The seven rings, p.25
The Seven Rings, page 25
“Yes, about your age. But it’s not Collin. It’s my father. Owen, it’s my father.”
She knew it absolutely. They were twins, yet there were small, subtle differences. And she knew the man standing by the mirror, wearing ancient jeans frayed at the hem, a Boston University T-shirt, his hair tousled and in need of a trim, his face stubbled and in need of a shave, was Andrew MacTavish.
Her father.
Breaking away from Owen, she ran.
“Dad. Oh God, Dad!”
Running, her arms open to embrace him, she went right through him.
She gave a quick cry, more grief than shock. His body jerked as if someone had bumped him. Eyes wide, he looked around.
Looked, for a moment she believed, looked at her.
“Dad.”
She reached out, but saw he stared through, not at her, then past her.
“Easy.” Owen went to her, put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s hard. Can’t imagine. But you’ve got a chance to see him again.”
“He felt me. I know it. He can’t see me, but he felt me. We’re ghosts here, but so is he. Why can I see him, but he can’t see me?”
“Hell if I know, Sonya, and it sucks. Look, he’s not afraid. He’s more—”
“In wonder.” A tear spilled out. “That’s what he’d call it when he saw something that struck him. In wonder. It’s the manor that strikes him.”
Even as she spoke, so did Drew.
“It’s a dream, just another dream. How can they be so damn real? How can I smell the salt air, feel the grass under my feet? Hear that music? What the hell song is that?”
Shaking his head, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, studied the manor.
“The most amazing house I’ve ever seen. And I keep seeing it. On the coast somewhere. Man, Winter and Sonya would love this place. One day, maybe.”
Then his head turned. “Who the hell is that?”
“Dobbs.” Owen gripped Sonya’s arm firmly to hold her in place.
“I see her. So does Dad. He sees her.”
“Not one of them,” she heard Drew say. “Something else.”
“She sees him, Owen. She’s walking his way. She could hurt him. I have to—”
“She didn’t. That didn’t happen then.” He kept his grip firm, and hoped he spoke truth. “It won’t happen now.”
Even as Dobbs glided toward him, Drew looked back at the mirror. “Sonya’s calling me. Time to wake up.”
Turning to the mirror, he stepped through.
“Stay away from what’s mine.” Dobbs slapped a hand toward the mirror only to fall back several steps. She cradled one hand in the other.
“Damn to you. Damn to all of you. I should’ve smothered the babe. Pick one, steal its breath. This one brings trouble. Brings trouble.”
Her madness swirling like a cloak, she paced around the mirror. A woman nearby suddenly shivered and hugged her arms.
“This brings trouble.”
With her face wild with fury, lips peeled back in a snarl, Dobbs balled her fist. She rammed it toward the glass but before she struck, pulled back, cried out in pain.
“Damn to you.”
She opened her fist, scowled at her blood-smeared knuckles. Then the face of her fury turned dreamy. Her eyes shined as she held out her hands, as she smiled down at the four rings on her fingers.
“Four now, and the fifth tucked away in bed. Safe and snug, they think. Oh yes, safe and snug this night. But soon enough, soon enough a bride she’ll be. And mine.
“Soon enough.”
She dropped her hands down by her sides, threw her face up to the sky. “Safe and snug and warm, but here I bring the storm.”
Laughing, she threw her arms up.
The wind swirled. Lightning flashed. Thunder roared. And rain poured out of the sky in a torrent.
On shrieks and laughter, people ran toward the house until only the three stood outside as the rain drenched the lawn.
“Soon enough.” Smiling, smiling, Dobbs admired her fingers and what gleamed on them. “Death comes to the bride.”
She lifted her face, shouted at the sky. “I am mistress of the manor, for all time.”
On another whirl, she vanished.
“Hell of a show,” Owen managed. “And what we came here to see. We’re soaked. Time to go back.”
“He heard me calling him. He went back for me.”
“That’s right. And we’re going back.” He pulled her to the mirror, and through.
To a dry, clear summer night.
“Jesus, you’re soaked.” Trey reached for her. “And crying.”
“It rained, it rained on the party.”
“You’ll tell us, but we’re going up.” Cleo took her hand. “I’ll help you dry off and change. Trey.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make tea.”
“I’m not driving now.” Owen shoved at his dripping hair. “I’m having whiskey.”
“I’ll take care of it.” As he walked to the house, Trey looked back.
The mirror had done what it came to do, and was gone.
Not just soaked, Trey thought, not just crying, but so pale he wondered his arms hadn’t passed through her. He watched her walk upstairs with Cleo as Owen followed with Jones in step beside him.
And he’d make goddamn tea.
“Stick with me,” he told the rest of the pets. “Give them some space.”
Not for the first time, he wished the mirror, and the manor with it, to the far reaches of hell.
* * *
Upstairs, Cleo drew Sonya into her room. And saw Molly, most likely, had already turned on the fire.
“You’re shivering. Stand by the fire. You need to get out of those wet clothes. I’ll get towels.”
Because it was Cleo, Sonya let the last thread snap. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
“Oh, Son. Baby. Whatever happened, I’m so sorry.” Wrapping around her, she stroked, she swayed. “Don’t talk now. Just tell me if you’re hurt.”
When Sonya just shook her head, Cleo held her. “I’ve got you,” she said, and let Sonya cry it out.
When the sobs tapered off, Cleo eased back. “I’m going to get you towels and dry clothes.”
She turned, and saw while she’d comforted Sonya, Molly had taken care of the essentials. Towels, a sweatshirt, sweatpants, and thick socks lay on the bed.
“You’re an angel,” Cleo murmured. “I think that’s literally. Here now, let’s get you out of that wet dress.”
Sonya let out a breath, drew another in deep, let it out. “Okay. Okay. I just needed to get that out.”
When she’d stripped down, Cleo wrapped her in a towel, used the other on her hair.
“That’s better. We can hit it with your hair dryer.”
“It’s better.” But Sonya leaned her head on Cleo’s shoulder a moment. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Lucky you don’t have to find out, ever. Let’s get you dressed.”
Dry and dressed, Sonya tapped her face. “How bad?”
“Nothing ten minutes with cold compresses wouldn’t fix, but in this case, I think you go as you are. Son, Trey’s worried, and we’re in the dark, so more worried.”
“You’re right, and I’ve steadied up enough now. Thanks to you.”
“We steady each other. That’s the deal.”
Sonya managed a smile. “Best deal ever. Let’s go downstairs.”
Owen and Jones waited in the hall. After a careful study, Owen nodded.
“If I’d gone down before you were ready, he’d ask, and I’d tell him. You should do that.”
“Damn it, Owen.”
He scowled as he looked at Cleo. “What?”
“You just keep racking up the points.”
“Yeah? What’s my score?”
“Game’s not over.”
Downstairs, Trey paced the kitchen. He was a patient man. He’d been told, more than once, he had too much of that particular quality.
But his patience had just about reached its limit.
“Fuck this.” He started out, then heard them coming. Pulling back some control, he poured whiskey for Owen.
Yoda ran over to Sonya, then rose on his hind legs as if to cheer her.
“That’s a good boy.” Petting him, she looked at Trey. “Sorry it took so long.”
“It’s all right.” He knew the aftermath of a crying jag when he saw it, so pulled the patience back again. “Why don’t you sit down? Why don’t we all sit down?”
Still standing, Owen picked up the whiskey, drank. “That’ll do it.” He pointed at Sonya.
“A shot of that, tea chaser. I’ve got it. Sit with Cleo. You’re the ones who went through it. Trey and I just wait.”
“That’s a tough gig.”
“It damn sure is.”
As she reached for the whiskey bottle, Owen closed a hand over hers. “Appreciate it.” Then poured her a shot himself.
“Very much appreciate it,” Sonya said as she took a seat at the table. Yoda crawled under to lie at her feet. “And I’m sorry you had to wait until I pulled it together.”
Trey opted for coffee, and brought it with him to sit. “You were only gone about a half hour this time. Twenty-seven minutes, actually.”
“I don’t think we were there that long, were we, Owen?”
“More like ten. Ten, twelve tops.” He sat with Jones on guard beside his chair.
“It’s that weird time deal. It was a party,” she began. “I think just after the turn of the century. Early nineteen hundreds. Moira and Owen Poole. Formal party, and I think spring or early summer. We could hear music from the ballroom, and we were out on the lawn. People were taking the air.”
Sonya looked at Owen.
“Yeah, fancy clothes, lots of jewelry. Full moon, clear skies.”
“That’s right. A full moon, clear skies. Beautiful evening. Owen and Moira—older than when I saw them in the woods. She was pregnant. Not showing. It was their conversation. It had to be one of their youngest.”
“Not Lissy?” Cleo asked.
“Going by the fashion, and roughly how much older they were, no. She had to be pregnant with Jack. And later…” She shook Dobbs away to tell it all in order. “They started to go back in, and we weren’t sure if we should follow. Then…”
She had to pause, and lifted the tea Trey made her.
“Dobbs?”
She shook her head. “No, not then. My father. My father, standing there watching like we were. He was about thirty, not much more than thirty, I guess, wearing his old Boston U T-shirt.”
She cleared her throat. “He looked sleepy. I mean, like he’d been sleeping. Sometimes, when a painting wasn’t going well, he’d take what he called an inspiration nap. Five or ten minutes on this old sofa in his studio. He looked like that. He thought he was dreaming. He spoke out loud, and thought he dreamed it all.”
“I’ve seen the pictures.” Owen spoke to give Sonya time to steady again. “Yeah, they looked alike. At first, I thought it was Collin.”
“He’d come through the mirror,” Trey said. “Your dad.”
“Yes, though we didn’t see him come through. But there he was, and I called out to him, and ran to him. But he didn’t hear me, and I went right through him. It’s not like that for me and Owen, for each other. For each other we’re there, ah, corporeal. But I couldn’t touch my dad. He felt me, though. Felt something.
“He looked at me. He didn’t see me, but for just a second, he looked at me. He sensed something. Then … Owen.”
“Dobbs.” He snapped his fingers. “Just there. Sonya’s dad saw her, too. And said something like she wasn’t one of them. The people at the party.”
“He’d have noticed she was dressed differently, she looked out of place. He noticed things.”
“She didn’t. Notice us,” Owen added. “She was focused on him, and she knew who he was.”
“Your father,” Trey supplied.
“It pissed her off, you could see it.” Owen tossed back more whiskey. “Maybe she wanted to do something, but Sonya called him. Not this Sonya, kid Sonya, through the mirror. He said: ‘Sonya’s calling me. Time to wake up.’ And he went to the mirror, went through before Dobbs reached him.
“That pissed her off even more. She took a swing at the mirror.”
“It stopped her. I think it hurt her.”
“Damn right. Bloodied her knuckles. She punched at the glass, but couldn’t hit it, and yanked her hand back. I saw some pain as well as mad and crazy.”
“She said she should’ve smothered him the night he was born. Pick one—like Patricia made her daughter pick one baby to keep. That he—my father—brought trouble.”
“That would be you.”
Sonya nodded at Cleo. “That would be me. I like knowing I give her trouble. She had four rings, and said the fifth was tucked into bed—Lisbeth. Soon enough she’d be a bride. She laughed, lifted her arms. Wind, thunder, lightning, rain.”
Sonya heaved out a breath. “She poofed; we came back.”
“You left out the rings.”
“I said she wore four.”
“No, I mean, before she lifted her arms up to do the crazy bring the storm shit, and during, they went all, you know, glittery.”
Frowning, Sonya shook her head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Like glittery,” he repeated. “Ah, sparking. Like you’re welding something and you get sparks.”
“I … Yes, when she had her arms up. I guess I thought that was just the lightning. I didn’t notice anything before she lifted her hands.”
“She went—” Owen wiggled the fingers on his left hand. “Down at her sides, and the rings started to glitter—it’s the word I’ve got for it—and then sparks.”
“She uses the rings to boost her power. I guess we knew that, or thought that,” Cleo considered. “This feels like more.”
“She doesn’t just want the rings—the symbol of them.” Trey spoke slowly. “A token of the lives she took, the brides she removed. She needs them.”
Trey spread his hands. “She’s dead. Yeah, she sealed the curse with her own blood, but she’s dead. Dead’s gotta be a big power suck. We already know, have solid evidence to conclude she has to take time off and on to basically recharge.”
“The rings are a power source.” Logic, Sonya thought. Manor logic. “She needs them for power, and maybe…”
“To exist,” Trey added. “A big maybe, but a maybe. Get them back and—”
“Unplug a main source of power,” Owen finished for him.
“Break the curse, and remove her. And by remove”—Cleo sipped her tea—“I mean destroy, obliterate, annihilate, with extreme prejudice. Bonus round if she screams in agony on the way out.”
“And you keep racking up the points.” Reaching over, Owen snagged Trey’s coffee mug, toasted Cleo, sipped. Winced. “It’s cold, man.”
“So make some more.”
With a shrug, Owen took the mug, rose to go to the coffee maker. Jones opened his eye, watched the journey. Satisfied, he closed it again.
“We learned more than I realized. I didn’t put all this together.”
“You took a hard punch, cutie. You saw your dad, right there, and you couldn’t connect. You couldn’t talk to him, or touch him. You couldn’t have a moment with him.”
“I don’t understand why. He came through the mirror, just like Owen and I do.”
Trey took her hand, pressed it to his cheek. “He didn’t die here. He died in Boston. As far as we know, and it’s pretty conclusive, he’s never been here except through the mirror.”
“So he couldn’t be there the way Owen and I can. The mirror was in his studio—another place, another time. He saw that night—he told Mom he’d had a dream about this manor, and people walking around outside in fancy, old-fashioned clothes. He saw that night but not the way we did. So he couldn’t see or hear me. But we could see and hear him.”
“Because it all happened, at that time and place.”
“I get it. It’s enough to give you a migraine, but I get it.”
“And even though he couldn’t see or hear you, Son?”
She nodded at Cleo. “I saw him again, I heard his voice again. A kick in the emotional crotch, but also a gift.”
Clover, who’d stayed quiet throughout, played Paul Simon’s “Father and Daughter.”
“He did love me.”
“Does,” Trey corrected, and Sonya pressed her face to his shoulder.
“He lit up when he heard you call through the mirror.” Owen brought Trey fresh coffee and a mug for himself. “Here’s a guy thinking he’s having a pretty cool dream, but he lights up when he hears his kid, and he pulls out of it. I’m glad I got the chance to, sort of, meet him.”
“He went back through the mirror. She didn’t follow him,” Trey pointed out, “because she can’t. If she could do what you and Owen can do, Sonya, she’d have done it. Found a way to go through, go back, do what she could to make sure you never come here.”
“She can’t even touch it. The predators. I always wonder why you’d have a mirror with a frame like that. Weird, a little scary, really.”
“To keep evil at bay,” Cleo said. “Protection. Strong magic. And it invites you in, shows you what you need to know or witness or understand.”
“More demands I go in. But … There’s nothing about it in Marianne Poole’s journal. The only time I saw it, other than as a vehicle to bring me in and out, was the day Dobbs killed Astrid. Astrid was at the mirror, that mirror, when Dobbs killed her. Her blood. Staggering back, her hand on the glass. Her blood on the glass.”
“The first bride’s blood, innocent blood on the glass even as Dobbs spewed her evil, stole the ring—the first ring. Blood’s life,” Cleo said. “Astrid’s blood brought the mirror to life.”
“That’s a conclusional reach,” Trey considered, “but I’ll allow it. The mirror exists, we’ve all seen it. It has power. That’s undeniable. Only Pooles can go through it—Cleo and I are blocked. So are the dogs, the cat. No way Jones would sit on this side otherwise. But Sonya’s the one it pulls, not Owen.”
“She’s the one who needs to see. I’m just the muscle.”
