“I don’t know, Sam. It could be that this guy actually was running around, sacrificing people in the mistaken belief that it could give him supernatural powers. It was the eighteenth century, after all. Then again, Gabriel could’ve just been making it all up in an effort to please you. It’s obvious that he likes you, and if he felt that was the type of story you were looking for, he might just do it. He’s certainly intelligent enough to pull it off.”
“I don’t know, Katelynn. Gabriel’s never lied to me before, and he certainly understood how important this is to you.”
“Only time will tell. Maybe I’ll turn something up with a little more research. In the meantime, I’d better get going.”
Sam handed over the car keys. “Pick me up at nine, and we’ll drive to Jake’s together, okay?”
“Sure thing. See you then,” she replied, and headed off down the hall, throwing one last smile in Sam’s direction to show that she didn’t think the whole afternoon had been wasted.
Sam grinned in return and turned back to begin the day’s work, but his mind was on that long forgotten evening in 1763.
At the other end of the hall, the one calling himself Gabriel sat staring into the distance, his eyes unfocused and dreamy. The voice of the beast was in the back of his mind, as it had been throughout the interview, whispering to him all the awful ends it had devised for him in its long years of confinement. It had been easier to ignore it when he had his two young friends in the room to talk to, taking his mind off what the beast was saying, but with them gone, it was harder to shut it out. He listened closely for a moment, trying to gauge if it had grown any stronger; but being unable to do so, he tuned it out. He didn’t want to listen to that vile voice any longer.
He was worried. He was no longer the man he’d once been. His power was waning quickly; his body at last had grown old and tired. He’d assumed the Nightshade’s prison would hold him indefinitely, but in that he’d been wrong. He should never have had that much pride in his own abilities. The beast was awake, and before long he knew it would be free as well.
Then it would come for him.
He had no doubts as to what would happen when it did.
He had one last hope, however. The seeds of his plan had already been planted. Sam was a good listener, and mixed within the stories he had been telling were grains of truth. He trusted that the boy would be smart enough to tell one from the other when the time was right.
The girl was a different story. He could tell she was skeptical of the tale he had told, and it would be questionable whether she would be able to overcome that skepticism in time to help Sam with what needed to be done. But overcome it she must, for Sam could not face this evil alone.
Gabriel decided to nudge her along the right path.
Rising from his bed, he crossed to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. Beneath several old sweaters was a locked strongbox. He removed the box and placed it on top of the dresser.
Inside were the odds and ends that he had accumulated over the years; mementos of special moments and personal interests. One of these was a necklace of gold from which hung a crimson stone, wrapped in a piece of soft cloth. It had been fashioned years before by his enemy’s ally, and Gabriel had taken possession of it following his victory over them. It was a communication device of sorts, for the right kind of individual, and Gabriel had little doubt that Katelynn fit the mold.
Gabriel reached for the phonebook and determined Katelynn’s address. He then called a courier service, with whom he made arrangements to have the necklace picked up and delivered.
If he was right, it wouldn’t be long before Katelynn was involved in his plan whether she wanted to be or not.
It was unfair, but necessary.
With each passing day the beast was growing stronger, coming that much closer to escaping.
Gabriel knew it would not be long.
His task finished, he began to pray.
3
BLAKE
As Jake drove his Jeep along the winding road that led from the tall iron gates marking the entrance of the Riverwatch estate to the mansion itself, he glanced out over the lake to his left. The beauty of the setting sun as it reflected off the still waters had not lost its appeal in the years since he’d first seen it.
He had arrived in Harrington Falls five years earlier, after spending almost a decade in New York City. The romance of the metropolis had long since worn away by the time he’d made the decision to leave. He’d grown tired of the crowds; tired of the press of humanity on all sides; tired of the hectic pace. He needed a cleansing of the spirit that just wasn’t possible to find in the city, and one afternoon he decided he’d had enough. He sold almost everything he owned, packed his Jeep, and headed northeast. Eventually, he wandered into Harrington Falls and decided to stay.
He had accomplished a lot since then. With the help of a local bank, he started a construction company, finally putting the engineering degree he’d earned at NYU to good use. He started small, concentrating on additions to existing structures, home improvements, that sort of thing. After a time he discovered that he had a true talent, and interest, for restoring the older homes in the community, bringing them back to the vitality of their youth. He changed the focus of his business and now had a strong following in the surrounding communities. It was his success that brought him to the attention of his current client, Hudson Blake.
Blake was a direct descendant of the family that had started Harrington Falls in the late 1600s, a fact that he never let anyone forget. Jake had agreed to renovate one of the family mansions, a place known as Stonemoor. He knew the job would provide steady work for the rest of the fall and on into the winter, the period when available work usually became scarce.
Jake was beginning to regret that decision.
He hated the meetings with Blake. Held once a week, they were ostensibly to check the progress the crew was making on the renovations. Blake had always tried to make Jake feel inferior. The man was a pompous, condescending ass who wanted everything done yesterday and got verbally vicious when it wasn’t.
No, this is not going to be a fun meeting.
Jake pulled into the cul-de-sac at the end of the drive and parked beside a sleek, silver Rolls Royce, circa 1937. A wide brick walkway curved across the lawn to the main door of the mansion.
He picked up the door’s knocker, a heavy piece of brass molded into the shape of a lion’s head, and rapped it sharply three times.
A moment passed before the butler, Charles, opened the door. He glanced at Jake’s attire with clear disapproval. Jake was still wearing the jeans and work shirt he’d had on at the site. Coming across the threshold, Jake returned his best up yours stare, with a certain sense of satisfaction.
It was bad enough that he had to take such flak from Blake. Taking it from the man’s servant was just too much.
Without a word, Charles turned and led the way through the first floor until they reached a set of broad oak doors near the back of the house. Having been there before, Jake knew it was the library.
“Wait here a moment,” Charles said, in that toneless servant voice he had cultivated, and turned away without waiting for an acknowledgment. He knocked softly on the door in front of him before noiselessly sliding into the room. When he returned, he indicated Jake was to be admitted.
Jake stepped inside and heard the doors close firmly behind him.
Blake was seated at a desk formed from a massive piece of black stone that squatted in the middle of the room’s hardwood floor like an altar erected to some particularly vile god. He didn’t look up or acknowledge Jake’s presence in any way. He merely continued to read through the papers held up before him.