Eleven

FOX SPENT A LONG TIME READING, MAKING HIS own notes, checking back over specific passages Quinn had marked in the journal.

He juggled and mulled, and read more.

No guardian ever had succeeded in destroying the Dark. Some gave their lives in the attempt. Giles prepared to give his, as no other had before him.

No precedent for whatever mumbo-jumbo Dent had used that night in the woods, Fox considered. Which meant he couldn’t have been sure it would work. But he was willing to risk his life, his existence. Hell of a gamble, even considering he’d sent Ann, and the lives in her, to safety first.

He has gone beyond what has been done, what was deemed could be done. The blood of the innocent is shed, and so it will be, my love believes, dark against dark. And it will be my love who pays the price for this sin. It will be blood and fire, and it will be sacrifice and loss. Death on death before there is life, before there is hope.

Ritual magic, Fox decided, and used laundry and housekeeping chores as he had juggling. Blood magic. He glanced at the scar on his wrist. Then, and three hundred years later. Blood and fire at the Pagan Stone in Dent’s time, and blood, in a boyhood ritual in theirs. A campfire, the words he and Cal and Gage had written down to say together when Cal made the cuts.

Young boys-the blood of the innocent.

He toyed with various ideas and strategies as he thought of them. He climbed into bed late, on righteously clean sheets, to let himself sleep on it.

It came to him in the morning, while he was shaving. He hated shaving, and as he did many mornings, considered growing a beard. But every time he attempted one, it itched, and it looked stupid. Talk about pagan rituals, he mused as he drew blade through lather and over skin. Every freaking morning unless a guy wanted the hairy face, he had to scrape some sharp implement over his throat until-shit.

He nicked himself, as he nearly always did, pressed a finger to the wound that would close again almost before it bled. The sting came and went, and still he scowled in disgust at his blood-smeared fingertip.

Then stared.

Life and death, he thought. Blood was life, blood was death.

Dull horror embedded in his brain, in his heart. Had to be wrong, he told himself. Yet it made terrible sense. It was a hell of a strategy, if you’re willing to shed innocent blood.

What did it mean? he asked himself. What did it make Dent, if this had been his sacrifice?

What did it make all of them?

He twisted and turned it in his head as he made himself finish shaving, as he dressed and readied for the workday. He had the Town Council breakfast meeting, and as town lawyer, he couldn’t get out of it. Probably for the best, he decided as he grabbed his jacket, his briefcase. It was probably best to let this stew. Probably best to wait, think, before he broached the idea to the others. Even to Cal and Gage.

He ordered himself to put his head into the meeting, and though painting Town Hall and new plantings at the Square weren’t high on his current list of priorities, he thought he’d done a good job of it.

But Cal was on him the minute they walked out of Ma’s. “What’s going on?”

“I think Town Hall needs a new coat of paint, and damn the expense.”

“Cut it out. You left half your breakfast on your plate. When you don’t eat, something’s up.”

“I’m working on something, but I need to fine-tune it, to look at it some more before I talk about it. Plus, Sage is in town. I’m meeting her and the family for lunch at Sparrow’s, ergo, my appetite’s already dead.”

“Walk up to the center with me, run it by me.”

“Not now. I’ve got stuff anyway. I’ve got to digest this, which is an easier proposition than the lentils I’ll probably get stuck with at lunch. We’ll roll it over tonight.”

“All right. You know where I am if you want to roll it sooner.”

They separated. Fox pulled out his cell phone to contact Shelley. There, at least, he’d worked out his approach. As he talked to her about coming into the office, listened to her latest idea of retribution on Block, Derrick Napper passed by in his cruiser. Napper slowed, grinned, and lifted his middle finger from the steering wheel.

Fox thought, Asshole, and kept walking. He closed the phone as he reached his office door.

“Morning, Mrs. H.”

“Good morning. How was the meeting?”

“I suggested the image of a naked Jessica Simpson as the new town symbol. It’s currently under consideration.”

“That ought to get the Hollow some attention. I’m only in for an hour this morning. I called Layla, and she’s fine coming in early.”

“Oh.”

“I have an appointment with our real estate agent. We sold the house.”

“You-when?”

“Saturday. A lot to do,” she said briskly. “You’ll handle the settlement for us, won’t you?”

“Sure, of course.” Too fast, he thought. This was happening too fast.

“Fox, I won’t be coming in after today. Layla can handle everything now.”

“But-” But what, he thought. He’d known this was coming.

“We’ve decided to drive out to Minneapolis, and take our time. We’ve got most everything packed up, and ready to ship out. Our girl’s found a condo she thinks we’ll like, only a few miles from her. I’ve drawn up a limited power of attorney for you, so you can handle the settlement. We won’t be here for it.”

“I’ll look it over. I have to run upstairs. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Your first appointment’s in fifteen minutes,” she called after him.

“I’ll be back in one.”

He was true to his word, and walked straight to her desk. He put a wrapped box in front of her. “It’s not a going-away present. I’m too mad at you for leaving me to give you a present for that. It’s for everything else.”

“Well.” She sniffled a little as she unwrapped the box, and made him smile at the way she preserved the paper, folded it neatly before opening the lid.

They were pearls, as dignified and traditional as she was. The clasp was fashioned as a jeweled bouquet of roses. “I know how you are about flowers,” he began when she said nothing. “So these caught my eye.”

“They’re absolutely beautiful. Absolutely-” Her voice cracked. “They’re too expensive.”

“I’m still the boss around here.” He took them out, put them around her neck himself. “And you’re part of the reason I can afford them.” His credit card had let out a single short scream on being swiped, but the look on her face made it all worthwhile. “They look nice on you, Mrs. H.”

She brushed her fingertips over the strand. “I’m so proud of you.” Rising, she put her arms around him. “You’re such a good boy. I’ll think of you. I’ll pray for you.” She sighed, stepped back. “And I’ll miss you. Thank you, Fox.”

“Go ahead. You know you want to.”

She managed a watery laugh and rushed to a decorative wall mirror. “Oh my goodness! I feel like a queen.” In the glass her eyes met his. “Thank you, Fox, for everything.”

When the door opened, she bustled back to her desk to log in his first appointment. By the time he escorted the client out again, she was gone.

“Alice said you and she had said your good-byes.” Understanding shone in Layla’s eyes. “And she showed off her pearls. You did good there. They couldn’t have been more perfect.”

“Stick around a few years, you may cop some.” He rolled his shoulders. “Gotta shake it off, I know. Listen, Shelley’s coming in-a quick squeeze-in.”

“Are you going to tell her about what happened with Block?”

“Why would I?”

“Why would you?” Layla murmured. “I’ll pull her file.”

“No, I’m hoping we won’t need it. Let me ask you something. If you loved a guy enough to marry him, and he screwed up big time, would that just be it? Say you still love him. One of the reasons you fell in the first place was because he wasn’t altogether bright, but pretty affable, and he loved you back. Or would you give him another chance?”