Chapter 21

The summer sun was slipping toward the horizon as Bailey took a seat on the steps of the farmhouse.

“I want your family on my side if there’s ever a war,” he told Fiona, who dropped down beside him.

“We are an amazing group,” she agreed.

In just a matter of hours, the Connellys had filled a kitchen with food, cleaned the farmhouse from top to bottom, greeted a small army of neighbors and friends, and spread comfort to everyone.

Once her energy was restored with chocolates found in the pantry, Fiona roped Bailey into helping her supervise the children of family and visitors. He sensed she wanted to be away from the rest of the family. Blaming herself for what had happened was crazy, he thought. He supposed he had no business advising anyone about guilt, since he carried a load of his own.

So he kept his mouth shut and helped Fiona with a gaggle of children. For the most part, they kept them occupied and away from the backyard where the sheriff and his deputies processed the scene of the Connelly uncle’s death. The rest of the family and some neighbors were using a backhoe, some tractors, and trucks to prepare a large trench to bury the butchered cows. Bailey thought cattle internment might have been easier than lassoing the youngsters.

“Do all children have that much energy?” He nodded toward a three-foot high tornado of red hair and green eyes chasing a dog and screaming at the top of his lungs.

“I think so.” Fiona stood and called out to the four youngsters who were the last of their charges. “Hey kids, want to settle down for a story?”

“Ghost story!” demanded the impish redhead.

Fiona looked at Bailey, rolled her eyes, and laughed. He warmed to her beautiful smile. She was a natural with the children, allowing them to romp and run, then calming them down with stories about brave young men and women who fought evil villains.

The women in her stories were often the heroes, Bailey noticed. He was not surprised. If today was any example, she came from strong stock.

“Cake?”

Turning, Bailey found one of the gray-haired aunts offering him a slice of chocolate cake. She was one of the two that Fiona called “the elder aunts.” He stood, but eyed the cake with suspicion, thinking of the tea that Fiona’s grandmother tried to force on him last night.

“No need to worry,” the white-haired woman assured him. “We’ve noticed how kind you’ve been to the children today.”

From over heads of her young charges, Fiona nodded her approval, so Bailey took the cake. He had already enjoyed fried chicken, something called summer squash casserole, green beans, and coleslaw, so he was not hungry. He was not even that fond of chocolate cake. He took a bite and his taste buds exploded in reaction to the combination of moist cake and thick fudge frosting loaded with pecans.

“Wow,” he muttered around his second bite. “This is amazing.”

The elder aunt’s green eyes sparkled. “It’s called Coca-Cola cake. The carbonation gives the chocolate that rich taste.”

Fiona laughed as Bailey polished off the slice and praised the cake as the best he had ever eaten. The old woman bustled off, looking pleased.

The children got up to play again, and Fiona stood beside Bailey. “I’m glad you liked that cake. You’ll be eating more.”

“I couldn’t.” Bailey’s protest was barely spoken when the other elder aunt came out, also proffering cake. He distinguished her from the previous aunt only because her pantsuit was yellow instead of blue.

“Try this,” she said, pressing a plate in his hands. “I use just a smidgen more Coca-Cola.” She looked over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “My sister, Doris, has been known to use Pepsi.” The last word was spoken as a hiss, like a curse.

“I heard that,” the blue-pantsuit woman said from the doorway. “That’s not true.”

“Eat it,” Fiona whispered to Bailey as the elderly twins bickered. “Tell her it’s fantastic.”

He forced the rich cake down in four bites and pronounced it as good as the first. “I can’t imagine either of them being any better,” he assured both women. “I need the recipe for my mother.”

Sarah and her husband Marcus came out of the house. The two older women went to her side. “How is Erin doing?” the one in yellow asked, referring to Van’s widow.

“Eva Grace has put her to bed.” Sarah looked weary, Bailey thought. Some of the power he had seen in her earlier was missing.

“I have to go to Cousin Inez,” she told her sisters. “Her daughter told her about Van, and she’s taking it hard.”

“Our oldest relative,” Fiona explained to Bailey. “She was married to a great-great-uncle.”

Sarah’s eyes filled. “Van visited Inez every week without fail. He even supervised her move from assisted living and into her daughter’s home. We all felt she’d be safer there until our current troubles pass.”

“Van always reminded Inez of her husband,” said the elder aunt in blue. “He loved listening to her read from her journals.”

“Do you think Inez is okay?” Fiona asked. “Should Eva Grace go with you?”

“Inez has buried too many loved ones, that’s all,” Sarah replied. Her husband’s arm slipped around her shoulders as she added, “We’ve all buried too many Connellys.”

A chill moved over Bailey. Beneath the bustling activity at the farmhouse, he felt the family’s unease. Even when playing with the children, he had seen Fiona’s anxiety. She said there were no spirits of any kind around them. That concerned her as much as the dozens she saw earlier. She also searched the sky, as if she expected another flock of vultures to appear at any moment.

There was no doubt in Bailey’s mind. The birds were driven by a supernatural force. How else could they descend in such numbers and eat with such ferocity? But why? He was eager to study the footage Ryan had shot during the assault. The videographer had warmed to Bailey a bit before he left the farmhouse, and they were getting together at Fiona’s studio tomorrow morning.

No one had an explanation for the cattle’s slaughter. It appeared they fell to the ground, dead, and were gutted by an unseen force. The same force had flipped a tractor and killed a man beloved by his extended family and community.

Fiona hugged her grandmother, and Bailey stepped forward. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he told Sarah.

The gaze she swept over him was sharp, but she accepted his condolences with quiet dignity. Marcus shook his hand.

Fiona linked her arm through Bailey’s as they watched the couple walk away. “Let’s see to these children,” she suggested. “It’s time for everyone to be going.”

They lingered only a while longer, with Fiona making plans around the kitchen table with her sister, parents, and cousins. Van would be buried as soon as the body was released. The sons of another cousin were building a simple pine coffin, which Sarah and the elders would line with homemade quilts to allow for quick decomposition and return to the earth. It was the Wiccan way, Fiona explained. The family would say goodbye during a small ceremony at the Connelly cemetery. A wake was planned for next week at the home place.

Tradition and respect drove the entire process, Bailey thought. Though many emotions were running through the people gathered together, their focus was to honor their dead.

When Bailey and Fiona left just after moonrise, it spoke to her exhaustion that she allowed him to drive her van. He followed her directions and soon found himself in familiar territory, pulling up to her office and home.

By unspoken agreement, he went in with her. “Are you hungry?” she asked as they started up the stairs to her apartment.

“Not for another week, at least.” He gave her a quick grin. “I ate some things today I’ve never touched, like turnip greens, which I carefully wrapped in a napkin and tossed. But everything else—especially the Coca-Cola cake—you must produce again.”

“Neither Brenna nor I inherited the cooking gene. We do bake cookies and breads at Christmas, though. That’s our limit.” Fiona flipped on lights in a large room that encompassed living room and kitchen.

Bailey was left with the impression of bold colors and green plants before he followed her into a bedroom painted pale blue.

She sank down on the bed. “I can’t believe what’s happened.”

He sat and pulled her close. Ever since those awful moments after they arrived at the farm this afternoon, when he held her while she cried, he had been longing to take her in his arms. There had been no more time for tears or comfort. Like the rest of her clan, she stayed busy every moment.

Now the reality was sinking in. He could see it in her face.

“What if I had waited to open the cave?” she said. “Uncle Van would be alive.”

“You don’t know that.” He knew how she felt, of course. How many times had he faced the same sort of question?

If he had never convinced his parents to let Anna to go out with him and his friends, she would not have been murdered.

“The what-ifs will tear you apart.” He silenced her protest with a gentle touch of his fingers to her lips. “Trust me, Fiona. I know what I’m talking about.”

She sighed and her slender body sagged against his. “You’re wiped out,” he said. “You should get some sleep.”

“You’ll stay, won’t you?”

He hesitated, but only for a moment. He wanted to be here when she woke up, when she remembered what had happened. “You get ready for bed,” he said, wanting to give her a few moments of privacy. “I’m going to get myself some water.”

By the time he came back in the bedroom, Fiona was tucked in. She directed him to towels and a spare toothbrush in her bathroom, but she was asleep when he came back to the bed. He undressed, slipped in beside her, pulled her close, and drifted off.

Deep in the night, Bailey awoke to the scent of flowers and rain.

Fiona.

Her name washed over him like music, even as her lips touched his. The kiss deepened, and she opened to him with a soft moan. He felt her need, urgent and questing. She was naked, her skin heated. Her breasts peaked at his touch, her thighs parted.

Fiona slipped her body over his. “Show me,” she whispered in the hot, sweet darkness. “Show me how you want it.”

She lifted her hips, and he guided her down. Shuddering with pleasure, he held fast to his control as he entered her. She was so tight and yet so soft. By instinct she moved. He bucked upward, increasing his speed and the power behind his thrusts until lights spun around them and her cries of pleasure filled his head. They rode fast and clung to each other. Fiona’s body clenched and tiny sparks of blue danced through the air. Bailey groaned and followed her.

They lay side by side gasping for breath before Fiona snuggled next to him. The silence between them was easy until Bailey sensed tension in Fiona.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“I was just thinking about what Willow told you, that you have a part to play in all that’s happening here in New Mourne.”

Bailey took her hand and held it against his chest. He felt a sudden, urgent anxiety. “Your family is afraid of what’s going to happen next.”

She shivered. “It doesn’t seem real. This is the twenty-first century. Why are we being haunted by this stupid curse?”

“We have to find the answers.”

“We?”

“I’m all in,” he said. “I have a researcher working to find out more about the missionaries who came here in the 1700s. I got an email from him this afternoon. He says there are some old records about the missionaries stored in a library over in Savannah. An archivist is going to look at them and see if they tell us something new.”

“Really?” Fiona sat up. “We all think the key is finding exactly what happened to the Woman in White. That’s why we went back to the cave.” She told him about her vision of the young Native American being tortured.

“Don’t go back there,” Bailey said. “It’s not safe for you.”

“No place is safe until the curse is lifted,” Fiona argued. “I can’t sit around, waiting on a ghost to come and take one of us. None of us can.”

“Have you tried to talk to this spirit?” he asked.

“More times than you can imagine. Sarah and the others told me not to try to summon her, but I have. I can’t reach her. Or she’s resisting. I keep thinking that when I finally do see her it will be the end.”

“Stop it,” Bailey said. He reached over to snap on a bedside lamp. He needed to see her clearly, to know that she was listening to him. “Don’t try to reach her again.”

Her dark hair rumpled, lips swollen from his kisses, Fiona looked vulnerable and tired. His stomach clenched at how many times she had probably placed herself in danger by trying to find this blasted spirit who had cursed her family.

“Promise me,” he said again.

She shook her head. “I can’t do that. We have to use everything possible to reach her.”

Before Bailey could respond, the phone on Fiona’s nightstand started to ring. She grabbed it and read the display, frowning. “It’s Brenna. What can it be at this time of night?”

She answered, and her face drained of all color. “We’ll be right there.”

“What’s wrong?” Bailey asked as she set the phone down.

“The demon attacked my grandmother. Eva Grace and Brenna can’t get her to wake up,” Fiona said. “They need the entire coven to come right away.”