Midnight Sacrifice (24 page)

He’d do anything to return to before.

Uncle Aaron reached into the box behind the seat. He pulled out a black iron pot. “See this, Nathan?” He lifted the lid. Inside, gold chains and silver coins glistened as the first rays of the sun cut through the morning mist. “Before you can ask something of the gods, first you have to make an offering. Nothing’s free, lad.”

His uncle hefted the pot to the side and shoved it out of the boat. It disappeared with a trail of bubbles. Nathan nearly reached for it. Dad would flip if he saw what Uncle Aaron just did. Mom’s doctor bills were draining them dry. “How much was that stuff worth?”

“Aye. That’s the point, Nathan. A worthless offering isn’t a sacrifice.” Instead of getting mad at his question, as Dad would, Uncle Aaron met Nathan’s gaze with patience. “Tell me, lad. What hangs in the front of your church?”

“A crucifix.” Sometimes when he was supposed to be listening to the Mass, Nathan stared at the gory statue, finely detailed down to the drops of blood running from Christ’s hands and feet.

“And what does that stand for?”

Nathan repeated what he’d been taught. “Jesus died on the cross so we could go to heaven even though we’re all sinners.”

“Ah.” Uncle Aaron shrugged. “So why didn’t God just save his son?”

“I don’t know.” The nuns at school weren’t big on answering questions. They pretty much liked the kids to sit still and keep a lid on it during Mass.

“Because mankind’s salvation is attained through God’s sacrifice, Nathan. To keep the world in balance, there has to be payment for everything gained.” Uncle Aaron pulled a long wooden statue from under his seat. It was a woman. Huge eyes, lidless and wide-open in a permanent state of wakefulness, took up most of the face.

“What’s that?”

“A statue of your ma’s sickness. I carved it myself out of good oak hardwood. My labor adds value to the offering.” Uncle Aaron floated the statue on the water. It bobbed on the surface. “Water has power. It heals. It gives life. I’m asking the gods of this lake to cure your ma. The Celts worshipped the earth long before anyone even thought about Christianity. The principles aren’t that different, though. Salvation through sacrifice. That’s your ancestry, Nathan. And your legacy.”

Uncle Aaron dipped his hand in the water. He brought a palm full to Nathan’s face and wiped the cool liquid across his forehead, down his cheeks and neck, like a baptism.

“Doesn’t the water need to be blessed?” Nathan asked.

“Take a good look around, Nathan. The gods already blessed this place.” Uncle Aaron doused his own face and set a huge, wet hand on the top of Nathan’s head. “Thy faith make thee whole.”

The warmth of his uncle’s love spread through Nathan’s chest.

“There’s one more thing you need to know about sacrifices, Nathan. They have to come from the heart, the cost offered willingly and without regret. That’s the key to true salvation.”

Nathan raised the posthole digger in both hands and slammed it into the earth. He turned the tool and clamped the jaws closed and withdrew the tool, dumping the dirt in a pile to the side. He repeated the act until sweat dripped down his chest, and his back muscles ached.

Physical pain was a welcome relief from the agony in his head.

If only he could close his eyes. Sleep, just for a couple of hours. But it was not to be. Over the last few weeks, he’d lost the ability to do anything but doze for minutes at a time. His thoughts grew more muddled each day. His time was running out. Beltane was truly his last chance.

Satisfied that the hole was deep enough, he set the tool aside. He’d selected the maypole himself, a narrow, young oak
with the straightest trunk. He’d felled and stripped it of branch and bark with his own hands. His labor, his direct connection with the sacred object, would enhance the power of the sacrament. He hefted it to the hole and let the end fall in, then packed dirt around the base. Ropes from the top secured the pole on four sides to anchors in the earth. Picking up a length of rope, he tested its strength between his hands. Definitely substantial enough to hold Mandy. As much as he hated the thought of shackling her, or risking any injury to her delicate skin, she mustn’t be able to break free. She wasn’t going to come to him willingly. He knew that. He’d made too many mistakes to expect her immediate forgiveness. But by the end of the ritual he would have proved his devotion. Then she would be his forever. He slipped a hand into his pocket and withdrew the ancient silver ring. Once it went on her finger, their eternal bond would be sealed.

He walked into the barn, past the woodpile and the offerings his assistant had provided. The chest of ancient coins gleamed dully in a sunbeam. Nathan scooped up a handful of the golden discs then let them fall through his fingers. They landed on the pile with a soft
clink
. He stroked a dent in the muted bronze of a warrior’s shield. An ancient Celt had gone to war with this shield. Perhaps the soldier had fought the Roman invasion of his land, thus defending his people against the eradication of their way of life. Belenos would be pleased. The objects of this offering had value beyond their monetary worth. They represented the history and tradition of his faith, the very same culture that Nathan was calling upon for salvation.

But his material offering wasn’t enough payment for the salvation Nathan was seeking. The price for the lives of Nathan, his son, and all future generations was greater than the symbolism. A request of this magnitude required direct and equal payment.

Nathan needed to make the gods an offer they couldn’t refuse. Six deaths, threefold the number of lives he was seeking, surely would convince Belenos to lift the curse from the family. Three was the holy number, the Druid trifecta. One sacrifice each for past, present, and future. Maiden, mother, and crone.

He moved his gaze to the structure he’d painstakingly constructed. Two sacrifices slept deeply on the bottom level. The upper cages sat waiting to be filled. Four more.

Time was running out. Tomorrow night was Beltane Eve.

He went into the storeroom in the corner of the barn. Opening his backpack, he checked his supplies. Taser with extra cartridges. Syringes. Plastic ties. Check. He slid the pack’s straps over his shoulders. Two bottles of water and a few protein bars went into the bottom cage. Sacrifices had to be alive.

Before he left, he checked on Evan. The food Nathan had left out remained untouched. Refusing to eat was Evan’s latest protest. Fortunately, the ceremony would be over before he starved. Four months of imprisonment were taking their toll on his son’s physical and mental health. But everything Nathan did was for Evan’s benefit, whether he knew it or not.

Nathan strode out of the barn and around to the rear of the building. There he started the tractor and towed the boat along the track to the water’s edge. The boat wasn’t big, but launching it took some effort. Tying the bow line to a tree, he moved the tractor and trailer to dry ground and returned to the boat. He said a quick prayer for a day of good hunting.

He paddled to deeper water, then switched to the small outboard motor, grateful for the assistance. He tired quickly these days. The summer solstice was seven weeks off. At his current rate of decline, he wouldn’t be much use by then. He leaned over the side and scooped a handful of water. Cool and dark, the lake water invited him to slip over the side, bypass the torture of his
disease, and skip right to his inevitable demise. Tempting. So tempting. A few minutes of submersion would allow his mind to escape, to surrender, to seek the eternal rest his body craved.

With exhaustion pounding in his temples like an incessant bongo, death sounded like a vacation.

If it weren’t for Evan. Thought of his son brought Nathan back to the moment. Water lapped against the sides of the boat, and feminine voices drifted over the whisper of air through leaves.

Could it be that easy?

Three figures appeared, strung out single file along the rim of the lake. Triple luck indeed. Nathan watched them hike up the slope toward a trail. The tall blonde in the lead moved like a gazelle.

Belenos liked prime offerings.

Nathan steered toward the bank. Could he subdue all three? He pulled his Taser from his bag and stuffed plastic zip ties in his pocket. It would be best to catch them on the narrow path, when they were single file. He scanned the lake’s shores. Empty and desolate. Perfect.

His chances were better if no one could hear them scream.

“Will you slow down?” Victoria stopped and drank from her water bottle. Twenty feet to her right, the trail dropped off a steep embankment. The Long River flowed past. Sunlight sparkled on the rippled, dark surface, like light reflected off the cuts of a gemstone in a jeweler’s case. On the left side of the trail, a rock outcropping jutted out of the earth and angled away from the river.

The midday sun had turned unexpectedly warm. Under her nylon jacket, sweat soaked her gray University of Boston T-shirt
between her shoulder blades. She didn’t know which burned more, her thighs or her lungs. There might not be any mountains in the area, but this trail had been an uphill hike all morning. “Not all of us are cross-country runners.”

Ashley caught up and wheezed. “Seriously.”

“Sorry.” From twenty feet up the trail, Samantha spun around and bounced back to her friends. “The lake is just over the rise.” Despite her skin-tight black leggings, the collegiate runner didn’t have an ounce of jiggle on her ridiculously long legs.

Victoria bent double and touched her toes. Her hamstrings tightened, then gave.
Ahhh.

They trudged over the summit and out of the woods. Waves on the lake sparkled. Fifty yards away, a man piloted an old fishing boat across the water.

“Oh. Pretty.” Victoria let the slope carry her down to the water’s edge. “Look, there’s a nice beach on the other side. Who’s up for renting kayaks tomorrow?”

Beside her, Ashley eased her butt onto the weedy bank. She unzipped her yellow windbreaker. Red splotches colored her face.

“Are you OK?” Victoria asked.

“Yeah.” Ashley held up a hand and sucked air. “I just need a minute.”

With a conspiratorial glance at Victoria, Samantha glanced at her watch. “You know what? It’s time to head back anyway.”

“No, you guys wanted to go farther. We don’t have to stop because of me,” Ashley protested.

“It’s not because of you. It’s because I want cookies.” Samantha grinned. She adjusted the blonde ponytail looped through the back of her Red Sox cap.

“And lemonade,” added Victoria. Her stomach rumbled. She let her pack slide down her arms to the ground and dug a protein bar out of the front pocket. “Anyone else hungry?” She gestured
to her remaining food stores: trail mix, energy gel, more protein bars.

“Nah, I just ate a PowerBar.” Samantha bent a leg, caught her boot behind her with her hand, and stretched the front of her thigh. Her mouth stretched in a mischievous grin. “Besides, we can drive to the beach tomorrow. If we go back to the inn early enough, maybe we’ll get to see Mr. Super Hot.”

Victoria fanned herself. “Could he get any more tall, dark, and handsome?”

“Mmm. Mmm.” Ashley pulled her inhaler out of the pocket of her cargo pants. She squeezed the pump and huffed the medication into her lungs. “He is the definition of tall, dark, and handsome,” she said in a breathy voice.

“Too bad he’s all hung up on our innkeeper.” Victoria watched her friend’s breathing ease. But Ashley’s color didn’t improve, and her mouth was still gaping for air like a fish in a cooler. Victoria broke a small piece of protein bar off and popped it into her mouth. Chewing slowly, she recapped her water bottle. Maybe a few more minutes of rest would help.

Dry foliage crunched from the nearby woods. She glanced around, looking for an animal. Nothing. The shimmering water pulled her gaze back. What happened to the guy in the boat?

“Did you hear that?” Samantha whispered.