The Bone Carver Page 5

  “Och, please,” Dougal mutters. He spins around to face her, cutting off access to the exit. His face is still red, but his ice blue eyes have grown even colder. “Ye’re so calm, ye barely blinked right now.” He gestures in the general direction of the corpse. “Normal people don’t react like that. And don’t even get me started on yer pompousness.”

  “Now I’m pompous?” Rachel tries making sense of the warped puzzle pieces in her mind. “Sorry, but I’m struggling to understand how I got to be the bad guy here. It’s not like I killed the guy.”

  “The way ye talk. It’s like ye’re always talkin’ down to me, to Nan, to everyone,” he interrupts her. “Ye never show who ye are underneath the fakeness, and Lord help me, ye always know what’s best. Even when ye don’t know anythin’, ye’re somehow always right. It’s annoyin’ to say the least. No wonder ye don’t have any friends.”

  In her peripheral, she notices something lingering nearby. Rachel turns away from Dougal, searching for the lurker. There’s nothing there, though—it’s probably just her mind playing tricks on her as it processes that traumatizing image.

  Ready to stand up for herself, she turns to Dougal, when suddenly she notices it again. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end. Her heart picks up speed as she tries discerning the ghostlike figure from the corner of her eye.

  “We need to go,” she says.

  “I don’t know who ye are, Rachel. It’s like ye have no depth as a person.” When she doesn’t respond, he says, “Freak out, for God’s sake!”

  The figure takes a clipped step toward them, limbs bending unnaturally. It makes a staccato movement with its shoulders, before taking another step forward. The creature’s head jerks to the side, fingers twitch revealing talon-like nails. The rest of the strange creature’s body is obscured as it flickers in and out of existence, as if it’s stuck between two worlds.

  Rachel’s heart pounds harder with her growing anxiety. She’s about to make a run for it when Dougal presses his balled hand against his head. His fingers move into his hair, violently tugging clumps from his scalp. A deafening roar rips from his throat. The sound rebounds.

  “What’s happenin’ to me?” He goes down onto one knee.

  “Fae influence, I suspect.” Rachel grabs hold of him by snaking her arm around his waist, and helps him get back to his feet.

  Dougal drapes an arm across her shoulders for support, leaning on her with much of his immense weight. He drags his feet as she half-carries him the way they’d come. He’s not the easiest person to maneuver, but she manages to get him up the stairs regardless of the approaching flickering creature. Rachel kicks the door shut behind them and hears the lock click into place. Whether the barrier would provide a modicum of protection, however, is debatable.

  “It feels like there’s a swarm of bees buzzin’ round in my head,” he explains through labored breaths.

  “Hold on,” Rachel says. She comes to a stop halfway up the hallway, leans Dougal against the wall and makes sure he’s steady before reaching to the back of her neck. With deft hands, Rachel unclips the umbrella necklace, and, holding one side of the pendant with her index finger and thumb, presses part of the smooth stone against his hand.

  Dougal blinks rapidly, the redness of his skin fading away in an instant.

  “Better?” she asks.

  “Aye,” he says, sounding relieved.

  “Good.”

  They remain quiet for a moment, frozen in the main, deserted hallway of the old schoolhouse before Dougal says, “We can’t report this.”

  Rachel’s eyes widen. “Our fingerprints and shoeprints and possibly some of my DNA are down there. We need to report it, unless you want us to become murder suspects when the body starts to stink up the whole school.”

  “There’s a real mean Fae down there, too.”

  “Yeah.” Rachel sighs. “So, what do we do?”

  “I don’t know how to put a proper outfit together half the time and now ye want me to come up with a plan to deal with this?”

  “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t have all the answers.” She fixes her free hand on her hip and taps her foot, waiting for him to continue his earlier tirade. Fae influence or not, the insults he’d thrown at her had still burrowed into her mind. He’d hurt her, more than she would ever admit out loud, because he isn’t wrong.

  Dougal pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he ponders their next move. With a hefty sigh, he says, “Seems like yer gonna ‘ave to go find Orion.”

  Five

  Rickety Old Things

  “What happened to the whole ‘I can’t protect ye from a Fae prince’ thing?” Rachel raises an eyebrow.

  Dougal gives her a mildly infuriated glare, but at the same time she can see the ice in his gaze thawing.

  She lifts her free hand up in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just paraphrasing you.”

  “Now is not the time to grow a sense of humor,” he mutters. “How do we get outta here without bein’ seen?”

  Rachel points straight ahead, where an emergency exit is situated down the hallway. “Are you good to walk on your own yet?”

  “Aye, but we’ll have to walk fast. I’m not keen on gettin’ a repeat performance of whatever that Fae did,” he says, releasing the pendant.

  She fastens the necklace around her neck. “I don’t know, you seem to have gotten everything off your chest.”

  “Yer pokin’ at the bear, Rach.”

  “I’m just having a little fun,” she says.

  Ready to leave this unsavory part of Ridge Crest High still in one piece, they head briskly for the faded green double doors.

  Dougal glances over his shoulder. His eyes widen as he lengthens his strides, moving faster ahead of her. She instinctively follows his gaze. The boiler room’s door swings open behind them, slamming hard against the wall, wood splintering as a result. Nothing seems to exit the boiler room and there’s no obvious sign of anyone following them, but that’s not saying much.

  She turns back to the front, where Dougal is struggling to open the emergency door.

  “Push down and forward.” She races to catch up with him.

  “I know how to open a bloody door.” He grunts from the effort.

  “Push harder.”

  She uses her momentum to slam her shoulder into the door, hands grappling for the bar. She pushes along with him.

  Dougal cusses in Gaelic as he also repeatedly rams his shoulder into the door. The wooden barrier shakes beneath the assault, threatening to crack from their combined, desperate force.

  Gradually, the brass bar gives way underneath. Flecks of rust fall onto the floor, turning her hand brown. The door stops short a hairsbreadth from opening.

  “Stand back,” Dougal commands in a gruff voice.

  Rachel releases her grip and takes a step away. She surveys the area behind them in the hopes of pinpointing the Fae’s exact location. It’s like searching for a hungry leopard in the African plains. By the time you see a leopard, it’s already too late.

  “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” she says, looking back to Dougal as he struggles.

  “I’m doin’ my—”

  A grinding screech is followed by a burst of sunlight as the doors open behind her.

  “Ye happy?”

  She pivots.

  Dougal stands in the doorway, his frightened eyes studying the hallway behind her.

  After a beat, he focuses on Rachel again. “Are ye waitin’ for a written invitation? Move it,” he says, gesturing to freedom.

  They exit the old schoolhouse, jog around the corner of the building, and move through the parking lot. Rachel releases a sigh of relief when she spots her white Hyundai i10 amongst the other parked cars, whereas Dougal keeps casting concerned glances over his shoulder. His paranoia would’ve been infuriating under normal circumstances, but being hunted by creatures from another realm isn’t exactly a common occurrence.

  As they run, she rummages around in
her sling bag for her keys and feels the cool metallic keychain lodged beneath one of her textbooks.

  “Anything?” she asks, tugging at the keychain.

  “Aye, and comin’ up fast behind ye.”

  Rachel frees her keys from the textbook’s hold and pulls them from her bag. With practiced movements, she finds the fob key by touch alone. A beep signals as the doors unlock. In unison, Rachel and Dougal fling their doors open and throw themselves into the Hyundai’s front seats. The little car is not much in the way of safety, but it’ll hinder the invisible predator’s advances. At least, that’s what Rachel hopes.

  As she tries fitting the key into the ignition, Rachel notices the staccato creature approaching the driver’s side, its awkward movements picking up speed. The key slips out of her fingers, dropping onto the mat.

  “Move yer arse, Rach,” Dougal says, slapping the dashboard as he stares past her.

  She reaches down, frantically searching for the key between her feet. “Hold on a sec.” Her fingertips brush the metal before she swipes up the keychain.

  Fitting the key into the ignition takes her longer than necessary.

  “Rach—”

  The car’s engine starts and the radio blares to life, cutting Dougal off mid-panic. She shifts into first gear and presses her foot on the gas pedal, burning rubber as she races out of the parking space. A loud bang rattles her window. Both of them duck in response.

  Rachel doesn’t let up on the gas.

  She dodges a couple of other parked vehicles in the lot as her car swerves toward the exit, and narrowly avoids clipping Greg’s Mercedes Benz in the process. “Learn to park, Greg,” she screams.

  As the car nears Ridge Street, Rachel looks around to make sure there isn’t any oncoming traffic, before she skips the stop sign and speeds away from the school. “Is it following us?” Her hands shake despite her grip on the steering wheel.

  “Doesn’t look it,” Dougal says.

  Rachel doesn’t slack off until they reach the next crossing, and then it’s only to rid herself of her sling bag and to secure the seatbelt across her body. She sits back in her seat, takes a deep breath to calm down, and slowly pulls away. Beside her, Dougal also settles into the passenger seat.

  “That was a close call,” she says.

  “Aye, too close for my likin’.”

  Rachel turns to look behind them again, and finds the road clear of the Miser Fae. There is, however, an oncoming motorcycle—Cam’s motorcycle. When she rights herself, her heart is still pounding with adrenaline and fear. She pushes her emotions away, forcing the muscles in her face to remain neutral.

  “Act normal,” she says to Dougal as she lowers the driver’s side window.

  Cam comes to a halt beside her car, lifts his helmet shield and leans forward to look inside. “You guys all right?” he asks.

  “Are you stalking me now?” Rachel asks, not a hint of humor in the question.

  He grins, shrugs, and sits upright on his seat. “Maybe. Come find me at Pine Hill when you’re ready to have some real fun.” Cam closes his shield and revs the motorcycle, before speeding away.

  “I have a bad feelin’ about that guy,” Dougal mumbles.

  “You have a bad feeling about everyone.” Rachel shifts into first gear and pulls away, heading in the same direction as Cam. “But the feeling is mutual.”

  Dougal grumbles something unintelligible, before saying, “What now? Are ye goin’ to the Fae Realm to get Orion?”

  “I don’t even know how to begin planning for a trip into the Fae Realm,” Rachel says, cruising down the quiet street. “What’s the weather like over there? What’s the fashion? I’ll stick out like a sore thumb and probably get myself killed long before I ever lay eyes on Orion.”

  “Well, we can’t leave that thin’ at the school.” Dougal’s voice hitches. “What about everyone who’d gotten one of those weird figurines? Are we gonna just stand by and watch them get hurt?”

  “No, but we need to be smart about this. I mean, how long will it take me to actually find Orion in the Fae Realm? Maybe a week if I’m lucky? It’s impractical,” Rachel says. “Everything we need to fight this Miser Fae should be right here in Shadow Grove, but ...”

  When she doesn’t continue, Dougal says, “But?”

  Rachel’s strength dulls even more as she wracks her mind for answers. “I don’t know.”

  Dougal shifts in his seat. “Then we better get our funeral outfits ready.”

  As grim as it sounds, Dougal makes sense. There’s a pencil-thin line between an accident and certain death.

  They remain silent for a while, before Dougal breaks the silence. “Where are we goin’?”

  “Before I do anything absurd, I want to hear your grandmother’s thoughts on what we’re up against. I don’t recall reading about that particular Miser Fae in my father’s journals, but I expect it’s been holed up at the school for years. Maybe since Mrs. Crenshaw’s days at Ridge Crest High,” Rachel explains. “It’s probably what inspired the tale of the ghost.”

  “What ghost?”

  “The one who supposedly roams the halls and haunts the old schoolhouse,” she says. “Seriously, Dougal, what do you guys even talk about?”

  “Mostly just girls and cars,” he answers, shrugging. “Sometimes football.”

  Rachel shakes her head as she flicks on the indicator and turns onto Main Road, driving past the colonial buildings of the historical sector. Those milling about the thriving small businesses have no idea what types of danger prowls around this town. They don’t want to know. The locals believe what the Sheriff and town council want them to know. Anything else is simply nonsense—fake news.

  She drives toward the edge of Shadow Grove, where a four-story building sits at the bottom of a grassy hilltop. Metal lettering is fixed across the entrance, proclaiming it to be Shadow Grove Hospital. The windows sparkle in the morning sunlight, the well-kept lawns and flower gardens give it a professional vibe without losing too much of the small town charm. On the surface, Shadow Grove Hospital almost looks like a world-class medical facility.

  Such a pity it’s all for show.

  Rachel waves to the uninterested security guard standing at the entrance and drives into the parking lot. She searches for a vacant spot between all the stationary vehicles. There are always too many cars here. Some cars have literally rusted from weathering the elements over the years. Layers upon layers of dust and grime cover other vehicles. They just stand here to make it look like the hospital is always busy, when it rarely has any patients.

  “It’s so freaking weird,” Rachel whispers as she finds a space near the entrance.

  “Huh?”

  “The cars,” she says, absently nodding to a nearby vehicle. “The town council misjudged the size needed for the hospital’s parking lot, so their brilliant plan to fool the tourists was to fill it up with second-hand cars.”

  “Are any of ‘em for sale then?”

  Frowning, Rachel parks her Hyundai i10. “I guess you should ask Mr. Farrow if he’s willing to sell, seeing as some of these cars belong to him. His spare parts need to come from somewhere.”

  Dougal purses his lips together and nods. “I’ll do that.”

  “Tired of me being your chauffeur?”

  “Aye.” He opens the car door. “Ye’re a menace on the road.”

  Rachel grins, shrugs one shoulder, and switches off the engine. She looks at the parking lot, at the cars in their various stages of disrepair. Some are salvageable, though. If Dougal uses some elbow grease and puts some money into the project, he can build up a stunning vehicle.

  “What type of car are you in the market for?” she asks as Dougal makes his way around the Hyundai and they walk together to the hospital’s entrance. “Something macho, I presume?”

  “I’ll take anythin’ I can afford.” Dougal pulls the glass door open and gestures for her to enter first. “It ain’t near visitin’ hours, so how’re we gonna see Nan?”
/>
  “You forget where we live,” Rachel says, walking into the hospital.

  The lobby is too quiet for a hospital. The receptionist has her back to the door, a pair of earbuds firmly fixed into her ears. The short-haired woman bobs her head to an unheard beat, her shoulders moving along. Rachel bypasses the desk and heads straight for the elevators around the bend. She presses the button and folds her arms across her chest, looking at the digital screen atop the doorway as it counts down.

  L3 ... L2 ... L1 ...

  The elevator pings, and the doors slide open.

  Rachel steps inside. Her hand hovers over the panel on the wall. “What floor’s your grandmother on?” she asks, glimpsing his way.

  “Third.” Dougal looks over his shoulder, frown deepening, before he enters.

  She presses the button and the doors close on them. As Rachel turns around, she catches Dougal shaking his head, scratching his chin.

  “What?”

  His eyes flick down to meet her gaze. “Nuffin’.” Dougal grimaces and shakes his head again. “It’s prob’ly just my imagination, but I swear that receptionist’s eyes were red. Not like cryin’ red, but scarlet. Don’t worry.” He drops his hands to his side, leans back against the elevator wall. “I mean—” He stops talking as the elevator announces their arrival on the third floor with another ping. The doors slide open. Dougal casts a glance at the desolate lobby before he pushes away from the wall and exits the elevator.

  Rachel follows him out, unsure if she should press the matter, and takes her place at his side. The tiled hallway stretches on before them, undecorated and empty of wanderers awaiting news of their ill or dying loved ones. There are no nurses rushing about, no doctors walking around, no patients searching for the bathroom or some other amenity.

  Dougal leads them around a corner and through a set of double doors, where a familiar voice echoes through the otherwise quiet ward.

  “You call this food?” The distinctive tone is full of disapproval, even disgust. “It’s an inedible pile of slush, and that’s me being generous. Get it out of my sight this instant.”