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This time Barbara didn’t try to follow. She traipsed back to the cabin, feeling unnerved. Mercy. Why had she thought of her? That memory had been buried a long time ago. But as the saying went—Bad memories are harder to bury than a vampyr.
Nicholls stood outside the cabin, looking worried and annoyed.
“Where the hell did you go?”
“There was someone outside. I followed them into the woods.”
“Well, that was a foolish thing to do.”
Barbara ignored him. “It was a girl. Young, blonde. I think she was from the Colony.”
She saw something in Nicholls’s face. A tiny twitch.
“You know her?”
“The leader of the Colony is a blonde girl called Athelinda. Centuries old but turned when she was a child.”
Barbara felt a chill grip her stomach. There was a reason why turning children had long ago been outlawed by the colonies. A turned child would never mature. Their physical development would simply stop. But their mind would continue to grow, to absorb experiences, gain knowledge. A centuries-old mind forever trapped in the body of a child. Most went slowly mad. Those who managed to maintain their sanity did so at a cost.
“I’ve heard she’s dangerous,” Nicholls continued. “Plenty of stories about hikers who disappeared in the mountains over the years.”
“Plenty of stories about Bigfoot, too…”
He gave her a look. “If she’s down here, this close to town, it means trouble.”
“She said the Colony didn’t kill the boy.”
“Well, I guess she would.”
“She also said something about looking closer to home, and ‘the Bone House’?”
He frowned. “No idea. But I wouldn’t put too much store in anything she has to say. Most folk say she’s insane.” And then, more crisply: “Are we done here?”
“I guess so. For now.”
“Then we should get moving.” He glanced around. “It’ll be dark soon.”
He walked away. Barbara followed, still frowning. The Bone House. There was something there, she thought. Nicholls’s denial was too quick. He knew what it was, but he didn’t want to tell her. Which only made her more curious.
Still, she agreed with him about one thing. Athelinda was dangerous. In fact, there was nothing more dangerous than a child with power…and a few centuries’ worth of resentment.
13
Beau hadn’t been expecting the knock at the door.
But he had been waiting for it.
Like a lot of things, it wasn’t a case of if but when.
He put down his mug, rose from his chair and walked down the hall.
For a moment he paused, composing himself. Then, with a sense of resignation, he unlocked the door and pulled it open.
The man outside was compact, and well dressed. His silver hair was neatly styled, and he sported a small goatee beard. He didn’t really fit in in Deadhart. Never had. But he was a good doctor. He’d been kind to Patricia when she was ill, and for that Beau was always grateful.
“Dr. Dalton,” Beau said. “To what do I owe the home visit?”
“Oh, you know I like to check in on my favorite patients.”
