River of Bones (18 page)

Wolf and I rode in silence, my mind swimming with horrible thoughts. What would happen to Benny? Would he ever know how much I had loved him?

“We'll need flashlights, shovels and maybe some rope.” Wolf glanced at his watch then back at the road. “We have a few hours before dawn, but it's going to be slow searching in the dark.” He jerked a thumb at the dash. “Check the glove box and see if I have an extra flashlight in there.”

Still numb from shock, I opened the dash, my fingers grazing cold steel and pulled the light out.

“I hope the batteries are still good,” Wolf said. “It's a spare and I don't use it that much.”

I clicked it on, gave it a good shake and a bright beam cut across the dark cab.

“I've got two shovels in the bed of the truck. I'm going to try to drive to the riverbank near the shacks. It's boggy down there, so we're gonna have to be careful. No wonder the general gave that land to Sabine. It's almost useless—except for the area where they built the slave quarters.”

Anger seared up my spine at the mention of her name, sending waves of heat into my cheeks—I couldn't let Sabine win and I couldn't let myself give up, no matter how sick or tired or frustrated I was. No matter what, I was determined to find the mirror and break the spell forever.

Wolf drove between the front gates of the mansion, weaving through brush and trees, getting as close as we could get to the shacks. Within minutes, the headlights fell upon the crude slave shacks.

Outside the gloomy night carried a wet chill like a damp sponge. A lonesome wind whooshed through a stand of cypress and oak trees, leaves rustled beneath our feet. We trudged through patches of thick briars prickling our skin and grass heavy with moisture. Cold, moist air
brushed across my neck like a phantom's breath. I tugged at the knot that held my hair in a bun, letting it loose to cascade down my back. Still, I shivered as we followed faint streams of moonlight.

A thin layer of wispy clouds crept across the sky, darkening the path. The tip of my foot struck something solid. I pitched forward, sprawling to the ground. I scrambled to my feet, palms covered in moss and dirt. I shined the flashlight onto the object.

A tombstone!

The light illuminated more stones. They leaned together, as if conspiring. Some were granite, cracked and covered with moss. Others were plain fieldstones with only a first name etched across the surface, sinking into the vine-covered soil. The wind died down as if holding its breath. Death surrounded us.

“I almost forgot about this place,” Wolf said. “It's the old slave cemetery. Sure is a shame how no one takes care of it. He motioned me to follow with a wave of his hand. “Come on, the cabins are over here.” Dodging the headstones, we threaded through thick stands of thistles, wild rose bushes and pools of mud.

Wolf pointed his flashlight at the dilapidated cabins, crouching like predators in the dark, moldering into the soggy ground. Some were mere piles of boards and weeds while others had partially collapsed onto themselves. Only a few remained intact. The air was heavy with the decay of old, rotting wood. I cringed, imagining hairy spiders hiding in every crack and corner of the logs, feasting on the shrouded husks of their victims.

“We can cover more ground if we split up,” Wolf said. “You take the ones on your left, they look more stable, and I'll search the ruined ones. Yell if you need me.”

I clutched my sore throat. “Not sure if yelling is something I can do.”

Wolf winched. “Sorry, I forgot about that. Just try to be as careful as you can. I'll hurry and meet up with you soon.”

Wolf dashed off and entered a cabin to our right. I crept to the first cabin in the opposite direction. The wind picked up again, blowing at my back as if trying to force me inside. Just as I reached for the wooden door handle, a shutter flew open, banging against the side of the shack. A scream stuck in my throat. Heart pounding, I wrenched the door open. It fell, useless, from its old hinges and crashed to the ground. The flashlight cast a dim light inside, revealing old push mowers, hedge clippers and a rusty stove with weeds poking out of its wood-fed burners. Mounds of rusty-red farm machinery lurked in the rear.

If the mirror was in there, it'd take years to find it with all the junk piled inside. I studied the small building. The logs were rough hewn with huge gaps between them. Even the ravages of time couldn't disguise the poorly made structure—definitely not the type of cabin Sabine would have had.

I hustled to the next cabin and peered inside a window. It was empty, except for a broken three-legged table lying on its side, growing into the ground. I scanned the area ahead and spotted a single cabin, sitting off by itself. The structure was much larger than the others, straddling a small hill, overlooking the area. It appeared standoffish, perhaps like Sabine herself—left alone to rot into the marshy earth.

I hobbled over the rough ground to the cabin, with the flashlight bobbing back and forth. Tree roots along the path tangled around my ankles like knotted fingers trying to stop me. I ran the light across the massive hardwood door and fancy brass doorknob, just like the doors in the main house. In the center, something was carved deep into the wood. I waved the light over it to get a better look. Crosses and other religious figures were etched across the face of the door. Maybe the other slaves etched these into the door like some kind of hex, hoping to stop her spirit from returning after her death. I saw something that looked like a giant S. My heart skipped.

This was it.

It had to be.

I gripped the brass handle and pulled. Bats of all shapes and sizes exploded from the shadowy interior, flapping and shrieking as they fled into the night. I covered my head and cowered behind the door, listening for the snap of wings to stop before gathering the courage to step inside.

I stood in the doorway and swept the light along the ceiling and walls. Mushrooms sprouted between the cracks in the logs, their domed tops glowing in the moonlight. A crumbling fireplace hugged a far wall, its gaping mouth smothered in cobwebs. On the opposite side, shelves covered in layers of dust held moldy jars and broken crockery filled with herbs and gross pickled looking things.

Holding my breath, I took a step inside with the flashlight out in front of me like a sword. Something hard and crunchy snapped beneath my feet. Bird bones. Hundreds of tiny skeletons carpeted the floor. Creeping across the carcasses, I shuddered as they crushed under my shoes.

Hulked in a dark corner, protected from the weather, stood a roll-top desk.

I frowned at it. It seemed so out of place in a slave shack. I gripped two brass knobs and gently rolled up the top. A fancy scalloped border framed ten cubbyholes inside. The center of eight drawers bore the name, “Whiskey Rose,” in bold letters.

Tingling with anticipation, I pulled open the drawers. One by one. My heart sank. Empty. I felt along the edges for hidden compartments. Nothing.

The flashlight winked, then faded out. A faint singing wove through the room. Rigid with fear, I shook the light. It flickered and came back on. Sabine's evil presence seemed to fill every inch of the small room. My mind raced. I should have gotten Wolf to come with me, but I didn't want to waste precious time.

I brushed a beam of light around the walls. Behind a thick layer of dust, speckled with mold, I spotted an oval framed portrait. I pulled the painting from the crumbled wallpaper and wiped away the mildew. Piercing dark eyes stared up at me through a smear in the glass. Those hateful-glaring eyes stabbed all the way into my soul, and my legs shook as I studied the rest of the portrait. The woman's ruby lips were pressed into a severe line and a green turban circled her head like a coiled snake.

Clutching the frame with shaky hands, I felt a lump on the back side. I flipped the painting over. The bulge in the bottom center of the rotten parchment must have kept it from lying flush to the wall. I tore the paper open and sucked in a breath.

The cool metal of a skeleton key grazed my fingertips. I ran my fingers over the ornate top and jerked it free. I turned the key over in my hand. What would have been important enough for Sabine to lock away? A mirror? I inspected the desk again. All the drawers hung open, empty, with no lock anywhere.

I shined the light behind the desk. A glimmer of metal flashed. I yanked hard on the edge of the roll-top, swinging it to one side. Sweeping the light over the mildewed back, I spotted a small door cut into the wood with a tiny lock in the center. I moved the desk a few more inches and crouched down for a closer look.

My hands trembled as I slipped the key into the lock and turned. The catch clicked several times before it finally released and the door sprang open. I flooded the opening with light and peered around thick cobwebs. Something bulky rested inside.

I rolled up my sleeve, inhaled a deep breath and plunged my hand into the hole. Spider webs coated my fingertips. I jerked my hand back, shivering. Wiping away the nasty cobwebs, I gritted my teeth and stuck my hand back inside again. Crusty insects scraped against my skin. I continued to probe the cramped interior. Something stiff and rough with what felt like dried cord, brushed the center of my palm. I gripped an end of a rotten string and pulled. A burlap bag slid from the hole and into my hand.

I tugged on the rotten string and opened the sack. A tea-colored parchment lay inside, rolled up with a faded red ribbon. Freeing it from the burlap bag, I untied the binding and gently unrolled the document. Bits of fragile paper crinkled and fluttered to the ground in tiny squares.

Footsteps creaked behind me. A tremor of breath feathered the back of my neck. I froze, the hairs on my arm standing on end.

“What did you find?”

I whirled around, nearly jumping out of my skin.

“Sorry,” Wolf said. “Didn't mean to scare you.” He peered around me and waved his flashlight into the hole. “Cool! Is the mirror in there?”

“No, but this was.” I showed him the parchment.

Wolf leaned over my shoulder and read aloud. “Last Will and Testament of General Samuel Cobb. Wow, bet the town museum would love to have that.”

I rolled the paper up and tucked it under my arm. “I'm sure the courthouse has an original. Anyhow, I was really hoping it was a map to the mirror, or some kind of clue.”

“Are you kidding? Sabine knew where she put it. She wanted to keep it hidden, not point it out.”

“You're right. I'm not thinking straight. I just want to find the mirror, and be done with it. So far we've come up with nothing.” I chewed on my lower lip. “What if we never find it?”

“Don't even go there. We'll find it, you have to stay positive.” Wolf examined the small interior with his light. “Now let's think about it. For one, the mirror can't be in water so that rules out the swamp. Second, it can't be someplace where it might get broken.”

“Or found,” I said. “Sabine would have been worried about the other slaves finding it, so I don't think it's here and...” My scalp tingled. “I got it!”

“Got what?”

“I know where it is! Come on.”

We rushed out of the shack, waded through the weeds, and zigzagged around the tombstones to the truck.

“Where do you think it is?” Wolf asked.

I climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door. “The only place that makes sense and the only place it would've remained undisturbed, by orders of the general's wife.”

Wolf's eyes flashed. “The ballroom! Why didn't we think of that before?”

I shrugged. “I just hope I'm right.”

Wolf started the truck, and we headed for the house. Rain wept onto the windshield. He flicked on the wipers and headlights. The high beams cast a haunting glare across gray fog rising from the ground.

“Can you turn on the cab light? I want to read the will.”

Wolf flipped a switch and I studied the document in the yellow glow. The general named each of his children and his wife. At the end, he mentioned the cabin and swampland around it being given to Sabine and her gentleman friend…