Plague Cult Page 3

  “Better?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He released her elbow, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze before heading for the side gate. “I reckon that’s our truck.”

  She was a fraction slower to move. His sympathy for her portal sickness had been edged with humor, but still real, and it had been a long time since anyone had cared for her. After all, she was the healer. She looked after others. Climbing the stairs just now, she’d leaned on his strength—and that was dangerous.

  Shawn was a guardian. Like a healer, he had his own protective instincts.

  She had to beware of them. She rubbed her shoulder which tingled where his hand had squeezed briefly. A lonely person had to be careful of mistaking kindness for something more, especially when the kindness came in a sexy package. On the other hand, on this mission, she had a partner, and partners worked together. Her confused resonse to him was something to think about.

  The drive to Bideer was mostly silent. Shawn didn’t know why Ruth was silent. Maybe it was habitual? She was reserved. He glanced sideways and saw her serene profile.

  A healer’s composure was a daunting thing. He’d seen them hold onto that professional, detached demeanor through hellish attacks and their aftermath, moving among survivors, healing, comforting and reassuring their patients. They hid their own feelings.

  Shawn frowned. It wasn’t as if he wore his own heart on his sleeve, but Ruth’s distance bothered him. With her…his instincts told him that no matter how she might be trained to behave in a crisis, in ordinary life she ought to be more involved. Volatile. Heck, it was a cliché, but the woman had red hair. She ought to be louder.

  Ruth sighed faintly, turning her head to look at something he’d just sped past.

  He glanced in the rear view mirror. They’d crossed a bridge, but it wasn’t as if the bridge looked like much. What had caught her attention? “We’re nearly at Bideer,” he broke the silence.

  “Just crossed the Bideer River,” she answered. “It winds away down, but we’ll catch up with it in a few miles. Or we would if we drove through town. I thought…” Her voice faded, then strengthened. “The house needs to be opened up and aired. If we do that, first, then we can go back into town and buy some food, cleaning supplies and anything else we need. And tell people we’re here. We can eat an early dinner at my family’s diner.”

  He was curious to learn her family ran a diner, but time would show him that. “Sounds like a plan. You’ll have to give me directions to your house.”

  “About a mile, then take the road to the right. River Road.”

  “I assume it leads to Bideer River?”

  “Yes. The river forms the southern boundary of my land.”

  “How much land do you have?” He indicated for the turn off.

  “A bit over thirty acres.”

  He whistled. “Space to breathe.”

  She smiled. “I like it.”

  The leaves of the trees that lined the country road were changing color. They lacked the dramatic fall colors of the north east, but the softer golden tones had their own charm, especially back-dropped by the uncompromising green of pine trees.

  “Do people hunt around here?” he asked.

  “Not on my land. I’ve had it sign-posted. But Daddy does. He’s a farmer and the deer bother him. I don’t like the sound of guns.” Bad memories haunted her voice before she banished them. “We’re nearly at the house.” She leaned forward, and he slowed down. “The driveway is just past those oaks.”

  He saw an old mailbox, leaning drunkenly, nearly rusted out, and turned in past the oaks. And there he stopped, the truck’s motor idling. “That is not what I expected.”

  The trees had hidden the house from their approach, but now he saw it set well back from the road and enclosed by a fence even more decrepit than the mailbox. But none of that mattered. The house triumphed over the dilapidation and neglect that surrounded it.

  “Rose House,” Ruth said softly. “It’s Queen Anne style.”

  He’d noticed. The turret to one side and the ornamentation stuck all over, like frosting on a wedding cake, kind of proclaimed the house’s style.

  “It needs repainting,” she said.

  “Big job.”

  She laughed. “I’m not suggesting you make that your cover story.”

  He liked her laughter. Slowly, he let the truck roll forward. “How’s the roof?”

  “Good. I had it repaired in a couple of places, but the roofer was surprised how solid it was. The house was built in 1894. The windows are good and none of the wood has rotted.”

  He parked the truck on the gravel driveway by the porch steps. Weeds poked through the gravel. They were brown after a long summer and going to seed. With the truck engine off, the peace of the place enveloped them. He rested his arms on the steering wheel. “It’s a big house.”

  “Five bedrooms,” Ruth said crisply. Her voice held a hint of defensiveness, of someone responding to an old criticism. “I’m not planning to run a bed and breakfast, either. I just liked the house. I saw it for sale online…” She shrugged as she reached for the door handle. “I bought it on impulse. As a kid, the story was that it was haunted.” She jumped down from the truck.

  Shawn got out, too. “Is it haunted?” He stretched the muscles of his shoulders and back.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  That brought his attention back from the house to Ruth.

  “When we die, we die,” she said bluntly, and reached into the back of the truck to lift out her bag.

  Ruth fought her usual fight with Rose House. Whenever she visited the place, she felt an overwhelming sense of welcome, and the lure of that scared her. She didn’t want to admit that she’d fallen in love with a house, or admit to the even less comfortable knowledge that no other place in the world felt like home as Bideer did. The people—her family—mightn’t make her welcome, but she belonged.

  “I like it,” Shawn said, staring at the house.

  “It’s a ridiculous house,” she said.

  “It has charm.”

  She looked at the quirky, steep roofline, the turret to her right, the front steps to the deep porch, the stained glass inset to the door. “Yes.” She dug her keys out of her pocket and started up the steps.

  Shawn grabbed his pack out of the truck and followed her. “It’s on River Road, but I haven’t seen the river.”

  “Bideer River snakes around. You can see it from the back and side of the house.” The front door lock opened smoothly. She turned the handle and gave the door a solid push. It opened to release a gust of stale air. She frowned. “Sorry about the dust.”

  “Doesn’t bother me. I don’t have allergies,” he answered absently, crowding in behind her. He was obviously curious to see inside.

  The hall had a faded grandeur with a black and white tiled floor, wood paneling halfway up the walls, and the space dominated by the staircase.

  Shawn touched the newel post approvingly. “Nice work.”

  “It needs polishing. With curtains and blinds drawn, you can’t see how worn everything is.” She walked into the front parlor, following her usual routine to open the house.

  “It’s furnished?”

  “Partly. The last owners never lived here. They inherited it from a distant uncle. The family was from back East. The house sat empty as long as I can remember. When I bought Rose House, they’d left the heavier furniture.”

  “Their loss,” he said as she drew back the curtains and the late afternoon light showed the old-fashioned, sturdy armchairs, loveseat, cabinets and bookcases. “Here, let me.” The second window had stuck. He thumped it with the heel of his hand, then slid it open. “You do the curtains and blinds. I’ll open the windows.”

  They worked their way around the ground floor.

  “Everything’s in pretty good shape,” he said as they climbed the stairs. The roses in the stained glass window on the landing glowed with vibrant pinks and reds.


  “The kitchen needs renovating.”

  “You mean you don’t like its 1950s look?”

  “It’s horrible,” she said flatly. “And the bathrooms got the same hideous cheap makeover about the same time. They’re functional, but when I get the money together, they’re top of my list for renovating.” They reached the top of the stairs. “My room’s the one on the left.”

  “With the turret.”

  She felt herself blush faintly. “Yes. The other front room has a bed.” She led the way to it. “So you’re probably best in here, unless you want to buy an air mattress in town?”

  “This looks fine.”

  “The mattress is new.” She stripped the faded but clean cover off the bed. “And it won’t take a minute to make up the bed. Fortunately, a house witch friend visited and bespelled the linen cupboard, so I know the sheets and pillows will be fresh.” She bundled up the cover.

  Shawn gently tugged it from her and set it aside on the window seat. “I can make up the bed if you show me where the linen cupboard is.”

  “Right. Okay.” It wasn’t like he was a real guest. They were a team on a mission. A point his next words underlined.

  “And we’ll have to think what renovation project you want me to undertake. When I start something, I like to finish it, so if there’s something that would take about a week?”

  “How would you feel about demolishing the kitchen?”

  He grinned. “You really hate those blue cupboards, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” She smiled back at him, unable to resist the dimple denting his cheek. “I really do.”

  “All right. I’ll rip out the cupboards and the lino floor. If they glued it down, that might take all week.”

  “They glued it. I checked.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”

  An hour later, they were on their way into town. Ruth had grabbed a broom and swept out her room, and had Shawn take the broom off her when she tried to sweep out his. Engrained habits of hospitality were hard to break. Both their beds were made up, the linen smelling of lavender and sunshine, and Shawn had turned on the electricity and water, and checked that both worked.

  He hadn’t asked if it was okay to leave the house’s windows open. He was a mage. He would have sensed the strong wards she’d paid an Austin-based mage to install. Those wards kept out thieves and vandals. Not that the house had been vandalized in the couple of decades it stood empty. Perhaps it was its location just outside town that kept it safe?

  They drove in past the elementary school and the auction house with its massive warehouse.

  “You can park here,” she pointed to the large lot set behind the stores and businesses that fronted Main Street.

  “Your family’s diner?” Shawn followed her directions, but his attention was for the restaurant on the corner.

  Ruth looked at the familiar sign, Bideer Diner with two deer framing the name. “Yes.” Once, she’d loved coming to the diner that her mom ran with her sister-in-law, Ruth’s Aunt Peggy. But at fourteen, everything had changed. Ruth hadn’t waitressed there during high school as she’d intended. Instead, she’d earned extra money tutoring. Going to the diner had become an ordeal.

  The thud of the truck’s door sounded loud as she closed it behind her.

  Shawn walked around the back of the truck and joined her. Without looking any different, he’d subtly changed how he presented himself. His shoulders held a new rigidity. He walked warily, alert to sudden noises and movements, to any changes in the environment.

  He behaved like a man just back from a tour of duty, and ready to be attacked.

  Ruth centered herself. They were on a mission now. Shawn lived his cover story. Everyone would believe he was a combat-weary ex-marine. Now, it was up to her to put her game face on. No matter her personal feelings, the diner was the center of the town’s gossip network, so it was where they needed to be.

  Suck it up, Ruthie. It’s time to meet the family.

  Chapter 3

  The diner had changed. Gone were the pastels and pale plastic chairs and tables, and in their place was a rustic, timbered look. But what hadn’t changed were the locals sitting around chatting and eating. A couple of families with toddlers were sitting down to an early dinner. Ruth recognized the parents as people she’d gone to school with, and gave a little wave.

  They called back greetings, and Ruth’s aunt looked up sharply.

  “Ruth.” Peggy didn’t sound welcoming. If anything, her voice held a note of warning, and the older woman glanced worriedly to a table in the corner.

  The table was empty, but Ruth could guess who usually occupied it. Who always did.

  “Evening, Aunt Peggy. Is Mom around?”

  “Helen,” Peggy shouted through the kitchen hatch. She and Ruth had given up years ago pretending any sort of affection.

  “Ruth!” Her mom hurried out, wiping her hands on a floral apron. “Honey, you never said you were visiting. I’d have made up your room.”

  They hugged, just a little awkward.

  “I’m staying at Rose House,” Ruth said, and hesitated, wondering if she needed to explain, to confess that she owned it.

  “That dump.” Peggy snorted.

  But neither woman showed any surprise. It seemed Ruth’s brothers had passed on the news that she’d bought the town’s haunted house.

  That didn’t mean Peggy could insult her home. Ruth stiffened and pulled back from her mom’s hug.

  Her mom, Helen, frowned at Peggy, and the frown lingered as she turned back to Ruth. “You know we keep your room for you at the farm.”

  “I know, Mom. But…” Ruth was suddenly grateful that Shawn was there, even if it was because of the infinitesimal risk of a plague. His presence was an excuse to avoid the minefield that was interacting with her family. “I’m just popping in for a couple of days to get a friend settled. Mom, this is Shawn, Shawn Jackson. He’s going to be renovating Rose House for me. He’s an ex-marine.” And that strangled Peggy’s second snort. The people of Bideer respected those who served. “Shawn, this is my mom, Helen Warner.”

  “Mrs. Warner.” Shawn nodded respectfully and shook hands, ignoring her mom’s flustered attempts to wipe her floured hands again on her apron.

  “I’ve been making biscuits,” she said. “It’s good to meet you, Shawn.”

  Silence descended.

  “We need to buy a few things for the house, some groceries,” Ruth said. “Then we’ll come back, have an early dinner. It’s been a long day.”

  Helen rubbed her hands together in a nervous gesture. “I’ll be busy, honey. We won’t have a chance to chat. If you come over to the farm, tomorrow, for lunch…” Her voice faded, her attention going to the door.

  Ruth didn’t need to turn around to know who’d entered. “Lunch at the farm sounds good. We can catch up, then.” She ignored the soft sound of rubber on the diner’s hardwood floors, the hushed whisper of movement. Determinedly, she kept her voice even. “Tonight, we’ll just eat and run. I want Shawn to try your brisket.”

  “Is that what I can smell? Smells good.” Shawn couldn’t know why the atmosphere was suddenly electric with tension, but he backed her up.

  “People drive for miles for it. That and the blueberry caramel pie.” Ruth turned slowly. “Isn’t that right, Mason?”

  Her cousin looked up at her, the usual hate and spite in his eyes. Green eyes, like hers. “If you say so, Ruthie.”

  She smiled tightly at him. “Perfect weather for Mom’s comfort food.” She knew better than to ask Mason how he was or to present any sort of target for his attack. Especially this visit, when she and Shawn would have to spend time in the diner.

  Mason had claimed the diner as his space. Ruth existed on the outskirts of the family. He rolled his wheelchair forward, and she, perforce, stepped out of the way.

  Shawn didn’t. “Shawn Jackson.” He held out his hand to Mason. “I’ll be renovating Ruth’s house for her.”

&
nbsp; “Is that what they call it these days?”

  “Mason,” his mom hissed. Even for Aunt Peggy, that was going too far. And Mason had pitched his voice so that other diners could hear.

  Shawn withdrew his hand. He didn’t keep his voice down either. It remained level, but it had force. “If you’re implying Ruth and I are lovers, you’re wrong. I’m a former marine. I need a quiet place to stay and some hard work to occupy me while I sort out my head. Ruth understands.”

  It was Mason who looked away from that staring contest. And the fair skin that Ruth shared, that gave away every emotion, flushed red.

  “If it’s hard work you’re after, Rose House will supply it. I don’t know why Ruth bought such a large house, and one no one’s lived in for years. She didn’t consult us.” Helen nervously filled the silence. “There’ll be cobwebs everywhere. And worse. What state are the drains in? I could come over and help clean things up.”

  “Mom.”

  Helen gripped her hands together. “How long are you staying, Ruth?”

  It depended on what they found out about the Moonlit Hearts Club and whether it was responsible for the curse that had killed a man. It depended on how strong that curse was; what powered it. If the club wasn’t responsible, then Ruth didn’t know who among the mundane townsfolk could have acquired enough power to create a fatal curse. She hated to think one of her neighbors was capable of it. “A week. Maybe two. I have some leave accumulated.”

  “From your important job, saving lives around the world?” Mason maneuvered his electric wheelchair past them, heading for his table in the far corner.

  “Yes.” Ruth watched the back of his head, the red hair cut short and already balding. She refused to engage in an argument. “I’ve been in Australia. Mom, there’s no need to worry about the house. It’s not that dirty.”

  “And I’m not scared of cobwebs,” Shawn intervened. “But a few cleaning supplies might be a good idea. Breaking up the kitchen will create some dirt.”