The Artisans (12 page)

Thunder crashes outside, as I reach the stairs. My heart stutters the boom is so loud. When I glance behind me, there’s no sign of Gideon. Maybe he gave up. I skip down the steps, anxious and unhappy. The confrontation rattled me more than I want to admit. No, I shouldn’t have gone into his office, but I didn’t know it was his office or that he’d come home. So that happened.

And my cat is still missing.

What next?

In my room, I stuff the stolen letter in a poetry book and make one last search for Edgar. No luck. I flop on the bed. Exhaustion weighs me down as though there’s an anchor parked on my stomach. Lightning flashes outside, thunder follows in its wake. The clock on the wall reads two in the morning, if it can be trusted. There’s something odd about the clocks in this house. They’re old, and stop and start when they feel like it. Maybe they need winding. I raise my head, reading the clock again to make sure. Yep, two o’clock.

I lift a boot to my hand and unlace one, then the other. They fall in consecutive thuds on the carpet. The cool air feels great on my sore feet. Gideon’s face drifts into my mind. I can’t believe I straight up confessed I’d been snooping in his office. I’d been so embarrassed when he found me; I went on the defensive immediately. Boy’s got quite a temper, ordering me out of the room like a naughty child, which didn’t help. Still, when he’d tried to stop my leaving, his voice was, well, not apologetic or anything, but sincere. Sort of. Maybe earnest is a better word. I get the feeling he actually wanted to talk, but I was too mad to care. And now? Am I still mad? Hell yeah, but I’m curious, too.

Shame he’s a jerk, that’s all.

I force myself up and change into my black tank top and drawstring pants. Kneeling to gather my dirty clothes, I consider searching the attic next for Edgar. A soft knock against my bedroom window has my neck twisting around. Another flash shows the silhouette of a person there.

Raven
…

“Cole?” I’m up and padding toward the multi-paned window remembering I’m three stories up. It
is
Cole. I drop my clothes and unlatch the lock in the center before pushing on the sash. The window opens out on iron hinges. Rain splatters the sill, my clothes, and face. Cole levitates between a giant oak in the dark and me.

“Come with me, Raven.”

What, outside? I’m about to ask my hallucination if he’s insane when I stop myself. His mouth moves and he’s speaking out loud, more than just a voice in my head. “Cole, are you real, or am I dreaming?” The question is absurd, but I want to understand what’s happening to me.

He nods vigorously. “I’m very real.”

“You’re louder, more clear when you speak, now.”

“I’m learning. Follow me.” He peeks over his shoulder and back. “Hurry, please. It’s important.”

Learning? His tone is pleading. I hesitate a moment more. Trailing a ghost outside in the middle of a rainy night won’t make it onto my ‘brightest moves’ list, but I already know I’m going. “I’ll be right out.”

My boots are too time consuming to put on, so I leave them and slip out of my room. I doubt anyone is up at this hour, but I creep down the steps anyway. Cringing with each squeak and groan of the stairs, I make it to the front door and into the side yard.

My heart thuds. The grass is cold and slick. Water pelts my face, and my cotton pants and tank cling to my skin. I start as thunder crashes and rolls overhead. This better be worth the trouble, Cole. Ha!
Cole.
I probably made the whole thing up and coaxed myself out here, or better yet, I’m dreaming again and will wake up any minute nice and dry in my own bed.

When I reach my window on the east side of the house, I don’t see him. I pace, my gaze following the roofline of the house for a glimpse of the boy. “Cole! Where are you?” The longer I stand there, the stupider I feel. Maggie’s right, I’m reacting to traumatic events. Until tonight, I called my visions by what they were, hallucinations. A healthy normal response to what was occurring. Not now. Now, I’m standing in the rain because I asked my psychotic break if he was real, and he said yes, and I believed him.

I trusted that the attractive boy in a photograph is haunting me in my captor’s house and wants to be friends. In a thunderstorm. At two in the morning. And I’m barefoot, and freezing, and stupid! Ugh!
I already said that!
When I stomp off toward the front door, Cole appears, blocking my path. “What the … ?”

“Follow me,” he says. His big, dark eyes do the pleading thing again. Thin but not gaunt, Cole is tall and classically handsome. Not as beautiful as Gideon, but he’s compelling with an unmistakable sorrow in his eyes.

I stiffen. “No.” I’m over it, this house, my promise to stay, the hot pair of guys making my life a living hell.

“The black cat is in danger.”

Forget everything I just said.

“Show me,” I say. Cole walks, or I should say glides, over the grass, past the greenhouse toward the mill. Of course he does. Sticks and briars dig into my bare feet. I stumble and trip. Cole doesn’t slow, and I fall behind watching his white shirt growing dimmer with distance. “Wait!” Just like that he pops up in front of me again. My breath catches and my racing heart threatens to stop. I want to tell him to never
ever
scare me like
that again, but I did call him, and maybe he can’t help it. I struggle to stand. “Can we go a little slower?”

He nods. When I glance down, I notice he has no feet. His body smears and fades where his knees should be. Oo-kay. “Follow me,” he repeats. I get that part, but I say nothing and pick my way through the brush behind him.

As we near the mill house I hear a soft cry. “Edgar?” He answers with a meow, weak and piteous. “Oh, God. Please take care of my cat.”

Cole waits at the foot of a huge oak and points up. The tree is thirty feet high and at least that wide. Perfect. Edgar cries again and snaps me out of my stupor. I bolt to the base of the trunk and peer into the massive branches. I can’t see him. “Edgar. Come here, sweetie! Can you come down, baby?” His yowling doesn’t sound any nearer.

Considering how long my cat’s been gone, I decide he’s stuck or too afraid to climb down. Either way, my choices are few. I rule out the fire department. Gideon might go into cardiac arrest if I brought them out here. Too many questions from the authorities and Ben is back on the street. Not to mention I heard firemen don’t rescue cats anymore, so I cross that off the list. Cole is useless to me as a ghost. Gideon would probably rant or laugh if I asked for his help. Jenny is out of the question, and Jamis is way too old.

I face Cole. “Ladder?” He lifts his arm, finger directing me toward the greenhouse. “Right.” As I race back to the greenhouse I call over my shoulder, “Hang on, Edgar.” Careful to avoid the muck at the pond, I push through the bushes and dart across a small yard. Along the backside of the greenhouse wall, an old ladder is propped up amid a hose, dead leaves, and other junk. I frown, the thing is awkward and heavy looking but my cat needs me. Grabbing the first rung at one end, I haul the ladder behind me. My progress is slow, the weight and bushes make formidable obstacles, but I won’t quit. My pride keeps me from seeking Gideon.

Hard to see in the dark, I wander too close to the pond. The mud surrounding the little pool sucks at my bare feet. Keeping the muck from pulling my ladder or me underground is a Herculean task. My thigh muscles burn. Both hands and every finger ache from gripping the slick wood. It’s dangerous so near the water, but the most direct path. Falling twice, I decide to drop the ladder to rest and catch my breath. At least the rain is slacking off. The moon appears, revealing the clouds above in misty outline.

I lean over, grasping my knees. Air saws in and out of my chest when a gleam flashes in my peripheral vision. I glance up spying a large spider web nestled in the fork of a branch overhead. Moonlight glints off the wet strands. Leaves quiver, and the threads thicken, clustering together. At first I assume it’s the spider, or a breeze, but no, the silken threads jerk and tighten as though being manipulated by an invisible needle. I squint, unsure of what I’m seeing. Letters. Words form in the webbing, like some sort of wicked message out of
Charlotte’s Web.

Get out!

Stumbling back, I try not to shriek. I kneel, groping the leafy forest floor for my ladder. My fingers clutch the first rung. I shove the cold wood under one arm and speed as fast as I’m able away from the hideous web.

Cole waits beneath the oak. His white shirt glows in the distance. When I reach the tree, I call again and Edgar meows. I picture him shivering and frightened, and it’s the motivation I need to keep moving. My teeth clench as I force the awkward ladder against the trunk of the oak. I step on the lowest rung, testing the steadiness at the base. My arms are like noodles. I have no idea how I will climb, let alone rescue my cat and get us down again.

Before I can think anymore I’m moving, climbing the ladder, and then pulling up on the thick branches. One after another, I make my way higher amidst the foliage, doing my best not to look down and freak myself out. “Edgar, where are you, hon?” A faint cry is my answer. I talk, and he yowls, until I see the faint outline of my friend. He’s soaked and afraid but unhurt.

“Hey, buddy.”

I situate myself on a wide branch and take stock. We’re maybe halfway to two-thirds up the tree. Cole materializes near the end of the branch I’m sitting on, and I jump a foot. My hands scramble for purchase on the slick bark until I steady myself. “Cole! You idiot, never do that again!” A sigh leaks from me at his crestfallen expression. “Sorry, but you almost gave me a heart attack. I’m not used to people vaporizing out of thin air, okay?”

“Okay,” he says. A pause. “How will you get down?”

“Good question, Einstein.” He blanches, and I instantly regret snapping at him. I can’t take the seriously wounded look on his face. It’s not his fault. I’m worried about the same thing, and though he’s scared the crap out of me a half dozen times, he did help me find my cat. “Cole? I’m sorry. I’m not like you. I can fall or drop my cat and kill us both. I’m tired and bleeding and afraid. Do you understand?”

His face softens. “Of course, I do.”

“Good. Thanks.” I stare at the tangle of branches on the way down. Trying to plot a pathway to the ground, my mind does the mental calisthenics of holding my cat while attempting my descent. It’s not looking too promising.

“Your cat can climb,” Cole says.

“Hmm, yes I know,” I answer without looking. I’m thinking that’s how he got us into this big fat mess, but I don’t say so. I’m trying to be nice.

“No, I mean he can climb down, he just doesn’t know it. He’s too frightened. He needs a start.”

Hmm. I lift my gaze to Edgar, crouching on the branch above.

“I tried to scare him, but he won’t let go. He needs a push.”

Not bad, spooky boy. I balance both feet on the trunk below me and pull to a stand. If Cole’s plan doesn’t work, I’m no worse off for giving this a shot. I stretch until my fingers reach Edgar. He meows then purrs as my hand pets his back. “My poor baby,” I croon. “If we get out of this alive I will kill you, dumb cat.” He purrs louder, and I can’t help my smile. When I try to lift him, his nails grip the branch. He’s dug in like an Alabama tick. When I yank him from his perch, bits of bark come off with him. He clings to me, but surprisingly leaves his claws sheathed.

“Okay, sweetie, let’s get down.” I toss him over my shoulder like a baby and start my decent. Edgar growls in my ear, and I assume he’s seen Cole. It’s my cat’s reaction that first got me thinking Cole might be real. I still don’t know what to think, but I doubt my subconscious knew my cat was stuck in a tree by the millpond. The reality of spirits is gaining more credence.

Climbing down a tree isn’t easy. Attempting the act on a dark rainy night while balancing an overweight cat with one arm is suicide, yet that’s what I’m doing. My pace is painstakingly slow, but I focus on one branch at a time. Cole is quiet. I don’t see him, and I wonder if he left. Why did he help me? He wants something, my mind whispers. He’s been asking for my help since we met, maybe he thinks I’ll—

“Whoa.”

I slip and totter on the edge of a branch. Edgar meows as I squeeze his tummy. My other arm wraps the trunk of the tree. The rough bark scrapes the skin on my cheek. “Sorry. We’re okay, we’re okay …” I’m going to kill us. My heart’s wild beating echoes in my ears, the rhythm a warning the poor thing will dive into pulmonary failure any minute if I keep this up. Carefully, I kneel, setting my cat on the branch. “Help me out, bud. Can you get down on your own from here?”

I give his hips a tiny nudge, then another. Edgar jumps to the next branch smooth as a jaguar in a jungle. Stinker. Cole was right. He could have done that at any time. I’d like to maim him, but I’m too happy. Now all I have to do is get myself on the ground.

The rain stops completely, encouraging me. As I peer down the trunk, I lose track of Edgar. I need to get down there before he decides to climb something else. What I wouldn’t give for a nice set of wings right now. I scramble down several more branches. When I’m fifteen feet from the ground, I pivot around a dip in the oak’s trunk.