She squatted on the floor and inched the board up.
She had never lied to George. For most of her life, she believed it was impossible to lie to the man. He knew things. He sensed lies before they were even told.
She could drop the board back into place, tell Stephen she’d found nothing, and return to life as she knew it.
The dark crevice beneath the board seemed to glow with mystery. Finally, unable to will herself to push the board back down, she lifted further until the hole within was exposed.
It was anticlimactic. Beneath the floor lay a jumble of worn leather books. She got on her hands and knees and peered into the hole, looking for the magic it surely contained.
Disappointed, she pulled out one of the books. It was oddly clean. The cover was plain, not an image or title in sight. When she opened the book, she saw words written in another language. Old Norse, she figured, based on George’s occasional use of the language. He had never tried to teach her the language of his ancestors. Few in the world still spoke it, he’d told her many times. His own mother had clung to the words, but George too had been more devoted to English than an ancient language that no longer offered much value.
Though all the books were in Old Norse, one of them was translated. Norse was written on the left page and the English translation on the right.
Halfway through the book, her eye caught on a spell to displace favor among the gods. She slipped a leaf between the pages and continued flipping. Near the back of the book, she paused and read a much more sinister spell.
“Eternity in Darkness,” she read. The spell implied that the person who fell under it would bypass the afterlife and exist in perpetual nothingness. A torment of the worst kind, a note beneath the title stated.
The spell itself was disturbing, calling for the hide of a freshly skinned black cat for the template. It went on to describe that the spell must be written in menstrual blood.
Liv wrinkled her nose and shut the book.
She tilted her head and listened, but only the forest sounds filtered in.
Putting the book in her bag, she slipped on her shoes and shuffled into her coat before leaving the cabin. She didn’t leave George a note. She rarely did. He understood the comings and goings and never expected word, one way or another.
As she walked, the book in her bag thudded against her side. Each nudge grew sharper, and the bag heavier. When she reached the train, it took all her effort to heave the bag into a moving car and haul herself in after it. She pushed the bag into a dark corner and fell asleep on a sack of wheat.
Chapter 18
Mack
Mack stood before a Victorian mansion silhouetted against the starry sky. Lights blazed in the windows, and the sounds of music and laughter drifted out.
A masked man in a tuxedo stumbled onto the porch, a waif-like woman in a silver dress hanging on his arm. They laughed and supported each other down the wide wooden stairs before climbing into a white car and driving down a driveway that disappeared into the trees.
In an upstairs window, Mack saw a young woman. He should not have been able to see her face, not from the lawn, and yet he could make out the ‘O’ of horror frozen on her mouth. Her big brown eyes were filled with tears.
“Mack, Mack.”
He turned on the lawn, looking into the trees, seeking the voice who called out to him. But the trees had begun to fade.
Mack blinked.
A slimy tongue slid across his cheek, and he batted Misty’s nose away from his own.
He looked through Misty’s ears to find Diane, her eyes big and full of tears, not unlike those from the woman in his dream.
Diane gasped, put a hand to her chest and closed her eyes.
“Di?” Mack mumbled. He tried to sit up and his head spun.
He leaned over the side of the couch, bracing a hand on the wood floor and trying not to throw up. His head pounded and his mouth tasted sour and fuzzy.
“I thought you were dead,” she breathed. “I knocked and knocked, and then when I walked in, I shook you and you didn’t move.” She sank into a plaid chair next to the television.
He struggled up and rubbed his eyes.
“Thought I was dreaming ya for a second there,” he said, smiling.
“Mack, what’s going on? You look…” She didn’t continue, and Mack had a pretty good idea of what her next words might have been: drunk, exhausted, terrible.
Purple shadows hung beneath his bloodshot eyes. His copper-colored beard and mustache, which he’d been shaving for a decade, had grown in. He hadn’t been to the barbershop in weeks.
He self-consciously patted at his face, and then glanced down at his coffee-stained shirt.
“Has it gotten so bad?” Diane asked, gesturing at the empty glass on the table.
“I’ve had a hard week,” he said at last.
“Because of your break-up with Tina? Dennis told me,” she admitted.
Word traveled fast in small towns, especially when you beat feet on a girl like Tina.
Mack let loose a harsh laugh, propping his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands.
“No, not because of Tina.” Mack stayed quiet, massaging his face for several seconds before finally regarding her through watery eyes. “I’ve got to tell somebody,” he said, more to himself than her.
“Tell somebody what?” Diane asked. “What’s going on?”
Mack nodded. If he could tell anyone, it was Diane. .
“Give me a half-hour?” He stood and wobbled on his feet for a second before steadying.
Diane looked at her watch.
“I told Dale I’d meet him for lunch. I stopped by because Kate called me.”
“Diane.” He regarded her gravely. “I’m drowning here. I really need to get this off my chest, but I’ve got to get coffee in me first, and wash a layer of this grime off.” He waved at himself.
Diane nodded.
“Okay, I’ll call Dale, and make the coffee. You go have a shower,” she told him.
Still bearded, but smelling of ivory soap and wearing a white shirt opened at the collar, Mack felt better than he had in days.
He found Diane in the kitchen, and drank his first cup of coffee in silence.
He stood, poured a second cup, and walked to the hallway, returning a moment later with the small leather pouch. He dropped it on the table before her with a plunk.
She eyed it for a moment.
“What is it?” she asked finally.
He stared at the satchel as if it contained something truly disgusting.
After several seconds, he pulled at the twine wound through the top of the leather. His big hands shook as he opened it.
He dumped the contents of the bag onto the table.
She leaned closer, studying the six smooth white stones. A hole ran through the center of each stone.
She looked up. “What are they?”
Mack touched one, and then pulled his hand quickly away, shuddering.
“I haven’t got a clue.”
Diane sighed.
“Mack, speak sense, please. I stayed; I canceled my plans. Let’s not play games now.”
He didn’t look at her, but puzzled at the stones for another moment.
“Do you remember when I stopped by your office last week? I’d just come home from the cabin.”
Diane nodded.
“I told you I found the body of a man?”
“Yes, I remember.”
Mack pointed at the stones.