Skin Deep (28 page)

Garland thought of Sandy’s anguish. No wonder everyone in town had been so hostile if they knew about this…but— “If Mahtahdou’s quarrel is with Alasdair, why hurt the town? Why doesn’t he come after him?” Except he already had. “Or after me, for that matter?”

“I don’t know. If Lord Mahtahdou wanted to, he would have—”

“Stop calling him ‘Lord’. He’s evil and a thug. He killed Alasdair’s family, and he’s trying—”

Kathy clapped a trembling hand to her mouth. “For chrissakes, don’t say things like that!”

Garland pushed her hand away. “How could he hear us?”

“You don’t know how powerful he is. Don’t you understand? He owns this town. The houses he’s destroyed—the people he’s taken…I told you, he can control the weather and the waves and whether the fisherman catch any fish and…had you heard about the—er, occurrences at the equinoxes?”

“You mean the deaths?”

Kathy looked nervously around again. “They were tributes to him. Tithes, sort of. Look, Garland. The bottom line is if you don’t give the selkie to Lord Mahtahdou, more people in town will die until you do. And I can’t promise
you
won’t either. He…” she licked her lips. “He’s interested in you.”

“How do you know? Have you chatted with him recently?” Garland couldn’t help asking sarcastically.

She hesitated, then said quietly. “Yes. Yesterday.”

“Kathy—”

“He summoned me to visit him on his island—”

“The selkies’ island.” She remembered Alasdair’s face when he spoke of it.

“Well, it’s his now. He…I’ve never had to go see him there before. Fred Barlow brought me there in his lobster boat. It was…it was the damned weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. He cut the motor about a hundred feet off…and when I looked the water between the boat and the island had divided. There was a corridor of sand, with the water on either side of it like walls. Lord Mahtahdou called to me then—that voice…I’ve been trying to forget it.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “It was so cold. Icy cold. It sounded like one of those computer-generated voices that pronounce everything correctly but still don’t sound quite human. So I climbed out of the boat and walked along that path. It scared the crap out of me. I kept waiting for the water on either side of me to start behaving like water again, not like…like whatever. I could see into it like I was looking in an aquarium—there were fish, and seaweed, and the usual things you see. But there were other things, too—they squirmed and swam in the water, but they weren’t fish. They were all looking at me and grinning. Their teeth—” She shuddered and fell silent.

“Did you see Mahtahdou? What did he look like?”

She took a breath. “He looked…like you.”

“Like me.” A dark, jagged nausea prevented her from saying anything more. Mahtahdou’s stealing her appearance felt almost like being violated in some subtly obscene way.

“For some of the time.” Kathy didn’t look at her. “He can take any appearance he wants, I think, though it’s only an image. He doesn’t seem to have his own body, though sometimes he’s borrowed them.”

“Borrowed them?”

“He—he takes people. Possesses them and uses them when he needs a physical presence. I think that’s what happened with Mrs. Shirley and the car…but he can only do it for a little while. Being…
inhabited
like that…it burns people up, in just hours sometimes. They either go crazy or die…can I finish telling you what happened now?”

Garland swallowed the sour saliva that filled her mouth. Poor Shirley Shirley—the horror she’d seen in her face in that instant before the car bore down on her— “Go on.”

“We talked. Lord Mahtahdou said he’d made a mistake by dumping the selkie and his kid in the water to bleed out rather killing them outright. He was very angry—Mattaquason is damned lucky that he didn’t throw a tsunami at it.”

“He can do that?” A cold hand seemed to touch her neck.

Kathy laughed mirthlessly. “Do you know about the storm that destroyed part of Monomoyick back twenty years or so and rearranged the harbor? Where do you think that came from?”

She shivered but would not let Kathy see it. “So this is why everyone in town has been so strange to me today. Because of Mahtahdou.”

“Yes.”

“And back when I first found Alasdair and Conn…you and Captain Howe already knew.”

“I didn’t know specifically who they were. It’s safer not to know things. But finding them on a beach in their condition—we knew it had to be someone who’d angered Lord Mahtahdou, and we didn’t want to have anything to do with them. Now will you let me finish?”

Garland nodded.

“Thank you. Lord Mahtahdou told me he’d thought about destroying Eldredge Point to get at him but decided there were better methods. He’s very interested in you. In fact, the reason he didn’t destroy Eldredge Point was you.”

“Was that all?”

“No.” Kathy set the flashlight on the floor next to her, leaned forward, and put her hands on Garland’s arms. “Garland, no matter what you might think, I’m your friend. And right now, as a friend, I’m telling you to get in your car and leave Mattaquason. Now.”

“Leave Alasdair and Conn to Mahtahdou?” Garland heard the outrage in her voice but didn’t try to temper it.

“Yes,” Kathy said steadily. “I don’t give a damn about them, but I do about you. Go far away—somewhere inland—and don’t ever come back. Forget about Mattaquason. I’ll see that your house gets packed up and sold and send everything to you. It might be too late but if you leave right now—”

“I can’t do that!”

Kathy shook her a little. “Listen to me. The reason Lord Mahtahdou summoned me was to tell me to find a way to bring you to him.”

Garland felt herself grow very still. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Do you know what I’m risking by tell you to run away instead? If he were to find out—”

“So why haven’t you left too?”

“This is my home, Garland. How long has my family lived here? But I’d already decided I was going to as soon as I turn fifty-five. No one can blame me for wanting to retire somewhere warm, can they? Why do you think I was so happy to sell your quilts for all that dosh?”

Her quilts. “Why the garbage bag, Kathy? That really hurt.”

Kathy dropped her hands. “Lord Mahtahdou wanted me to destroy them. He hates them for some reason. But I thought…if you left now, you could take them away with you and sell them—it would give you enough to go on until we got your house sold for you—” She picked up the flashlight and pointed it at her watch. “You should probably go. You’ve been here for a while, and if someone notices your car out there—”

Garland climbed to her feet. “I understand,” she said quietly, and opened the door. “Thank you for telling me all this.”

“Will you go? Will you leave town?” Kathy called after her as she walked through the echoing gallery to the shop’s door. “I promise I’ll make sure your things are safely taken care of for you…it’s the least I can do—”

Garland slipped through the door without replying. Awkwardly, she hoisted the garbage bag full of her quilts and wrestled it into the trunk of her car. Then she climbed behind the wheel.

So Mahtahdou was “interested” in her and had a problem with her quilts? She shook her head. Right now she needed to do something about Alasdair. She could run to the pharmacy up in Orleans…but that would take too long. Maybe she could stop at Rob’s office…but no. There was no way to know if he was there. And if he was, she didn’t need him to treat her the way the rest of Mattaquason had—

Her cell phone rang. She fumbled for her handbag and found it, not even stopping to look at the ID. “Hello?”

“Garland?”

“Rob!” At least
he
hadn’t called her “Mrs. Durrell.” For a moment she couldn’t see through the tears that came to her eyes. She wiped them away with her sleeve. “Oh my God, I’ve been trying to call you—where were you?”

“Out. I came straight over to your house when I got your messages, but you weren’t here.”

Rob’s calm, competent voice sounded wonderful, if a little strained. “You’re at my house? How is Alasdair?”

There was a pause. “I’ve seen him,” he finally said. “I’ve done what needed doing, but I think you’d better come back here quickly.”

A cold weight seemed to settle on her chest. “What’s wrong? Is he worse?”

“He’s sleeping. But I need to talk to you, and it’s pretty urgent.”

“I’m on my way. Oh—Rob?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. I know we…that I…thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.”

Another pause. “Just come home, Garland. Okay?” He clicked off.

Garland put away her phone. At least Rob wasn’t behaving like the rest of the town and shunning her the way she’d begun to fear he would—he hadn’t sounded quite like his usual self, but at least he’d come. She started the car and pulled onto the deserted Main Street. Behind her the town was dark and still under the lowering, swirling fog.

Chapter 17

R
ob was just descending the stairs as Garland came through the front door. He hadn’t shaved today, and his face was pale under the shadow of stubble. As he stepped under the light in the front hall she saw his that his eyes were glittering and glassy. Was he ill? But if he was, why the mysterious note for Stacy? Why not just call in sick?

“Garland.” He put his medical bag down and pulled her against him, holding her tightly. She stiffened at first, then relaxed and hugged him back. Rob was so
good
. She regretted not being able to love him.

“Thank you for coming.” She stepped away and turned toward the stairs. “How’s Alasdair? Do you—” She looked back at him and realized he was watching her intently. “Rob? Is there something wrong?”

He looked at her and swallowed, and she was struck anew by his pallor. She touched his forehead. It was cold and clammy. “You
are
sick, aren’t you?”

“No,” he said brusquely. “Just tired. Come in here. I need to talk to you about him.” He took her arm and propelled her toward the great room.

“Not there,” she murmured, holding a finger to her lips. “Conn’s asleep on the c—”

A cold, damp breeze struck her face, stopping her words. One of the great room’s sliding doors to the lawn overlooking the beach was wide open, and an unpleasant, salty smell filled the room.

“Conn!” She ran to the couch. A picture book lay abandoned on the floor, its pages riffling in the breeze from the open door. The couch itself was empty.

No! Had he gone outside to look for flowers again? But after what had happened to him the last time he’d gone out of the house alone…she whirled back to Rob.

“Conn was asleep on the couch when I left. Did you see him when you came in?” she demanded.

He shook his head. “I didn’t look. I noticed the door was open, but I assumed you’d left it that way on purpose so I left it alone and went straight upstairs.”

Her heart was thudding in her chest. This wasn’t happening. Conn had opened the door for some reason and then left the room…he was probably back at Derek’s desk, coloring—

“Conn,” she called, hating the quaver that shook her voice, and sprinted to the office. But the room was empty…and if Rob hadn’t seen him upstairs…

“Where are you going?” Rob called as she pushed past him.

She ignored him and dashed out the slider toward the beach. Oh, why had she left Conn alone? She should have woken him up and brought him with her downtown. But he’d been sleeping so peacefully, and she’d locked the doors—

More fog billowed up the lawn from the water, blown in eerie puffs like smoke from a forest fire, only cold and wet instead of acrid and burning. She almost didn’t want to breathe it in, but forced herself to fill her lungs as she ran and shouted, “Conn!”

Only the sound of the wind in her ears and the slap of waves on the shore broke the silence.

In the damp, tide-smoothed sand past the tangle of beach plum and bayberry bushes she found footprints leading down to the water…if whatever had made the oddly-shaped prints possessed something that could be called feet. But no little boy prints punctuated the bizarre, uneven depressions in the sand. Could it be that he hadn’t come down here after all? Maybe he
had
gone over to the Luffords’ again to pick flowers—

At the very edge of the water, a puddle of color caught her eye. A purple puddle.

No. Oh, no.

But even before she’d reached it she knew what it was. She picked up Conn’s beloved shirt, tears burning on her cold cheeks, and shook the sand carefully from it. The collar was ripped almost fully away from its band, and a long gash ran down one arm, but the Compass Rose that she’d pieced on it in rose and pale blue and violet still seemed to glow slightly in the dim, foggy air.

* * *

When she returned to the house Rob still stood where she’d left him in the doorway to the great room, looking faintly dazed.

“Rob,” she said, and he jumped.

“Garland,” he said, straightening. His left eye twitched. If the man wasn’t sick, he was certainly doing a good imitation of it. “Did you find him?”