Vision In Love (Legends of The North Book 1) (17 page)

Matt's own screams joined the cacophony as nails pierced his skin, a burning in his shoulders and thighs as they dug in. Felt the cold, icy sensation around his neck take on a form to coil itself around his throat and slowly began to tighten. His lungs began to ache as he fought to take a breath. Trying to fight off its hold on him, his hands began to sting where they touched it. But it was too strong for him. As reality began to recede, the last thing he heard was an explosion ringing through his ears and then the smell of smoke filled his nostrils.

Jess ran down the stairs as the knocking on the front door started again. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" she shouted, even though she knew they wouldn't be able to hear her. She swung the front door open and felt her lungs seize as Rob stood leaning against the wall of the house. Physically, he still had the same effect on her that he'd had since the first day she'd seen him. He was dark and dangerous, to her anyway. His short, almost black hair was artfully tousled. His slate-like eyes were hard and gave nothing away, as usual. He was an enigma to her, except for the way her body responded to his barely concealed muscles wrapped decadently in faded jeans and a white V-neck T-shirt. She realised she was staring and felt her cheeks heat as she pulled a strand of hair around her finger, taking in the faint smile he wore.

"Rob, hello. If you're looking for Matt, I'm afraid he's not here."

His lips lifted into a full smile, and she couldn't help but wonder why. Was he laughing at her? Glancing down at herself, she saw no immediate reason for him to be.

"Hi, Jess. Good to see you, too. Do you know when he'll be back?"

Jess looked over her shoulder at the clock as she unwound the hair from her finger then began twisting it back around again. "Emma should be home soon, so I assume he'll be back when she is."

"Great, I'll just wait here for him, then."

She opened her mouth to tell him no but before she got the chance, he was brushing past her. She stumbled out of his way. "No, please, I insist you come in," she said, waving her hand in invite at his back. Shaking her head, she quietly shut the front door, resting her forehead against the cool wood. She followed him into the kitchen, where her manners took over.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"No, I'm good, thanks." As he blatantly looked her up and down, she found herself unable to stand still. The look he had given her probably had most women fawning over him, but all she felt was uncomfortable and a little apprehensive. Okay, not quite all, but mostly. Where was Emma? Glancing at the clock, she filled the kettle for something to do but almost dropped it in the sink as the piercing ringing of the telephone broke the silence. Setting the kettle down, she lifted the handset and turned her back to Rob.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is that Emma?"

"No, I'm afraid she's not here. Can I take a message?"

"It's not the kind of thing you want to leave as a message, especially not for a woman."

Her hand tightened around the phone, but she tried to keep her tone even. "Well, can you tell me what it's regarding, at least?"

"It's about that man of hers."

"Matt? Is he all right? He's my brother." She jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder then gently squeezed it.

"He's all right, but I guess he's been better. The doctor's with him now, and my wife."

"Oh, my God. What happened?"

"I found him on my rounds. Just sprawled out in one of my fields. Attacked by something, by the looks of it."

"Oh, God, no."

"Like I said, not really something I should share with a woman."

"I'm sorry, but who is this?"

"Talbot. I've got the farm down by Altenbury Hall."

***

Rob watched as what little colour Jess had drained from her face before the phone dropped from her hand. Catching it, he pressed it to his ear. "Hello?" When he heard nothing but silence, he placed the phone back in its cradle and turned Jess to face him. He bent his knees so he could look directly into her face, but her eyes were unfocused.
 

Pressing her into the nearest chair, he squatted in front of her. He squeezed her thighs, trying to get a response, but she felt as cold as the attitude she normally gave him. Not really sure what he was dealing with or what he should do, he went with his instincts. Lifting one hand, he gently cupped her cheek. "Jess?" In the absence of a response, he tried a sterner tone. "Jessica." And it was like he'd flipped a switch. Her spine stiffened and she batted his hand away.

"I need to go to Altenbury Hall. Matt was ..."

For a moment, she just stared at him. The air of coolness that usually surrounded her disappeared and she looked ... Groping for the right word, the best he could come up with was
broken
. "Matt was what, Jess?" he asked quietly.

"Matt was attacked."

"Right, I'll drive you. I'll leave a note for Emma, just to tell her to ring me when she gets home. Keys?" he questioned, before picking them up off the table. "Do you need anything else? Jess?"

She shook her head, and he ushered her out of the house and into his car.

***

Jess closed the door to Emma's bedroom on her sleeping brother and finally felt like herself again. Turning to face Rob, she realised she may have misjudged him; she certainly could have treated him better. She stopped before opening the front door, her manners taking over whether she wanted them to or not.

"Thank you for helping me get Matt back here and, well, just being here to help."

"He's my friend, Jess. He'd do the same for me, no questions asked. If you need anything else, just call me. You have my number, right?"

She nodded and opened the front door for him.
 

He stopped in the doorway, his chest brushing against her arm as he faced her. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Tomorrow?" She watched as the serious face disappeared behind his growing grin.

"If you're anything like Matt, I'm guessing you won't call, even if you do need my help. So, just in case, I will be back tomorrow whether you call or not." He didn't wait for a reply, which was a good thing as he might have been standing there for a while. She watched him swagger his way down the path toward the gate and slowly closed her mouth. Pressing a hand to her stomach to try to settle it, she told herself it was just protesting from a lack of food. She was just hungry, that was all.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Matt paused, his hand on the handle of the bedroom door, about to close it behind him, but not quietly enough. "Nowhere?"

"Right answer. The doctor said bed rest for a whole week."

"But, Ems, I'm bored."

"Try sleeping then. Hard to be bored if you're not awake." She followed him back into the bedroom and lay down next to him.
 

He raised an eyebrow as he tilted his head in her direction. "Are you going to entertain me?"

She shook her head but couldn't stop the smile because he was still there. It could have been much worse–he could have been killed. And she couldn't deal with that thought. Instead, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. The skin on his neck was almost back to a normal colour, but the cuts on his shoulders and legs were taking longer to heal. "Where were you going, anyway?"

"The attic."

She turned onto her side, resting her head on her elbow so she could look at him. "Why?"

Matt moved to mirror her position before he winced and lay back against the headboard instead. "I forgot. I must have blanked it out or something, but before the attack, I had a vision. It was like yours, I think."

 
Emma pushed up onto her knees, leaning towards him as she placed a hand on his chest. "Really? What was it like?"

He put his hand over hers and squeezed gently. "It was ..." He blew out a deep breath. "God, how to describe it? It felt like a really vivid dream, but I could remember every detail in stunning colour and surround sound. And it just ... I knew it wasn't real, but I was at Altenbury Hall. Not as I knew it, though. Gran was there, and she was young. God, she was so pretty, Ems. But ..."

He started chewing his thumbnail and Emma waited. She knew how hard this was. Hard enough to believe when you were the one who had gone through it, but especially explaining it to someone else.

"She was dancing, but it was her arm."

She squeezed his hand, and he looked up at her and let out a little laugh. "That didn't sound so weird in my head." He lifted a hand to his neck, a finger tracing the raised skin. "Gran had a circle of skin around her wrist just like this."

Emma let out a gasp. "Does that mean ... What does that mean?"

"That's why I was going up to the attic," he said, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Obviously, that would be the first place I would go, too."

He flashed her a grin but carried on. "The way I see it, there's either more than one of those things running around, or whatever attacked me also attacked Gran. In which case, you have to wonder if it has a grudge against our family in particular. If so, or even if it's just bad luck, I wondered if maybe Gran had written about it. I know she kept a journal. I know it's a long shot, but I thought it was worth a look."

"No, you're right, it's definitely worth a look. Do you think she would have left it in the attic? Wouldn't someone have cleared it out before renting the place out?"

Smiling at her, he threw back the covers and moved to sit up. Emma stopped him with a hand against his chest.

"What? Gran asked me to put the boxes up there. I sorted the house out before it was rented, and I definitely didn't empty the attic. No way my parents would've thought of it."

Emma didn't move her hand. "The doctor said bed rest. I'll go up into the attic. It can't be that hard to find a journal."

An hour later, in a self-built fortress of boxes, Emma regretted her words. Despite the chill in the air outside, inside the attic it was humid and musty. She found it difficult to breathe through the layer of dust that covered everything, from an old record player to huge travel chests monogrammed with the initials M.A. She assumed that was Matt's gran.
 

Standing, she took stock of what was left to go through when she noticed a brown, beaten-up leather satchel hanging from a hook in the wall that had been hidden behind a crate. Climbing over the boxes she had already looked through, she unhooked the satchel and pressed the clasp to open it. It took a few attempts as the clasp was rusty, but when she lifted the flap, she found four books inside. Pulling one out, she ran her fingers down the floral cover and thought it looked promising.
 

The cover opened to a cream page decorated with flowing, looping handwriting with just the words "Mary Altenbury." Definitely promising. Slipping it back inside the satchel, she put the strap over her head and across her body. Casting a glance at the boxes, she shook her head at them. Matt could deal with them another day; she just wanted to get out of the attic and into fresher air.

Emma could feel the grass crunching beneath her feet, the hard ground unyielding, its iciness seeping into her bare feet. Without thought, she made her way toward the bridge, the same path she took every morning. But it wasn't morning right then. The sky had taken on the colour of dirty snow, the kind people told you not to eat for a good reason. It was quiet, too. Her walks were never that quiet; even in the early morning, she would hear the sounds of the farm animals coming from the barns. Her feet hit the smooth concrete of the bridge and she paused, turning to scan the field.
Where is Barney?
 

All other thoughts left her as a wailing sound pierced the air, making it impossible to think of anything else. Her hands rose to clamp over her ears in a futile attempt to block out the terrible noise. Whatever was making it sounded like it was dying. She crossed the bridge and, as her feet hit the grass, the wailing stopped as quickly as it had started. The sudden silence was eerie, conjuring images of death and a scent to go with it, like rotting compost.
 

At the sound of clacking rocks, she turned, looking for Barney. Instead, what she saw made her freeze. How had she never noticed them before? They stood on the banks of the river, bleached white and knobbly, like skeletal fingers poking through the brown ribbon of the river. The dead stems of a plant slowly moved over the rocks on the bottom of the riverbed, pointing toward the field that she never walked through. Her eyes fell on the oak tree at the edge of the field, unsure why she felt the need to walk toward it, to feel the rough bark beneath her fingers. As she neared the edge, the wailing started again, higher-pitched that time. More intense, as though trying to warn her, but warn her of what? She stopped abruptly, as did the wailing, and she staggered backwards as the feeling of falling hit her.
 

Letting out a scream, she jolted herself back to awareness. The familiar sight of her kitchen came back into focus. The smell of coffee was comforting, followed quickly by the strange quietness. She turned to find both Matt's and Jess's eyes fixed on her. Matt's narrowed in concern, obviously guessing she'd been somewhere else. Jess's were wide and startled; clearly, hearing about the visions and being present were two different things. Matt pushed her into the nearest chair and put a steaming mug of coffee in front of her.

"Drink," he said to her before leaving the kitchen. She did, watching the door for his return, a pair of thick socks in his hands. He handed them to her, glancing at her feet. Pulling her knee up to her chest, she realised she couldn't feel her feet and they had turned a lovely shade of purple. Quickly, she pulled the socks on, trying to flex her toes to get the blood flowing to them.

"What happened?" Matt asked.

"It started off just like the last one, in the fields by the stream. But this time, I ended up by the oak tree. Did you know the field just drops away there?"