going during the day, like a sensible person,
but Griffin in turn pointed out we were technically trespassing,
and there was a reason most criminal undertakings took place under
the cover of darkness.
It wasn’t a trip I was at all eager to make,
but Mother’s suggestion to investigate the standing stones had been
a valid one. A quick note to Father revealed he didn’t know if
anyone had bought the place, so Griffin ended up at city hall once
again. A search through the property deeds revealed only that a
company headquartered in Boston had purchased it less than a year
ago. A Pinkerton Griffin had worked with in the past was stationed
in the Boston office, so he sent a letter requesting the man look
into the company on his behalf.
Christine and Iskander accompanied us, both
of them wanting a closer look at the site to compare it with the
one on the Robinson farm. Although I doubted we’d need their
archaeological expertise, I welcomed their presence, if only
because of my dark memories of the island. I couldn’t help but feel
as though the place were cursed in some fashion.
We avoided the estate itself, as the
standing stones were on an island, and we needed to approach by
boat. I clung to the sides of the craft and tried not to look at
the black water. The moon rode low, its beams largely blocked by
the dark bulk of the Draakenwood. It was very quiet. No night birds
called from the forest. There came the soft slap of water against
the boat, the whisper of Griffin and Iskander’s oars, and the
occasional plop of a fish breaching the surface after an insect,
but nothing more. The island loomed against the stars, thick trees
concealing the standing stones from casual view.
I hated this lake. Leander, the boy I’d been
hopelessly in love with as a youth, had died in its waters. I’d
come close to dying myself, and had a terror of drowning ever
since. Then Griffin, Christine, and I had nearly perished on the
island while trying to stop Blackbyrne from opening a doorway to
the Outside. I’d never wanted to come back here again.
Not to say Griffin or Christine likely did
either. I twisted around to look at Griffin, who sat directly
behind me. I found he’d been watching me already, and a little
smile touched his handsome face when our eyes met.
It was all right, I told myself. We were all
right. We were alive and together, and this accursed lake would
claim none of us if I had anything to say about it.
The little dock had fallen into disrepair,
but was still serviceable enough. I scrambled out of the boat as
soon as it drew alongside.
“Be careful,” Christine snapped. “You’re
going to send us over!”
Her voice rang across the lake, the
unnatural stillness carrying the sound farther than it would have
otherwise. Christine looked taken aback and clapped a hand to her
mouth. “Sorry,” she whispered.
There came a loud rustling from the bushes
next to the dock, as though something forced its way through the
tangled growth. I jumped at the unexpected sound. “What was
that?”
“Just a muskrat or something like,” Griffin
said soothingly as he tied up the boat. “Perfectly natural.”
“Nothing about this island is natural,” I
muttered.
The path leading from the dock to the
standing stones was so overgrown I could barely discern it, even
when Griffin directed the beam of his police lantern on it. “This
way,” he murmured, and started forward.
I wanted to snatch him back. To bundle him
into the boat and return to shore, away from this place.
“Hurry it up, Whyborne,” Christine said from
behind me. “The sooner this is done, the sooner we can leave.”
She had a point. I forced my reluctant feet
to move, following Griffin toward the heart of the small island.
Tree branches snatched at my clothing and tried to knock off my
hat. The faint scent of death and rot seemed to hang over the
place, although perhaps it was simply my memories coloring my
perceptions. The undergrowth continued to
but Griffin in turn pointed out we were technically trespassing,
and there was a reason most criminal undertakings took place under
the cover of darkness.
It wasn’t a trip I was at all eager to make,
but Mother’s suggestion to investigate the standing stones had been
a valid one. A quick note to Father revealed he didn’t know if
anyone had bought the place, so Griffin ended up at city hall once
again. A search through the property deeds revealed only that a
company headquartered in Boston had purchased it less than a year
ago. A Pinkerton Griffin had worked with in the past was stationed
in the Boston office, so he sent a letter requesting the man look
into the company on his behalf.
Christine and Iskander accompanied us, both
of them wanting a closer look at the site to compare it with the
one on the Robinson farm. Although I doubted we’d need their
archaeological expertise, I welcomed their presence, if only
because of my dark memories of the island. I couldn’t help but feel
as though the place were cursed in some fashion.
We avoided the estate itself, as the
standing stones were on an island, and we needed to approach by
boat. I clung to the sides of the craft and tried not to look at
the black water. The moon rode low, its beams largely blocked by
the dark bulk of the Draakenwood. It was very quiet. No night birds
called from the forest. There came the soft slap of water against
the boat, the whisper of Griffin and Iskander’s oars, and the
occasional plop of a fish breaching the surface after an insect,
but nothing more. The island loomed against the stars, thick trees
concealing the standing stones from casual view.
I hated this lake. Leander, the boy I’d been
hopelessly in love with as a youth, had died in its waters. I’d
come close to dying myself, and had a terror of drowning ever
since. Then Griffin, Christine, and I had nearly perished on the
island while trying to stop Blackbyrne from opening a doorway to
the Outside. I’d never wanted to come back here again.
Not to say Griffin or Christine likely did
either. I twisted around to look at Griffin, who sat directly
behind me. I found he’d been watching me already, and a little
smile touched his handsome face when our eyes met.
It was all right, I told myself. We were all
right. We were alive and together, and this accursed lake would
claim none of us if I had anything to say about it.
The little dock had fallen into disrepair,
but was still serviceable enough. I scrambled out of the boat as
soon as it drew alongside.
“Be careful,” Christine snapped. “You’re
going to send us over!”
Her voice rang across the lake, the
unnatural stillness carrying the sound farther than it would have
otherwise. Christine looked taken aback and clapped a hand to her
mouth. “Sorry,” she whispered.
There came a loud rustling from the bushes
next to the dock, as though something forced its way through the
tangled growth. I jumped at the unexpected sound. “What was
that?”
“Just a muskrat or something like,” Griffin
said soothingly as he tied up the boat. “Perfectly natural.”
“Nothing about this island is natural,” I
muttered.
The path leading from the dock to the
standing stones was so overgrown I could barely discern it, even
when Griffin directed the beam of his police lantern on it. “This
way,” he murmured, and started forward.
I wanted to snatch him back. To bundle him
into the boat and return to shore, away from this place.
“Hurry it up, Whyborne,” Christine said from
behind me. “The sooner this is done, the sooner we can leave.”
She had a point. I forced my reluctant feet
to move, following Griffin toward the heart of the small island.
Tree branches snatched at my clothing and tried to knock off my
hat. The faint scent of death and rot seemed to hang over the
place, although perhaps it was simply my memories coloring my
perceptions. The undergrowth continued to
Similar Books
