“So do I. Maybe—maybe it’s stupid, but there might be something in there we could take back to Mom. Just something she could have.”
“I don’t think it’s stupid. It’s loving,” Fallon said. “We need loving after this.”
Something loving, she thought, to take away the sorrow. “We’ll go to the house. And after, we’ll try to find some people. Someone who knows about the girl.”
“And about any DUs in the area,” Duncan added. “It won’t be the last time we come here, so we should get the lay of the land before we come again.”
“Yeah, we should know our battleground.” Fallon looked around, the dead wood, the ice-slicked trees, the salted ground. “It’ll gather again, and someone will find a way to feed it again. But for now, we’re done here.”
Again, she put a hand on Duncan’s arm. “If we can’t find anyone who knows her, we’ll bury her at your family’s farm.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dark, deserted houses were commonplace in the world Duncan knew. But this one, this rambling house with its time-weathered outbuildings, blank, blind windows, and overgrown land, stood apart from all the rest.
Family had built this with stone, wood, sweat, lived here, slept and woke here, worked the land acre by acre, generation by generation. Until.
“I half expected it to be burned down.” As she felt much the same as her twin, Tonia took his hand. “Or torn down for materials. It just looks like it’s…”
“Waiting,” he finished. “Well, wait’s over.”
As they approached the back door, Fallon gave them a moment, then followed. The spirit animals would guard the body.
He’d expected to find it locked, but the door opened with a long creak. He swore he felt the house itself release a long-held breath. He brought the light, a quiet one, and stepped inside.
In that quiet light, beneath the dust of time, he saw a large, tidy kitchen. Counters cleared, a table with a pottery bowl—bright blue under the dust—centered on it and chairs neatly tucked in. Curious, he opened a cupboard, found stacks of dishes filmed with spiderwebs. In another, glasses.
Tonia opened the refrigerator. Empty, scrubbed clean so the faintest whiff of lemon wafted out with the sour smell of disuse.
“There’s a pantry here—cleaned out,” Fallon said. “No food left to spoil or go to waste.”
“But dishes, glasses, pots, pans, all of that.” Tonia continued to explore. “Someone survived, at least long enough to do all this. To clean, to take the food out.”
“It’s been alone a long time. Waiting a long time.” He could feel it, both the grief and the joy. “They had pride in their home, in the land, in the legacy.”
“You’re the legacy,” Fallon said. “You and Tonia. Hannah, too. This is yours. They left it for you.”
“It’s full of them. The voices.” As they murmured inside him, he moved on, into a dining room. “They’d have had that last dinner here, New Year’s Eve. Mom said they always had a big dinner before the party.”
The room held an old buffet. Candlestands and what he thought must be pieces passed down still stood on it among the dust and cobwebs. A cabinet with dulled glass doors displayed what had been the company dishes, or those for special occasions.
“The six of them that night?” The image of those company dishes carefully set ran clear through Tonia’s inner vision. “Can you see them?”
He could, ghosts around the table, with a sparkle of champagne in glasses, fat pheasants on a platter, bowls and dishes holding food as they toasted each other. A fire crackling, and the scents of the roasted birds, the home-cooked dishes, perfume, candle wax.
“The farmer at the head,” he continued. “His wife at the foot. The twin brothers, the wives who are like sisters. They’re friends here as well as family. Their children and children’s children aren’t here tonight, but scattered after the holiday visit. Not Katie, who had to stay home with the twins she’s brewing inside her. So it’s the six here, old friends, good family, toasting the end of the year, not knowing it would be the end of all.”
“They loved each other.” Tonia, tears in her eyes, tipped her head to Duncan’s shoulder. “You can see it, feel it.”
“It’s already in him. Ross MacLeod.” Duncan gestured to a seat. “He doesn’t know, but it’s in him, dark and deadly.”
“In all before the plates are cleared. I’m sorry.” Fallon kept a step away, letting the twins have their time. Because it made her unbearably sad, she whisked away the dust, the cobwebs.
Duncan met her eyes, a world of sorrow in his, then moved on.
The living room—or would they call it a parlor?—proved as tidy as the rest. Wood stacked neat in the hearth with kindling beneath as if waiting for the match to send it crackling.
Tonia walked to the mantel, took down a framed photo, wiped away the dust. “Duncan. This must have been taken the year before, or maybe the year before that. It’s all of them, with the Christmas tree. Mom. This must be … Duncan.”
He studied it with her. Hugh and Millie—the farmers. His grandparents, his great-uncle and great-aunt. Cousins they’d never known. His mother—so young! And beside her, his arm over her shoulders … “Our father.”
“We’ve never seen a picture of him,” Tonia said. “When Mom went into labor, she didn’t have time to take anything. New York was in chaos, and she was alone. She didn’t take anything when she drove to the hospital. Her Tony was already gone. He’s so handsome.”
“You should take it to her.” Again, Fallon kept a few steps back, gave them room. “Nothing would mean more than a picture of her family together.”
They went through the rest of the house, finding each room carefully left. Beds made, towels folded, clothes hung or tucked into drawers.
“We’ll come back,” Duncan decided. “After it’s done we’ll bring Mom back, and Hannah. They’ll want that.”
“So do I.” Tonia squeezed his hand. “I want to see it in the light. It’s a good place, Duncan. It needs to live again.”
When they stepped back outside, Fallon drew her sword. The hooded figure standing beside Laoch held up her hands. “I’m no harm to you. My granny sent me to fetch you.” Her voice, thick with the country burr of Scotland, shook a little as she eyed the sword. “I only waited, not wanting to intrude.”
When she drew back her hood, Fallon saw a young girl, around the same age as the one they’d found on the altar. A young faerie, she realized, with bright hair, eyes wide with apprehension, and no dark in her.
“Your granny?”
“Aye. She said you’d come, and for me to wait and ask you to visit. We’re just down the road a bit. Dorcas Frazier, she is, and I’m Nessa. She knew your family, and would dearly love to have a visit with you. Would you come, please? She’s a hundred and two, you see, and I wouldn’t have her coming out in the cold.”
“Of course we’ll come.” Fallon sheathed her sword.
“She’ll be so pleased. It’s not far, and it’s safe enough now.”
“Now?” Duncan repeated as they walked with her, the animals following.
“Aye, now.” She glanced back at the blanketed burden Laoch carried. “I think that must be Aileen. She was a friend, and I feared for her when she couldn’t be found.”
“Do you know who did this to her?” Duncan demanded.
“It’s best to talk to Granny, but those who did it are gone for now. You’re the twins. Katie and Tony’s. Granny knew them, and your grandparents, and the rest of the MacLeods.”
They walked the dark road, past a cottage or two. Fallon saw candlelight gleaming, smelled smoke from chimneys, and animals bedded down in stalls and pens.
“How many are you?”
“We’re near to a hundred, but it’s a quiet place. Some move on, and some move in, you could say. There’s good land to farm, and good hunting, fishing.”
“Any trouble with DUs?” Tonia asked.
“I don’t ken.”
“Magickals,” Fallon explained, “who bring harm.”
“The Dark Ones. Granny will tell you. She has such stories.” She looked shyly at Fallon. “She’s told me many of you. This is our cottage. The rest of our family is there, and just a bit farther up the road. But I stay with Granny and help her tend the cottage and the animals.”
She led the way to a pretty little house with magickal charms painted on the door, and others hanging from the eaves to click and clack and chime in the wind.
“You are very welcome here,” Nessa said, and opened the door.
Though the hearth—the heart of the room—was small, the fire roared in it. Candles lit the room with both charm and cheer.
The old woman sat near the fire, a plaid blanket over her lap, a red shawl around her shoulders despite the heat pumping. She had a thin, fluffy bowl of white hair around a face mapped with lines, and eyes as clear and blue as a summer lake.
Those eyes clouded with tears as she held out a hand. “You brought them, my good lassie. We’ll have whiskey, won’t we? And some cake. Please be welcome and sit. Oh, Katie’s babies. How excited your granny was for you to come into the world. A good woman was Angie MacLeod, I hope you know. You have your grandfather’s eyes, girl. Sit, sit.”
“I’m Tonia.” She took the hand offered, then a stool by the chair. “Antonia.”
“For your father. I met Tony more than once. Oh, a handsome one, and a good heart inside him with a sense of fun along with it. So in love was he with your mother, and how he made her smile. Did they live, child? I haven’t been able to see.”
“He died before we were born.”
“I’m sorry for it. Rest his soul. Your mother?”