Plague Cult Page 10

  He climbed the stairs. “If you’re awake, it’s just me.”

  She smiled. “Good night, Shawn.”

  It had been an eventful day. She’d reconciled with her parents, encountered death magic, learned a variant on an old fortune spell, met a ghost and cleaned way too many windows, only to follow that up with a hike through the woods. Oh, and she’d kissed Shawn.

  Ruth hugged her pillow and slept.

  “Thank you for the text, last night.” At the diner, Helen greeted Ruth with a kiss to the cheek and sent Shawn a warm smile. Before sending her report to the Collegium, Ruth had sent her mom a quick text, home safe. “Now, what would you like for breakfast?”

  “Buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup.” Ruth didn’t even need to think about it.

  The kitchen had a quiet breakfast bustle going on. Shawn waited out of the way near the door from front-of-house to the kitchen. “Sounds good. And bacon, please.”

  “Ugh.” Ruth wrinkled her nose. “I hate mixing sweet and savory.”

  “You always were fussy.” Peggy walked into the kitchen, making a point of how she had to walk around Shawn, and sighing about it.

  “Ruth simply knows what she likes,” Helen defended her daughter. “Just like Mason won’t eat his fried eggs if the yolks are broken.”

  Peggy took a step back at Helen’s vehemence.

  Shawn caught Ruth’s wide-eyed gaze, and grinned faintly. He ambled out to claim a table.

  Ruth just hoped he’d choose a table in Erica’s station, not Peggy’s. She patted her mom’s arm.

  Helen ceased glaring at her sister-in-law. Apparently, after yesterday, she’d decided to stand up for Ruth more. “Your dad’ll be out some time later this morning. He has a few more things he thinks you—or Shawn—could use at Rose House.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Ruth didn’t need her mom protecting her, but it felt good.

  Out front, she found Erica pouring coffee for Shawn. There were dark circles under the woman’s eyes, dark enough that the concealer she’d used failed to hide them. Ruth checked Erica’s aura. It was dim, but not magically-compromised or attacked. It seemed Erica had simply slept badly.

  Unlike Ruth, who had slept like a baby in her haunted house. She thanked Erica for the coffee and watched the woman move away to top up other customers’ coffees. “Dad’s going to bring some more stuff, tools or something, to the house this morning,” she said absently.

  “I’ll get his opinion on what to use to get the lino up. Whatever they glued it down with is tenacious, but judging by the floorboards in the rest of the house, they’re worth saving, so I don’t want to destroy them.”

  “If Dad doesn’t know, he’ll have a friend who does.” Ruth smiled suddenly. “I’d better pop into the supermarket before we go home. I’ll need more cookies for the Duct Tape Club.”

  Shawn raised an interrogatory eyebrow.

  “It’s what Mom calls Dad’s friends. Any home repairs, and they start showing up, giving opinions on how the job ought to be tackled, and in the end—”

  “Duct tape,” he finished.

  “Exactly. The temporary fix that endures forever.”

  Shawn’s expression lost its laughter and Ruth had to fight the urge to turn around. But when she listened, she could just hear the whisper of Mason’s wheelchair tires and the slow swoosh of the door closing.

  “Good morning, cousin. Shawn.” Mason stopped at their table.

  Erica had been about to put down their plates of pancakes, and had to detour around him.

  “Morning, Mason,” they all chorused.

  “I’ll get your order in,” Erica added.

  “No hurry.” Mason’s gaze was fixed on Ruth.

  She looked back at him, more objectively than she’d seen him in years. She let go of the boy he’d been when they were growing up. He’d never been cruel to her, just disinterested in his younger, female cousin. Staying with her own healing, she released the accident, and the memory of how badly hurt he’d been, how terrified she’d been, and how helpless. Finally, she let go of the memory of his anger and fear in hospital, and later, the relentless negativity of the weeks and months as he adjusted to life in a wheelchair.

  I wasn’t to blame. It had been bad luck, the worst of luck.

  It only took seconds, but it was the final shift to seeing things as they truly were. Ruth looked at Mason and saw the lines of bitterness around his mouth, the puffiness of ill health under his skin, and the extra weight on him. He wheezed faintly, allergies or something else?

  She slipped into mage sight and studied his aura. Aura-reading was only a rough guide to diagnosis. It showed if anything major was wrong.

  For the first time, she didn’t flinch from the clouded aura from his hips down. As tragic as the consequences of the accident had been, at least he’d retained bladder and bowel control.

  But there was a lack of vitality in his overall aura, and a clouding of liver and pancreas that hinted at pre-diabetes.

  “What are you staring at?” Mason demanded. “You’ve seen me in a wheelchair often enough.”

  A few heads turned.

  Peggy abandoned the table she was serving and hurried over.

  Ruth glanced from her aunt’s worried face to Mason’s scowl. “Was I staring? Sorry. I was thinking.” She hesitated, but now, with customers listening, wasn’t the time to recommend to Mason a discussion with his doctor about diet and blood sugar, and exercise. “I have to design a new kitchen for Rose House.”

  Mason’s scowl remained suspicious, but he rolled on to his corner table.

  Peggy turned her back to the customers. Her lips barely moved. “What did you see?” She wasn’t family by blood, but with Mason’s accident she’d learned of Ruth’s healing talent. And like her son, she’d blamed Ruth for not healing him completely.

  “Pre-diabetes,” Ruth murmured.

  Her aunt’s eyes closed a moment, even as her mouth firmed, lines of worry deepening. “I’ve told him. His diet…” She walked off into the kitchen.

  “The pancakes are good,” Shawn said.

  Ruth stared hopelessly at her own plate. “I don’t ordinarily eat like this. Fruit, yoghurt, whole grains.”

  “Everyone’s allowed a treat, occasionally. Enjoying your mom’s home cooking is good for the soul.”

  She cut a piece of pancake and dipped it in a pool of maple syrup. “Wise words.”

  He didn’t look up from his plate. “Always easier when you’re not the one in the emotional minefield.”

  “Yeah.”

  He smiled at her then, a rueful, sympathetic grin—that vanished into the harsh, battle mask of a soldier.

  She felt his magic surge, and without thinking, slipped into mage sight. The silver of his magic, that he’d released last night from meshing with hers, had woven into her aura again. Instantly protective. Her magic was completely masked. As was his.

  “Zach! Whitney, you’re home.” Erica’s exclamation provided the explanation of Shawn’s action.

  Ruth decided it would be normal enough for her to look around.

  She saw an attractive couple in their early forties, recognizable from the mission briefing she’d received.

  Zach smiled in a friendly fashion at Erica. “We got an early start. I couldn’t wait to be home.” His smile included everyone in the diner.

  Whitney was more constrained. Her smile was small and she stood tensely. But she was beautiful. Her hair shone a rich golden blonde, her blue eyes sparkled, her teeth were white and even. Her aura didn’t quite blaze with such health, though. It was muted. That did happen when you employed death magic. It left a taint; like a greasy sludge over your own energy.

  But what had Ruth’s eyes opening wide—before Shawn nudged her foot under the table and she remembered to look away, back at her pancakes—was Zach’s lack of aura.

  She always saw people’s auras! Well, not Carla’s, but Carla was a ghost.

  Zach…no, he wasn’t a ghost. She could see his
shadow as morning light streamed in the window, and the chrome trim on the counter dimly reflected his image.

  If she couldn’t see his aura…Why can’t I see his aura?

  “What time did you say your dad was coming over?” Shawn asked, his drawl a tad more pronounced.

  “No special time.” Her mom’s delicious pancakes were an effort to eat. She sipped some coffee to ease her dry throat.

  For Shawn to mask her magic as well as his, he must have sensed evil. Otherwise, it was an over-reaction to an ordinary witch. What would it have hurt for Whitney, one magic user encountering another, to have vaguely sensed Ruth’s healer’s talent? It wouldn’t have spooked Whitney or put her on the alert that she was suspected of cursing someone. Ruth’s cover story for this mission was the strongest it could be: she was coming home.

  But Shawn had evidently decided to keep Ruth completely off the witch’s radar. Which meant Whitney was more than a misguided witch out of her depth with a spell she’d used. Whitney had to have embraced the destructiveness of death magic, and could, potentially, extend it into a plague.

  There was a bitter reason for Ruth’s sudden loss of appetite.

  Zach pulled out a chair for Whitney at a table three away from Ruth and Shawn. He ordered a “full breakfast” for himself and, without consulting her, granola for his wife.

  Whitney fidgeted with stowing her handbag and adjusting the long, elegant skirt she wore.

  Shawn finished his breakfast and caught Erica’s attention, signaling for a refill of coffee. Evidently, he wanted to stay a while.

  Ruth cut a small square from her last pancake, but refused more coffee. “I’ll be bouncing off the walls.”

  “Sounds like you might need it,” Erica said with the practiced friendliness of a good waitress. “Helen says you’re doing up the haunted house down by the river.”

  Once, Ruth would have objected to calling her beautiful house haunted. Now, she forced a smile. “That’s right. Rose House.”

  “Zach!” Mason called across the restaurant. “Good thing you’re back. The Chamber of Commerce meeting is this afternoon. It got moved up when Peter realized his grandma’s hundredth birthday party is tonight.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be there.” Zach waved acknowledgement, and added a charming grimace of apology directed at the other customers. Calling across the diner wasn’t the politest action.

  Whitney had a withdrawn, stoic expression for the rudeness, and sipped milkless tea.

  “It looks like a nice house,” Erica said wistfully.

  “You’ll have to come out and see it,” Ruth invited her impulsively. The loneliness she’d sensed in the diner yesterday was a shimmer of blue washing through Erica’s aura. The woman was lonely and, although she didn’t know it, her trust in the Moonlit Hearts Club had been betrayed. An offer of friendship would help heal her.

  Erica flushed. “I wasn’t angling for an invitation.”

  “You’re welcome all the same.” And because she knew that an open invitation was often a meaningless one, Ruth added. “When is your day off? Come out for afternoon tea, if you’re interested?”

  “I have Mondays off. If you really mean it…”

  “Three o’clock next Monday.” Ruth made the commitment. Even if they’d finished the mission by then, she had holiday leave owed to her. She’d take some time, and since William had obviously hoped she’d resolve her issues with her family, she doubted he’d mind her taking an extra week or even two.

  Erica smiled as she returned to work.

  Shawn pulled out his wallet and put money on the table.

  Ruth swallowed her last bite of pancake with relief, finished her coffee with forced casualness, and fled.

  “What did you sense when Whitney and Zach walked in?” she asked the hollerider ambling beside her across Main Street to the supermarket.

  “Evil,” Shawn said briefly. “Sly, amused evil.”

  Chapter 8

  “Could you tell it was Whitney who was evil? I know it doesn’t seem likely, but Zach entered the diner with her.” The question had been bothering Ruth while she bought cookies and cake at the supermarket. Now that they were alone, she needed an answer.

  Shawn’s attention was elsewhere. Apparently it was on the three shopping bags on the back seat. “Do you really think your dad’s friends are going to descend on Rose House? You’ve got enough to feed an army.”

  She stared at him. “You said you were from a small town.”

  “So?”

  “I live in a haunted house, Shawn. People haven’t been inside it in decades. Now that Dad’s coming over and we’ve told everyone you’re renovating it, this’ll be their excuse to come and check things out under the guise of offering help and advice. They’ll poke around.”

  “Ah. And check me out, that I’m good enough for you.” Now, he comprehended the situation, and seemed amused.

  “Yeah.” Her breath huffed out. “Even though we told people we’re not involved—”

  “We’re not?”

  Memory of last night’s kiss burned through her. “We…I…” She sneaked a peek at him.

  He was watching the road, edging right as another truck barreled towards them.

  She waved at its driver, Mr. Rodriguez. Her hand flopped back into her lap. “Getting involved during a mission is one of those risks we’re told not to take.”

  “At least you didn’t say ‘mistake’.” Shawn’s tone was unexpectedly grim.

  It jerked Ruth out of her self-conscious, self-protective worry. She was desperately afraid that she was falling hard for Shawn, and as she always did when scared, she’d tried to withdraw and hide inside herself.

  But Shawn didn’t sound as if he was playing around. He wasn’t fooling with flirtation to pass the time while he was stuck in Bideer.

  “You’re not a mistake,” Ruth said. “I’m not brave about relationships…”

  He took a hand off the steering wheel and covered hers, which were gripped tightly together. “It’s okay, Ruth. You’re right. The Collegium guidelines are clear. We should wait till the mission is over. Then I’ll ask you on a date.” He smiled at her.

  She smiled back, feeling ridiculously teary, and tangled her fingers with his. “Maybe some rules are made to be broken.”

  He stopped the truck on the side of the road, leaned across and kissed her. His hazel eyes were intense, a trick of the light seeming to turn them the yellow-gold of the surrounding trees. “You’ll always be safe with me.” He pulled back onto the road. “Now, not to be unromantic, but in case your dad is already at the house, we need to talk about next steps regarding the cult before we get home.”

  “Zach doesn’t have an aura,” Ruth blurted. “Or rather, he must have. He’s not a ghost. I saw his reflection. But I can’t see his aura. I don’t know if that means he’s got such strong protections around him to hide evil that even his aura is locked in. Or if it’s a sign that Whitney is feeding off his aura. Or if it’s something else entirely. That’s why I asked if you’re sure it was Whitney who is evil.”

  “Huh. My fault. I made an assumption. Email the Collegium your questions,” Shawn said. “I couldn’t get an individual read on the couple. They came in together so I couldn’t separate their presences. I would have thought the evil was Whitney since she initiated the curse, but if you can’t read Zach’s aura, that’s odd.

  “It bothers me,” she admitted, tapping a quick email on her phone, and adding a request for holiday leave at the end of the mission. She wanted to stay in Bideer a while longer.

  They arrived home as she sent the email. She hesitated, but she needed to be open with Shawn if she wanted this possibility between them to strengthen into a true relationship. And even if it didn’t, even if their attraction was wrong and didn’t go anywhere, she owed it to her self-respect to be strong enough to be an equal partner in exploring it.

  “Shawn, I’ve asked William for a week’s leave at the end of the mission. I’d like to stay in Bidee
r a bit longer, and…you’re very welcome to stay, too.” She winced at how formal that last bit sounded, but at least she’d said it. She’d invited Shawn to stay with her.

  He parked the truck. “I have leave owing. I’ll ask for the same.”

  Her smile burst out.

  “You’re killing me,” he said. “So damn beautiful. When you smile, it’s like a kick to my heart.”

  “Shawn.”

  He got out of the truck, came around and opened her door so that she stepped out into his embrace. He kissed her tenderly, a sweet kiss. Old-fashioned, if kisses could be that. It wasn’t like last night’s wildfire. This was a courting kiss; desire leashed with awe.

  She nestled close, reveling in the joy of it.

  “Visitors,” Shawn warned softly.

  She heard the sound he’d caught first, that of a truck engine slowing to turn in the driveway. “That’ll be Dad.”

  “I’ll take the groceries in.” Shawn reached past her for the shopping.

  Ruth moved a bit away, gathering her composure. Happiness bubbled in her, but it was a private emotion; one she wasn’t ready to share. “Hi, Dad,” she said as Joe parked near them.

  “Morning, Ruthie. Shawn.”

  “Morning, Joe.”

  “Thought I’d bring a few things over to help with the kitchen demolition. See what else needs doing. A few friends might drop by, if that’s okay?”

  “That’s great, Dad.” Ruth smiled at him, and Shawn.

  Shawn grinned. “Helen said you’d be stopping by, so Ruth stocked up with cookies.”

  “Women.” Joe smiled at his daughter. “You always know what we’re up to.”

  “Of course.” Ruth linked her arm with his, glad to be relaxed and easy with her dad, again. “I know Shawn’s removed a lot of the kitchen, but the old lino is fighting back.”

  “Stuck, is it?” Joe was interested.

  They went in to inspect the kitchen, and ten minutes later had their first visitor, old Mr. Rodriguez who carried a coffee and an egg’n’bacon muffin he’d picked up at the diner. “Helen said as how you’d be out here. Always wanted to look inside the old house. You seen the ghost yet, Ruth?”