Pocket of Posies, page 5
“That doesn’t matter,” Henry said. “This is still your fault.”
“How do you figure?”
The glare that settled onto Henry’s face left even Annabel feeling the cold. Egil’s bravado slipped for the first time.
“You crowned yourself the king of our little group, Egil. You don’t get to walk away from the consequences.”
“Let go of my arm.” Egil tried to yank himself free but Henry held on, tightening his grip until Egil winced in pain. He fixed his gaze on Annabel. “You want to find your sister? I’m the only help you’ve got. So tell your guard dog to play nice.”
Annabel turned to him so she could meet Henry’s gaze. She figured that the pain was playing tricks on her mind because a lot of that last statement didn’t make sense to her. Releasing his grip on the blonde’s arm, Henry kept close. Annabel had a sneaking suspicion that, if Henry decided to try being a violent man, he was going to start with Egil.
“Thank you,” Egil bristled.
“Where’s my sister?” she demanded.
“I don’t know.”
“You said you could help.”
“And I can. Because I’m the only one around here still willing to believe what we saw.” Egil’s voice became haunted. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t keep himself from shivering. “What we survived.”
“Are you also willing to help?” Henry asked.
Egil forced a tight smile. “When the time comes.”
“How did you get here?” Annabel asked.
“My sister and I went back to the shore. Slipped around the headland. Without the storm, it was doable. Not pleasant, but doable. We found the town soon after.”
“But how did you get here?” Annabel lowered her voice to ask.
“My sister was injured. Broke her leg. They took her to the hospital and said I should wait here for the rescue boat to arrive.”
Glancing up at Henry, she saw that he was feeling the same impatience that she was.
“How did you get from the town to this courtyard?” she asked sharply.
Egil looked between them. “I’m guessing the same way you did.”
“We were abducted,” Henry said. After a glance to Annabel, he added, “After we were chased down by one of the red ghosts.”
The color drained from Egil’s face. “They’re here?”
“Yes,” Annabel admitted.
Without discussion, both Henry and Annabel agreed not to mention where the ghost had found them. Neither of them could predict how he might react to hearing that his sister was in danger, and she wasn’t in any condition to fight.
Egil swallowed thickly. “I don’t know. I mean, I have a vague memory of being taken to a hotel. But I woke up here.”
“That’s pretty much what everyone says,” Henry whispered in her ear.
“And no one’s questioning it?” Annabel asked.
“Most of these people haven’t seen ghosts,” Egil cut in. “They’ve been through a horrible trauma. It’s easier for them to convince themselves that everything is okay rather than believe they’ve been kidnapped. If you can even call it that.” Egil paused for a moment. “Yeah, I can hear you two. You’re not that far away.”
“Does anyone else get an uneasy feeling about this place?” Henry asked abruptly.
“I suspect everyone does,” Egil replied. “They’re just not willing to admit it.”
“What about the others who were with us?” Annabel said. “They can’t just forget what they saw.”
“They’re paranoid,” Egil said. “And tired. Most of them are struggling with insomnia and shock.”
“So?” she asked.
Egil frowned. “Don’t look down your nose at them. They just want to feel safe. If you hadn’t seen a ghost here, you’d be doing just what they’re doing now.”
Henry checked that no one was close enough to hear them before shuffling closer still. The motion cut off Annabel’s protests.
“Do you know where the food supply is?”
While Egil didn’t move closer, he did drop his voice. “Marcus is in charge of all that.”
“Do you know where he’s keeping it?” Henry pressed.
“A vague idea,” Egil said. “Why? What are you thinking?”
“The amount of food they’ve supplied us with will be a good indicator of how long they expect us to be here,” Henry said.
“Why would anyone go to all this trouble just to starve us?” Egil asked.
“Did you tell them about the black plague being in the other town when you got here?” Henry asked.
Egil shook his head.
“I didn’t get a chance to, either,” Henry said. “They gave me a shot anyway. Like they knew. Maybe it’s a precaution, but it didn’t sit right with me. Heck, the town’s only a few miles away. Makes sense that they’d know what’s going on there.”
Annabel shivered, the motion making her gasp as the water lapped at her ravaged hands. “You’re thinking this is their version of quarantine.”
“It seems like the easiest way for them to handle the situation. They avoid confrontation.”
“So, if they keep topping up the food, they expect us to live?” Egil asked.
A spark of hope sizzled along Annabel’s veins. “And if they keep topping it up, there has to be a way in and out.”
“Okay. So we have a plan,” Egil nodded. “We get Marcus to show us the food supply.”
There was an energy about him that spoke of a deep-seeded need to get moving. Like an itch he couldn’t scratch. The only one willing to face the truth, Annabel thought. It must have been slowly driving him mad.
He started to get up, only stopping when he noticed that Henry had no intention of following.
Focused on Annabel, Henry asked, “Did you see anything strange in the morgue?”
“Other than the substandard–”
“Yes, other than that,” he cut in, sounding slightly amused. “Anything about the ghost?”
She thought back, searching through every trace of memory she still had. The already muddled images were distorted even more by the pain throbbing through her body.
“The ghost didn’t grab you?”
“What are you two talking about?” Egil asked.
“The red clad ghost reached for me,” Henry explained. “It stopped. I’ve been racking my brain trying to understand why.”
“That’s what’s bothering you? Not the oil or the fact that water set her hands on fire?” Egil said.
Annabel froze. “Henry, have you taken any of the tea?”
He shook his head.
“Oh no.”
“What are you thinking?” Henry asked.
She swallowed thickly. “I could be wrong.”
Henry shrugged one shoulder. “Tell me anyway.”
“I think we can all agree that there was some kind of chemical reaction. One that hasn’t happened with the others,” she started. “So there has to be something different about my case than the others. There are only two things I can think of. One, I have burns.”
“And two?” Egil asked with mounting impatience.
“We found the roses again,” she answered slowly. “We were covered in their blood. Maybe the tea, whatever it is, is designed to react to the traces of the paranormal blood.”
The muscles in Henry’s throat jumped as he worked his jaw. “All that smoke would make a good signal.”
“A signal for what?” Egil asked. “You could see it for miles.”
The air felt cold against her skin as the thought sunk in. “Yeah, you’d see it all the way back at the ghost town.”
“Hold on. Are you saying that these people locked us in here and sent up a dinner bell for the Plague Doctors?” Egil asked.
Tension crept in to his shoulders as he looked between Annabel and Henry, silently demanding that either one of them deny the thought. Fear brewing within her chest, Annabel lunged to her feet. Without the water to soothe her hands, the pain almost brought her down to her knees.
But she kept moving.
Because, if they were right, something far worse was coming for them.
Chapter 6
Jezebel lifted her face as she walked, searching each fleeting glimpse of the sky for a trace of the dark smoke. The wind had dispersed it long ago, but she couldn't stop herself from checking, hoping to catch another look. A single smear upon the sky that would help her check her direction. Annabel’s short-lived scream had died away as well. That was both a blessing and a torment. Jezebel never wanted to hear her sister make a sound like that again. At the same time, she was desperate for a hint that Annabel was still alive.
The maze marked her progress. Gone was the repeating corridor. It had taken hours for her to find her way out. Now, on the fringe of an uncharted area, it occurred to her just how well tended her original location had been. Here, magnificent kapok trees took the place of the hedges, their tops unfolding above her like open umbrellas. Their roots protruded up from the moist soil in sturdy fins. She had to climb over the moss-topped edges as they slashed randomly across the pathway. Branches stuck out in layers of horizontal tiers, offering a base for the creeping vines to weave elaborate webs. Some strands were as thick as her arm. Others barely had the width of her hair. But they all carried large, heavy flowers that wept a sweet-smelling mucus.
Their sheer numbers created an impenetrable wall, forcing her to clamber over the exposed roots to keep to the path, her hands slipping on the moss that covered them. The further she went, the larger they became. Little mushrooms, as black as soot and as soft as velvet, speckled the area. It was becoming harder to avoid them. The air smelled of freshly churned earth and compost. Unseen animals scurried through the underbrush. She flinched with each random crunch, whipping around to try and get a glimpse of whatever was there. But when she paused, silence returned. She felt the eyes upon her, making her skin crawl and her hair bristle.
Thorny branches reached for each other over her head, their gnarled limbs entwining as they touched, strangling out the sunlight. The further she went, the stronger their bond, until the glare of the noonday sun dwindled into an early dusk. The stretches of the corridor that hadn’t been broken by the roots were soon overrun by low growing shrubs. Their fanning leaves blocked her view of everything below her hips. Even while she stumbled, she was grateful for the disruption. It kept her from having to see what had turned the ground squishy. After hours barefoot upon stone, the slight give was a blessing. But there was a lingering chill, a bubble of liquid, and a stir of air that came with every step. She didn't want to think too hard on any of it.
The fragrant oil, too thick for her sweat to wash away, gathered everything it encountered. Dirt and grime quickly covered her skin, mixing with the flower petals she hadn’t been able to pluck free. She felt disgusting on a level she hadn't experienced before, the sensation increasing as spider webs began to cluster around the trees. No matter how hard she tried to avoid them, the fine thread and their creators ended up hanging off of her. All of the obstacles had slowed her down. Jezebel glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see the beginning of the kapok trees only a few yards away. The jungle limited her sight to only a few feet. In the space of a few yards, it seemed that she had ventured from the vibrant Mediterranean to the dark heart of the Amazon.
Creatures crunched through the decomposing leaves. Circling around her at a rapid pace. Plants rustled. Their branches heaved violently at all heights, making it impossible to determine the size or numbers of the pack. The unseen animals flowed around her, brushing against her bare legs, closing in without ever emerging from the plants. Jezebel clutched her candlestick until her entire arm shook with the strain. She struck at the nearest moving branches, but the motion neither scattered nor ended. Don’t stop, she ordered herself. Keep moving.
She ran, crashing hard into hidden roots. Dragging herself over them, she flicked her eyes up to the sky again, craving the reassurance of the smoke. Even if it had reemerged, she wouldn't have been able to see it. The canopy was too thick. Thin strips of golden sunlight pressed against the leaves at random intervals. Everything else was lost to the shadows. Long trenches of darkness were dense enough to hide the branches creating them. Shivers coursed down her spine at the sight. She felt smothered, even while the roof towered above her and the breeze rustled the ferns. She needed the sky. Something stable that would dispel the tricks of the labyrinth.
Time and distance elongated and shortened at once. The maze can’t be this big, she had long since reasoned. Not unless it covers half the island.
A sudden rush of life through the underbrush jarred her out of her thoughts. Jezebel slowed, glancing around to try and recall which way she had come. The walls of the maze had deteriorated to a point that she could barely pick them out from the overgrowth. Twigs cracked in the darkness.
Up. The decision came on instinct. Her eyes trailed up the seemingly endless stretch of trunk. She didn’t need to have Annabel’s education to know that a fall from such a height would be fatal. The sounds around her pushed her hand. She ripped a rubbery sapling from the ground, hastily tying one end around the candlestick. Then she wrapped the other around her wrist. Winding it over and over until the iron bar was pressed flush to her forearm. It limited her movement, but she reasoned the harder climb would be worth it to eliminate the risk of losing her only weapon.
The sounds increased, racing back and forth on the other side of the path. Pressing her back against the trunk of the tree she intended to climb, Jezebel blindly reached to her side, groping for a vine. The moment she had one, she swung around and quickly tried to pull herself up.
She had only made it two feet off of the ground before the vine crumbled into moist woodchips between her fingers. Dumped back down onto the ground, she instantly snatched up another tendril and tried again. The noises below stirred, quickened, pushing her on while handful after handful of healthy wood turned into mush within her grip.
The jungle screamed, a thousand unseen creatures racing and raging each time she dropped, chatting in excited expectation of her fall. Ready to swarm her the moment her feet touched the soil. Shifting from one limb to another, she jerked and lurched her way up. Battling for every inch. Falling only to climb again. Pushed on by the primal need to escape the storm of creaks and groans.
Choking on a scream, she wrapped her legs around the clustered vines and pushed higher. Finally, with her lungs burning and arms shaking, she was within reach of a sturdy branch. She grabbed for it, latching on as her handful of vines broke. Her fingers clutched and the moss gave way, exposing the thorns that littered the bark. The spikes drove into her skin. She almost dropped with the sudden crackles of pain, but the sounds followed her. She clawed up, wrapped her arms around the branch, kicked and thrashed until she could hook a leg over and straddle the branch.
Pulling herself up created a sway of motion that almost toppled her. She clawed at the vines, trying to find one that would hold her long enough to regain her balance. Her fight threw her to the side. The world flung past her in a blur of color, giving her a glimpse of the ground. Vertigo hit her like an iron fist. Her stomach lurched, her head spun, her heart relocated to her chest and swelled tight, forcing her to gasp for air.
Thorns pierced into the unprotected flesh of her thighs as she squeezed her legs tight around the branch. Her broken nails dug deep into the trunk, stripping the bark and moss away, allowing them to fall into a toppling flurry. It kept her from falling but left her half dangling in the air. Afraid to move. Her eyes locked on the ground far below. She was high enough now that the particles took a small eternity to reach the underbrush.
Her body rattled with every resounding thud of her heartbeat. Arms twitching and legs quivering in pain, she chastised herself for her colossally stupid idea. She wasn't a fit woman. Healthy enough, but with no significant physical prowess. What were you thinking? a voice hissed in her head. This is how you die. By being an idiot.
She tried to pull herself up and only managed a small movement. Barely a few inches. Her tired arms couldn't do much else. Still, it was enough to force the thorns to cut her skin. Beads of blood seeped. She could feel it pooling against her thighs. Her arms failed. If it weren't for her legs, she would have plummeted to the ground.
Half tangled in the entwined vines, with her blood rushing to her head, she forced down a few breaths. Think, she told herself. But the command brought no answers. Her exhausted body refused to do as she asked and the vines she grabbed for leverage rotted in her grasp.
Beyond the harsh pants of her breath, the jungle was still alive with movement. Not of large animals, but soft clicks like scurrying beetles and the buzzing of an enormous hornet's nest. Rising above the constant chatter was the rush of blood through her ears.
The brush of a sturdy vine against her fingertips was like a miracle. She latched her fingers around it, squeezing several times until she could convince herself that it would hold her weight. Violent shivers coursed down her arm as she tried to pull herself up. After barely a few inches, her muscles convulsed and failed. She dropped, barely able to keep her half-hooked position. Think, she told herself again. What would Annabel do?
She started moving before the thought had fully formed. Clenching the vine, she spun her arm, looping the long, nimble stretch of plant life around her forearm, tucking it as close to her shoulder as she could. Only then did she try again. The tangled vine shifted the needed motion. No longer having to pull her weight up, she pushed her arm down. A range of motion that used untaxed muscles. Crunching her torso earned her a few more inches. Each time, she rewrapped the vine, securing her success.
Almost horizontal, she paused to draw in a few deep breaths, lifting her eyes up to study how far she had to go. The tree seemed to stretch before her. Raspy growls and little snaps accompanied the growth. She rattled with the vibrations that shivered along the trunk. Loose leaves and flower petals were tossed into the sky, falling like rain as the canopy rose higher. Then it stopped. A sudden jerk that sent Jezebel swaying. She clenched her legs and gripped the vine tight, desperate to keep her position. When she finally did look up, mist-like clouds had already started to cluster, blocking her view of the canopy. For the first time, the possibility hit her that the jungle could do what the hallway had done. Stretch out into infinity. With nothing to mark its beginning or end. I could climb forever and not reach the top.
