Unholy Ground Read online

  There weren’t any nonstop flights available at such short notice, but Michael was able to get them one that had only a brief hour-long layover in Chicago, about the best he could do. Audrey had told her aunt something had come up and that she’d be traveling for a few days, then left it at that. There hadn’t been any word yet from the insurance company, but, as Audrey had pointed out, they legally had thirty days to pay out on her claim.

  “And I’m sure they’ll take all thirty of those days, no matter what Lauren might have said,” Audrey remarked as they drank coffee in the United terminal at O’Hare. Their flight had departed LAX at a little before eight in the morning, which meant they’d left Pasadena before five to get to their flight on time. Normally, she didn’t have more than one cup of coffee a day, but Michael could tell she was pounding it now in a desperate attempt to keep herself from nodding off.

  “Probably,” Michael agreed. He certainly had no love lost for insurance companies. And while he halfway understood the rationale behind it, he was a little irked on her behalf when he learned that, because she wasn’t rebuilding the house, she would have to take an “actual cash value payout,” which meant a loss of around fifteen percent of its value, since the insurance company would only pay the full rate if she were going to build a new house on the site of the old one. Despite that bit of corporate maneuvering, she would still have a very comfortable cushion to help her get through the Ph.D. program at the University of Arizona.

  But first things first. As soon as she’d told him that she’d seen Dudleytown in a dream…or a vision…he’d known that had to be their destination. He’d only done some preliminary research on the site, but it was enough to tell him there was something very strange about that forgotten little corner of the world. Psychics and sensitives who’d visited there had called it a “negative power spot,” a place where the separation between the worlds was very thin.

  Just the sort of place where a demon might have opened a portal into Hell.

  “Actually, I’m kind of glad the insurance company is going to take that long,” Audrey continued. “It’s something I can push to the back of my mind while we’re working on…this thing.”

  He knew her reticence was probably due to the packed terminal, the way people crowded in on every side. Not exactly the best place to have a discussion on a sensitive topic, and so he nodded and said, “That’s true. And when we get back, you’ll have more time to follow up and make sure everything’s still on track.”

  That comment earned him a nod but not much else. She’d probably noticed the way he’d said “when” and not “if,” but he figured it was better to try to be as optimistic as possible. They were still working on a hunch, and Michael knew there was always the distinct possibility that they’d trek out to the remains of Dudleytown, risking arrest for trespassing, and wouldn’t find a damn thing of interest, let alone the Whitcomb-demon and his portal to the demons’ dark plane.

  However, he didn’t think so. His instincts for these sorts of things were pretty strong, and his sixth sense was telling him they were on the right track. In his luggage were his Bible, his cross, and a number of TSA-approved plastic bottles filled with holy water. Whether that would be enough, he had no idea.

  But he’d managed to drive out the demon that had possessed Kayla Vargas…even though ultimately his success had been darkened by Susan’s accidental death. Still, he’d gone up against a demon and emerged the victor, and so he tried to take some comfort from that fact.

  The problem was, he had a feeling that the demon they would face in Dudleytown was an order of magnitude stronger than the one they’d driven out of the Vargas girl. About all Michael could do was pray that his and Audrey’s combined strength would be enough to allow them to prevail this time as well.

  It felt strange to deplane at Logan International in Boston and know that, in a strange way, he’d come home. He hadn’t been back here since he’d overseen the sale of his parents’ house so his mother could move to the managed-care facility in Florida. When he left Massachusetts that time, he’d vowed to never return, to make a new life in California. He should have known that the universe wouldn’t allow him to get away that easily…obviously, because while it would actually have been faster to fly into New York and drive north from there, the only remaining flights had had horribly long layovers, and he didn’t want to waste that much time.

  But at least they were able to retrieve their luggage without incident, and to pick up their rental car and head west toward their destination. It felt strange to drive these streets again after so many years, and yet he fell unconsciously into the rhythm of the place, heading by instinct to the Massachusetts Turnpike so he could take it to pick up the I-84 west, moving through land that he remembered as lush and green, but was gray and dead at this time of year, too early for the first blooms of springtime to make their appearance. T.S. Eliot might have said that April was the cruelest month, but March was no picnic, either.

  They hadn’t even reached the Massachusetts/Connecticut state line before Audrey fell asleep in the passenger seat, head drooping to one side, hands limp in her lap. Just as well — she’d need her strength for the coming confrontation, and there really wasn’t any reason for her to remain awake during the nearly four-hour drive from the airport to the small countryside inn where Michael had booked them for three nights. He had no idea whether they would really need that much time, but, as the sleeping woman in the seat next to him proved, they would need a night just to recover from their trip. Tomorrow, they could go exploring…and possibly find the Whitcomb-demon’s portal.

  After that…well, if they were somehow successful, then they would have deserved another night of rest before heading homeward.

  A light rain had begun to fall on the outskirts of Hartford just as they arrived, but, to Michael’s relief, it disappeared soon enough, although the day was foggy and damp. They’d be lucky to reach their destination before nightfall. However, since he’d programmed the address into their rental car’s navigation system, he didn’t think they’d have too hard a time finding the place even if it was dark.

  Audrey stirred just as they were passing through tiny Cornwall, the settlement closest to the inn where they’d be staying. The sun had just set, but the only real difference was a slightly deeper shade of gray to the sky above them. She put a hand up to her head, then gave him a rather guilty smile. “I really passed out, didn’t I?”

  “Yes,” he said, “but I’m glad you did. And it wasn’t that nice a day, so you didn’t miss much.”

  “Still.” She turned toward the window, but there wasn’t much to see in the ever-increasing dark. “I’ve never been to this part of the country before. It’s kind of a shame that I slept through all of it.”

  “You’ll see it on the return trip to the airport.”

  Her expression went sober then. “Assuming there is a return trip.”

  “There will be.”

  “A premonition?”

  “No,” he told her. “Just…a feeling.”

  She looked thoughtful. “This whole expedition is pretty much based on feelings and guesses, isn’t it? What if we’re dead wrong about all this?”

  “Then we’ll have a tramp in the countryside and come back to a nice dinner and a warm bed in a country inn,” he replied, doing his best to keep his tone light and make it sound as though that wouldn’t be such a bad outcome. “And the same thing the following day. A little mini-vacation while we regroup and try to figure out what to do next.”

  “That sounds nice. We could probably both use a little R&R.”

  “Exactly.”

  She went quiet as he drove along the final few miles of their journey, then pulled into the gravel-paved parking lot at the Cornwall Inn. There were a few other cars, a little surprising for a weekday stay at a time of year that definitely wasn’t the height of the tourist season, but the place still wasn’t fully booked, to say the least.

  They went into the office to chec
k in, and were greeted by a smiling man in his late fifties who introduced himself as Lou and told them, somewhat apologetically, that there wasn’t much food in the immediate area.

  “You’ll probably want to drive over to Kent and have dinner there,” he said as he handed them their room keys.

  “Is that far?” Michael asked. He couldn’t help noticing the way Audrey was drooping — she needed to have a decent meal, but a long drive definitely didn’t sound appetizing.

  “Not to someone from California,” Lou replied with a chuckle. “About six miles, give or take. But the food is great, and you’ll get a little of the whole New England ‘inn’ experience.”

  “Sounds great,” Michael said. “Thanks for the tip.”

  “Not a problem. Enjoy your stay.”

  The two of them went to their room, which was clean and cozy and quaint, but a little cramped for his taste. But the bed was big and comfortable…and maybe Audrey would be all right with giving it a try, after a good dinner and a few glasses of wine.

  She must have picked up on what he was thinking, because she arched an eyebrow at him as she set her little rolling suitcase down on the floor of the closet. “Michael, I love you, but I don’t think I have that kind of energy right now.”

  About what he was expecting to hear, so he didn’t feel too disappointed. “Well, see how you feel after some food,” he said. “No pressure.”

  “Okay.”

  But she shook her head a little as she changed out of her long-sleeved T-shirt into a close-fitting purple cashmere sweater, one of the items she’d picked up on a lightning shopping trip down Lake Avenue the day before to fill out the admittedly small wardrobe she’d inherited from the show. At the time, she’d been triumphant about the purchase — “It was on clearance, so I got it for only thirty bucks” — and he’d been amused by her joy at that little victory.

  Now he was somewhat amazed that she could look so refreshed after a short stint in the bathroom to brush her hair and replace her lipstick, the deep purple of the sweater highlighting her dark hair and eyes, the simple silver jewelry she wore enhancing her look but not fighting against it.

  Maybe it was her own form of magic.

  As Lou had said, the drive over to Kent wasn’t too bad, around fifteen minutes or so. Since it was a Thursday in the off season, they were able to get in at the restaurant even without reservations, and were seated soon enough at a table in a comfortable room with a beamed ceiling and a fire roaring in the brick fireplace, a welcome sight on a dank evening in early March.

  As Audrey picked up the wine list, she let out a little sigh. “I feel better just being in here.”

  “Good. I was hoping an evening like this might help to revive you.”

  Her brown eyes glinted at him over the top of the menu. “Well, I guess that depends on what I order.”

  Which ended up being braised short ribs, while he got filet mignon. They ordered a bottle of Cabernet, and after the first sip, she closed her eyes and let out a breath.

  “Oh, that’s much better.”

  “Good.” He paused and glanced around; there were several other couples seated in the dining room, but none of them were particularly close by. “I want you to get your strength up for tomorrow.”

  Almost at once, the light went out of her eyes. “Do we really need to talk about that now?”

  “We don’t have to,” he said calmly. “But it’s probably better for us to have some kind of game plan.”

  “Since we don’t really know what we’re walking into, it’s kind of hard to make any kind of concrete plan,” she pointed out before having another swallow of Cabernet.

  True enough. “Still.”

  Her shoulders lifted. “You’ve brought your tools, so to speak. I don’t really have any.”

  “Just this,” he said, and touched his temple.

  “Which may or may not do us any good. It’s not like I’m some kind of superhero or something. I can’t stand there and shoot laser bolts with my eyes.”

  “No,” Michael said, chuckling a little at the mental image despite himself. “But you’re stronger than you know. Remember, you survived that night in his mansion with no help from anyone else. I think that means you have a better chance to succeed against him than you might think.”

  “Maybe.”

  Although she didn’t look completely convinced, their waiter came back out with their salads then, and so any conversation on such a touchy topic would need to cease for the time being. And really, Michael thought as he watched Audrey attack her spinach and roasted pear salad with barely contained ferocity, she was right. They had no idea of the terrain beyond the barest minimum, or where in the supposedly haunted confines of the former Dudleytown their demon friend would even be lurking. Surprise would probably be their best asset…if it was even possible to surprise a demon.

  He had to hope so.

  They could mentally prepare for the upcoming confrontation, but even though Michael had done his best to scour Google maps of the region, they were talking about an area that encompassed roughly 750 acres, any of which could be the location of the demon’s portal. Although people still lived in the settlement, their houses were few and far between…and they didn’t seem very partial to strangers, probably because ghost hunters and other aficionados of the supernatural had been tromping around there for the past few decades. In fact, he’d read quite a few articles that did their best to debunk Dudleytown’s paranormal history, but many of the stories had an almost desperate tone to them, as if they knew they were trying to whitewash all the terrible tragedies that had taken place there and didn’t really expect to be believed.

  Well, while those articles might have helped to dissuade a few casual tourists, Michael knew they were nothing but a smokescreen. Something dark lurked in those rolling hills, although he guessed that not many people knew exactly how dark the entity in question actually was.

  Because Audrey still looked troubled, he thought it best to put the matter aside. It was probably more important for them to have a good meal and a better night’s sleep, so they would be rested for whatever they might face the following day.

  “How’s your salad?” A silly question, because she’d already devoured most of it.

  She seemed to think the same thing. One of her eyebrows arched even more than it did naturally, and she cocked her head to one side. “That’s a little transparent, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose. I just thought it might be a good idea to change the subject.”

  “You’re probably right.” Since her salad was now effectively gone, except for a few escaping almond slivers, she set down her fork. “It’s just…I’m not sure whether I can think of anything else. It’s like this huge shadow looming over both of us.”

  “I know,” he said gently. “But we need to try. Did you have time to look into the graduate program at UA? I meant to ask you yesterday, but I got distracted by getting this trip arranged.”

  Now she smiled a little, some of the strain leaving her face. “I did. Technically, I’m past the cut-off to apply for the graduate program, but the woman I talked to in the admissions office said they would try to fast-track me, since I’ve already done the work and earned my master’s degree. When we get back, I’m going to send them my GRE scores and my transcripts.”

  Michael was glad to hear her use “when” and not “if.” He’d done the same thing earlier, but at the time, he couldn’t tell whether Audrey had accepted his optimistic outlook on the situation. Possibly they were both engaging in magical thinking by doing so, and yet he couldn’t help but believe they were putting their own energy regarding the situation out into the universe. If nothing else, it couldn’t hurt.

  “Then I suppose I should also start looking at rental prospects in Tucson.”

  Her fingers played with the base of her wine glass, but she didn’t take a drink. “I still can’t believe you’re willing to uproot yourself like that.”

  “What’s to uproo
t?” Unlike her, he thought it was time for another sip of wine. After he swallowed, he went on, “I don’t have any ties to Pasadena, except that I thought it would be a good place to settle for a while. I’ll either have the house closed up, or I’ll hire a management company to rent it out for me.” Voice lowering, he added, “Don’t you know I’d go anywhere with you, if that was what you wanted?”

  Color touched her cheeks. However, she didn’t reply right away, since the waiter had appeared to clear their salad plates and to promise that their entrées would be out soon. As soon as the two of them were alone again, however, Audrey said, “And I love you for that…among other things. I suppose I’m just not used to that kind of a commitment. My other relationships all kind of died on the vine.”

  “I think most of us have a lot of false starts,” he replied, looking across the table so his gaze met hers. “That doesn’t mean we can’t recognize the real thing when we see it.”

  She stared back at him, her big brown eyes full of a sort of terrible hope. “And you think that’s what we have?”

  “I know it. Don’t you?”

  A breath that made her chest rise and fall, and then she nodded. “Yes. I feel it. This is different. We’re different.” Then she glanced away from him, toward the multi-paned windows that showed only a black night outside. “I hope that’s enough.”

  “It will be. I promise.”

  They had to leave things there, because the waiter returned with their food, and they ate quietly for a few moments. And then, as if by mutual agreement, they talked about what sort of house they might want to rent in Tucson, and discussed how fun it would be to spend a few years in a part of the world neither one of them knew very well. Everything light, everything hopeful and looking toward the future. Inwardly, Michael knew he hadn’t quite come to terms with Colin’s death yet, that he’d been able to use the preparations for this trip to distract himself from the very real anger and grief he felt…but he also allowed himself to do that because he knew he needed to be as clear-headed as possible when they confronted the Whitcomb-demon. If he struck out in rage or despair, he would have lost his advantage.