Rising Darkness (Game of Shadows #1)(10)

The breeze seemed to hesitate in its constant swirling.

She injected a stern note in the gentleness. I need to know what you discovered, child. There is no protection for either of us in pretending they do not exist.

The wind spirit pulled back.

Pain, it admitted at last. Pain, dreams and confusion. The dark ones hunt. They spill blood for sport as they look for the one who was lost. They are laughing and confident. They are sure they will find her soon.

She knew of the dreams and confusion. The strength in them haunted her rest, but her lips thinned at the news of the dark hunt and the spilling of blood. She put one hand on a nearby tree and leaned on it. The tree poured its upright greening strength into her, a lavish and generous gift.

Thank you, she said to the tree. She stroked the bark.

Grandmother, the tree replied.

She straightened. So it began again, with a blood hunt, and with a good man’s murder, and his father, a faithful friend, condemned to a slow, painful death. She had had years to prepare, yet she still felt grief and a sharp upsurge of fear and dread.

Her distress agitated the wind spirit. It curled upon itself in jerky slashing movements. She held out a hand and projected calm. Did you find the lost one?

No, Grandmother, the spirit replied. But neither have they, yet.

She hadn’t expected any other reply. Still she tasted disappointment. What of the warrior?

He hunts as well, the spirit whispered as it curled around her again. He sends you his greeting, and a warning to be prepared.

Yes. She drew her jacket closer around her and forced herself to ask, And do you have any news of the Deceiver?

Where the dark ones are, he is always nearby, the spirit answered. But I dared not look too closely for his location.

You were wise. Like her, the Deceiver did not overlook subtle changes in spirit energies. One whiff of the spirit’s presence, one hint of its mission, and he would rip apart its delicate essence with a careless thought. Thank you, child.

Grandmother.

She sent the spirit on its way and limped the rest of the short way to the bench by the cabin’s door.

She had been born once into this world, ages and ages ago, and she refused to give up her memories and pass into the oblivion that was death. She was too afraid to let go, to allow herself to forget. Now this body she wore had been sustained far beyond what a normal human lifespan should be, and it felt heavy and worn to the bone with carrying her for so long.

The green living things around her, the strength of the land itself, had sustained her for countless years. The strength was abundant and given to her freely, but she wondered now if it could possibly be enough.

“I’m tired,” she whispered.

She sank onto the bench and put her wrinkled face into her hands. A fox slipped out of the forest’s edge and came to curl around her ankles. She reached down and stroked one large, anxious ear.

And so the nightmare began again. They sought, all of them, to push through a veil. They did not know what was on the other side, only that they must fight each other and push, even to the end of their existence if they must.

She was so tired and afraid. She did not know if she had the strength for another week of living, let alone another battle.

Even though the sun shone she huddled into herself.

May God forgive her.

She doubted that anybody else would.

Chapter Five

MARY’S OLD HOUSE was near the south side of the river. The community hospital where she worked was on the north side.

The city of St. Joseph lay at the mouth of the St. Joseph River. Benton Harbor was just on the other side of the river. Together they were locally known as the Twin Cities, but their only congruence was geographical. They were far from identical.

St. Joe had a predominately white population with a median household income that held its own with other parts of the Midwest. It had all the usual amenities and attractions of a smaller lakeside city. In a location that was easily accessible from much of northern Indiana, the city was also close enough for those in Chicago who were affluent enough to own weekend homes and determined enough to make the commute.

Minutes away, just north across a bridge, Benton Harbor had a predominantly black population, with a median household income that was well under twenty thousand.

Mary had to commute daily across the divide to get to work, but she did not have to make that trip today. After shutting the door on her painting studio, she took another cup of coffee to the bathroom and showered. As the coffee sat on the sink and cooled to a drinkable temperature, she stood under jetting hot water and let the heat soak away the tension that had built up in her shoulders and neck. Then she soaped her hair and body, feeling the protrusions and angles of bone under the fluid shift of skin.

Did she really look all bones and nerves? Her appetite had dropped off sharply over the last month or two. Drying quickly, she wrapped her hair in the towel and rubbed fog off the mirror over the sink.

Like her hair, her skin also hinted at a mixed-race heritage in her family’s past. Her natural complexion was a rich shade of honey. Large blue cat eyes looked back at her from a face that had always been thin but had now turned sharp. Cheekbones, nose and jaw were pronounced. Only her lips had retained their original fullness.

She glared as she watched those lips shape silent words.

What’s the matter with you?

As she considered her reflection, she thought about changing her mind and going with Justin to see Tony. As soon as the thought occurred, she rejected it. She didn’t need another doctor to tell her what she already knew. Whatever her problems were, they weren’t physical in origin.