The Water Witch (33 page)

“I’ll get a mop—and some hot tea for you, Callie,” Bill said, following my glance and glaring at the Stewarts. When he was gone, I turned to Frank.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why are the Stewarts here?”

Mac Stewart puffed up his chest proudly. I noticed he was wearing the owl feather he’d gotten from me the night we met in the woods. “Our family are the stewards of the woods! I didn’t even know that until last night. We tracked that mean fish woman back to her hidey-hole and got her trapped there. See, I’ve got superpowers just like you …”

“Hush, boy,” Angus said, not unkindly. “All she needs to know is that Lura’s threatening to shoot anyone who steps onto her property.”

“She says she won’t let us take her mother away the way we took her fiancé—”

“That’s enough, Mac,” Angus cautioned, more sternly now. “We don’t have to air all our business here.”

“You do if you expect my help,” I replied, dropping my boots and folding my arms over my chest.

Angus Stewart heaved an exasperated sigh. “Lura has it in her addled brain that the Stewarts did away with Quincy Morris.”

“Why would she think that?” I asked.

“Because he was our cousin,” Angus answered, “from the Morris clan over in Ulster County. He was supposed to be guarding the woods the summer he went courting Lura. Some of the elders didn’t like it, on account of her having an undine mother. A few of them, my father included, spoke to Lura
about it the night before the wedding—the night before Quincy disappeared. Lura thinks they scared him away or, worse, killed him so he couldn’t marry her and disgrace the family. But my father swears they didn’t do anything to Quincy. Told me Quincy wouldn’t have been the first to find a bride in those woods. They spoke to Quincy that night and he was bound and determined to marry Lura, despite her being half-fish.”

“So what happened to him?”

Angus shrugged. “We’ve never known. My father thinks he might have gotten cold feet after all, but it’s not like a Morris to run away. Any road, we must convince Lura to let go of Lorelei. It’s our job to protect the woods and Lorelei has proved herself dangerous.”

“There’s more danger in those woods than Lorelei,” Frank said. “I don’t believe those murdered fishermen were the victims of an undine—and I don’t think an incubus did this to you,” he said, touching my eye. “Explain exactly how it happened.”

I told him about my attempt to unmask Duncan, embarrassed to be telling the story in front of the Stewarts. When I told him Duncan’s story about the bat-winged imp, he snorted.

“What a load of bull hickey. This Duncan Laird is obviously not what he appears to be, but I don’t believe he’s your incubus. He only let you and Ann Chase believe that to deflect attention from what he
really
is.”

“And what’s that?” Angus Stewart asked.

“A Nephilim,” Frank answered.

“Can’t be!” Angus Stewart barked so loudly his son flinched. “The Stewarts fought those bastards back in the old country and killed every last one. They’re extinct.”

“That’s what they wanted us to think,” Frank replied.
“They went into hiding, marshaling their forces to gain allies among the witches …”

“Of course!” I exclaimed. “The Seraphim Club in London is a Nephilim organization.”

“Exactly. I’ve long had my suspicions about them. The members might look like angels but there’s nothing angelic about them. They’ve created a legend that they’re fallen angels, but they’re really elves who were thrown out of Faerie because of their treatment of human women. They persecuted witches who were friendly with the fey and recruited others with the promise of an endless supply of Aelvesgold. They’re one of the few species of fey that can produce Aelvesgold outside of Faerie.”

“So they’ve bribed the Grove into working with them,” I said.

“And the board of IMP,” Frank said. “I should have seen this coming.”

“What do we do now?” I asked.

“There’s an ancient spell for banishing Nephilim and one person in Fairwick who might know what it is.” Frank exchanged a look with Angus, who nodded. “I’m going to go see her. In the meantime, you should go with the Stewarts to Lura’s and see what you can do about getting Lorelei to go back to Faerie. Then go to the door and open it. The Grove won’t try to close the door until everyone has gone through it and I’ll be there before then. Once those Nephilim bastards have been banished, the Grove will realize they won’t have any Aelvesgold if the door is closed. They won’t dare close it then.”

I started to tell Frank that they wouldn’t be able to close it even if they wanted to because of the link I’d made with my heart, but before I could, I heard Bill’s voice behind me.

“Let me help you.”

He was standing in the doorway to the library with a mop in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. I was about to object—Bill had no idea what he would be getting himself into, but Frank was already extending his hand to shake Bill’s. Bill leaned the mop against the wall, put the teacup down on the foyer table, and grasped Frank’s hand in his. A secret understanding seemed to pass between the two men and I was damned if I knew what it was. For all I knew, they rooted for the same baseball team.

“Glad to have you on board, Bill,” Frank said. “I could use your help.”

There didn’t seem to be anything I could say except a hurried good-bye to Bill. “There might be some things you’ll want explained,” I said.

“Let’s leave the explanations for later,” he said, kissing me hard on the lips. Then he was gone, leaving me to wonder what explanations he might have for me.

I went with the Stewarts to their truck—an enormous vehicle with jacked-up tires. Mac gave me a hand up into the high cab and then squeezed in beside me. The two Stewart men took up so much room I practically had to sit on Mac’s lap, which made him grin until a scowl from his father wiped the smile from his face.

We drove down Elm Street and onto Main, which looked like it was under a foot or two of water. The only thing open was the Village Diner. As we passed, I saw a tired-looking Darla through the window filling sugar canisters. We passed Mama Esta’s Pizzeria and Browne’s Realty. Was Dory with Brock now? I wondered. I hoped so.

A bitter-tasting grief was rising in my throat as fast as the floodwater. “We can’t let them get away with it,” I said. “The town would never be the same.”

“No, it wouldn’t be,” Angus agreed somberly. “The town’s barely been hanging on with the economic downturn. This latest blow might destroy it totally.”

We rode the rest of the way in grim silence, the rain and the slap of the windshield wipers the only sounds. We had to take a detour around the low-water crossing on Trask Road, onto Butt’s Corners Road, which cut through the woods. As we came around a sharp turn, the headlights picked up dark shapes in the road. Angus slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid hitting the deer. The lead stag turned to regard us, his eyes glowing gold in the headlights. He stood facing us while the rest of the herd crossed the road in safety, his gold eyes seeming to look directly into mine. Even the enchanted deer were choosing to leave.

Back on Trask Road, we passed the Olsen farm. All the lights were on at the big house on the hill.

“They’ll be keeping vigil over the woods,” Angus said, “maintaining the wards until the door is closed. All this water disrupts the flow of energy. I imagine they’re having a hard time of it.”

“What about the Norns? Are they leaving?”

Angus shook his head. “The Norns are creatures outside this world and the world of Faerie. They say that when the first fey came to this world the Norns and certain other creatures were already here.”

We drove on in silence for another few minutes, then I asked, “What
other
creatures?”

Before Angus could answer, Lura’s house came into view.

“Holy cow!” Mac swore.

“Language, son,” Angus admonished, but then muttered something in Gaelic which sounded far worse than what Mac had said.

Lura’s house was bathed in flickering blue and green light. A multihued wall of light surrounded the house. A dozen men, all dressed in plaid shirts, stood in a circle around the house, their arms extended, their broad faces stolid in the pouring rain.

“What are they doing?” I asked.

“They’re holding up the plaid,” Angus said proudly. “That’s what we Stewarts do. It’s an ancient power handed down from our ancestors in Scotland. We can use the plaid to protect the innocent and banish the evil.”

I saw now that the wall of light was indeed woven of glowing strands of red, gold, blue, and green—like a luminescent tartan. But I also noticed that water from the rising creek was seeping through it.

“The house looks like it’s going to float away,” I said. “Surely Lura and Lorelei will see they have to get out of there now.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mac said, pointing to the porch.

A figure was sitting in a rocking chair. Waves of blue-green light reflected off the barrel of a shotgun laid across her lap. Lura was so still she might have been a statue of ash, but when the light caught her eyes, the hate in them was very much alive.

“You two stay here,” I said. “I’ll go talk to her.”

I slid out of the truck into calf-deep water. I waded through it, my feet squelching in the mud. When I reached the tartan ward, two of the Stewart men parted it for me to pass. I kept my eyes on Lura the whole time, afraid she’d dart away or
shoot me, but she remained perfectly still. When I got to the porch steps—the bottom two of which were underwater—I held out my hands to show her I didn’t have a weapon.

“Can I come up?”

“Come aboard,” she said. “I ain’t gonna bite.” She grinned, her white teeth shining ghoulishly in the watery light. They weren’t as sharp as her mother’s, but they weren’t exactly human-looking either. I walked slowly up the steps, their wooden slats groaning under my weight. When I stepped onto the porch, the house swayed as though coming unmoored from its foundation. I glanced toward the stream and saw that even in the few minutes since I’d arrived, it had risen higher. Strange shapes bobbed on its swollen surface—branches, glass bottles, dead animals. There were live things, too. A whiskered nose poked out of the water and tried to climb onto the bank, but the current snatched it back into the water.

“Strange things have been moving through the woods all night,” said Lura. “Creatures heading to the door.” She scowled at me. “I guess you didn’t have much luck convincing the Grove not to close it.”

“No,” I admitted. “But I’ve found a way to keep it open. Lorelei still needs to go back, though. She’s a danger to folks here.”

Lura’s gaze moved toward the woods. “You know, I’ve sat here for close on eighty years watching these woods, hoping Quincy would walk out of them again. Then a few days ago my mother walks out instead. And now you want to take her away, too. This town won’t be happy until it takes everything away from me.”

“Lorelei’s killed men.”

“She tells me she hasn’t.” Lura looked up at me and raised the shotgun slightly. “And I believe her.”

I sighed. I remembered the brief time I’d spent with my
mother in the labyrinth. For a moment, I’d been willing to stay with her there. Would I have listened to anyone who told me she was bad? Would I have let anyone take her away?

“Can I talk to Lorelei?” I asked.

Lura looked up at me, surprised. “You’re either braver or stupider than I thought. She’s not too fond of you. She might eat you.”

“I know, but is she inside?” I looked worriedly at the water, which had risen to the top of the porch and was now lapping against the front door.

“She’s upstairs in the bathtub,” Lura said. “She’s got to stay hydrated. Go on. I don’t think she’s modest, but if you hurt her …” The shotgun was still pointed at me. “I won’t let you out of here alive. Understand?”

I nodded and walked to the front door. Flickering water reflections circled the doorknob. When I pushed open the door, water lapped over the threshold like a cat that had been waiting to get in. The glass and tin wind chimes floated in the wavy light like fish. The ceiling, too, was soaked through, water dripping from bulging blisters of plaster and streaming down the walls. It looked as if the creek was rising to take back this house. I just hoped it waited until I got out of here.

I climbed the narrow staircase, my feet sinking into spongy damp floral carpet. Old photographs hung framed on the walls: sepia-colored prints of stern, square-jawed men and women standing in stiff, formal rows in front of this house. A more lively picture was a group shot of men in fishing waders, each holding a huge fish up to the camera. I looked closer and noticed that some of the men wore the Stewart plaid and the Stewart family features. So the Trasks and the Stewarts had been friends once. At the top of the stairs was a picture of a seated woman with a baby on her lap, a man standing behind
her. I looked closer at this cozy domestic scene. The woman wore a high-necked white blouse and her blond hair was gathered on her head in a puffy Gibson girl updo. One hand cradled the baby’s head, the other grasped the man’s hand resting on her shoulder. Her smile somehow seemed to be for both of them, her eyes full of love. I almost didn’t recognize Lorelei, but that’s who it was.

As I walked down the hall I saw more pictures of mother and child. I stopped at one of a slim woman holding a two-year-old toddler by the hand. Again I almost didn’t recognize Lorelei. She was rail-thin, her hair dull and scraped back on her head in thin wisps, her face deeply lined with wrinkles, her shoulders stooped. I recalled that Duncan had said an undine was depleted of Aelvesgold after she laid her eggs. Lorelei had begun to fade fast after giving birth to Lura.

I lifted the picture off the wall, exposing a patch of wallpaper that still held the original bright, cheerful colors it had when Sullivan Trask decorated the house for his beloved bride and newborn daughter, and carried it down the hall toward the sound of splashing water.

The bathroom door was open. I saw the bathtub from the hall and heard splashing. “Can I come in?” I called.

“I suppose you will if I say yes or no,” Lorelei answered.