side if he's got something I can throw together for that. I can handle it.”

“Because you want me out of here.”

“No.” She dumped the armload on the counter. “I'm not mad. It's too much trouble to stay mad. You could see if the clothes are dry so I could get out of these shorts and into my own clothes.”

“Sure. But you look kind of cute.”

“No, I don't.”

“You're not looking at you.” Gauging her mood, he stepped forward. “I can slice tomatoes. In fact, it's one of my more amazing skills. Plus.” He kept moving in until she was backed against the counter with his hands planted on either side of her. “I know where Cal keeps the pasta.”

“Making you invaluable in the kitchen?”

“I hope not. Layla.” His eyes roamed her face. “I'm not going to tell you what to think or how to feel, or when to take those thoughts and feelings out of whatever box you need to keep them in. But I think about you. I feel for you. Unlike slicing tomatoes, packing away thoughts and feelings isn't one of my finer skills.”

“I'm afraid of you.”

Instant and complete shock ran over his face. “What? Of me? Nobody's afraid of me.”

“That's absolutely not true. Deputy Napper is afraid of you. It's part of the reason he keeps after you. But that's a different kind of thing anyway. I'm afraid because you make me feel things I'm not sure I'm ready to feel, want things I'm not sure I'm ready to want. It would probably be easier if you rushed me, just did the sweep-off-the-feet routine because then I wouldn't have to feel responsible for my own choices.”

“I could try that.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You won't. You're not built that way. Relationships are partnerships, sex is a mutual act and decision. That's how you were raised from the ground up, that's who you are. And it's part of what attracts me and makes it harder at the same time.”

She put a hand on his chest, nudged slightly. When he eased back, she smiled as the basic action and reaction proved her point.

“I'm afraid of you,” she continued, “because you'd run into a burning building to save a dog. Because you'd take what was my share of pain and trauma. You were right before. It's your nature. It wasn't just because it was me. You'd have done the same if it had been Cal or Gage, Quinn or Cybil. A complete stranger. I'm afraid of what you are because I've never known anyone like you. And I'm afraid that I'll take the chance, I'll reach out and take hold, then I'll lose you because, exactly because of who you are.”

“All this time, I never knew I was such a scary guy.”

She turned away, took a knife from the block, set it on the cutting board. “Slice the tomatoes.”

She opened a cupboard, found the pasta herself. As she hunted up pan and skillet, his phone rang. She glanced over as he read the caller ID. “Hey, Mom and/or Dad. Yeah. Really?” He set the knife down again, leaned on the counter. “When? No kidding. Sure, sure.” He tipped the phone away, murmured to Layla. “My sister and her partner are flying in. What?” he said into the phone. “No, not a problem. Ah, listen, while I've got you . . . We were out at the farm today, me and the rest. Early this morning. The thing is . . .” He trailed off, walked away into the adjoining laundry room.

Layla smiled as she heard the murmur of his voice. Yes, it was his nature, she thought as she put on water for the pasta. To save dogs, to be honest. And to explain to Mom and/or Dad just why he'd chiseled a stone out of their old shed.

It was hardly a wonder she was half in love with him.

The rain continued into the damp and dreary afternoon. They ate before moving into the living room by mutual consent where Quinn continued to read by the fire.

It was almost dreamy now, Layla thought. The patter of rain, the crackle of flame and wood, the sound of Quinn's voice speaking Ann's words. She curled in her chair, cozy again in her own warm clothes, drinking tea while Fox and Lump stretched out on the floor nearby.

If she were to take a picture, it would look like a group of friends, gathered together on a rainy day, in that chilly window between winter and spring. Quinn with her book, Cal beside her on the couch. Cybil curled like a lazy cat on the other end, and Gage sprawled in a chair drinking yet another cup of coffee.

But she had only to listen to the words for the picture to change. She had only to listen to see a young woman building another fire in a hearth, her bright hair sweeping down her back. To feel the ache in the heart that had stopped beating so long ago.

Joy for the lives inside her, Layla thought. Grief as those lives signaled the beginning of the end of Ann's time with Giles. She imagined Ann preparing meals, fetching water from the stream, writing in the first journal with the cover Giles had made her from the leather he'd tanned himself. She wrote of ordinary things, of ordinary days. Pages and pages of the simple and the human.

“I'm tapped,” Quinn said at length. “Somebody else can take over, but the fact is, my brain's just plain tired. I don't think I can take any more in right now even if someone else reads.”

Cal shifted her to rub at her shoulders, while Quinn stretched in obvious relief. “If we try to take in too much at once, we'll probably miss something anyway.”

“Lots of daily minutiae in that section.” Cybil flexed her writing hand. “He's tutoring her, showing her simple magicks. Herbs, candles, drawing out what she already had. She's very open to it. It seems obvious he didn't want to leave her without weapons, tools, defenses.”

“Pioneer days,” Fox commented. “Hard life.”

“I think life was part of the point,” Layla added. “The ordinary. We've all felt that, mentioned it at one time or another through this. The ordinary matters, it's very much what we're fighting for. I think she wrote about it, often, because she understood that. Or maybe because she needed to remind herself of it so she could face whatever was coming.”

“We're more than halfway through the first journal.” Quinn marked the page before setting the book down. “She still hasn't mentioned specifics on what's coming. Either he hasn't told her yet, specifically, or she hasn't wanted to write of it.” She yawned hugely. “I vote we get out of here awhile or take a nap.”

“They can all get out of here.” Cal lowered his head to nip at her neck. “We'll take a nap.”

“That's a lame euphemism for rainy-day sex, and you guys already get enough sex.” Cybil uncurled a leg to give Cal a light kick. “Option two, another form of entertainment. That isn't poker,” she added before Gage could speak.

“Sex and poker are the top two forms of entertainment,” he told her.

“While I have no objection to either, there must be something a group of young, attractive people can find to do around here. No offense to the Bowl-a-Rama, Cal, but there must be somewhere we can get adult beverages, noise, maybe music, bad bar food.”

“Actually— Ow!” Layla glared down at Fox when he pinched her foot. “Actually,” she began again, “Fox mentioned a place that seemed to fit that bill. A bar across the river with live music on Saturday nights.”

“We're so going there.” Cybil pushed to her feet. “Who's stuck being designated drivers? I nominate Quinn from our side.”

“Seconded,” Layla called out.

“Aw.”