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  Her hand lay on his tummy.

  A stream of medical professionals had been in and out of his room. Doctor Something-or-other had actually drilled an Intraosseous needle into his tibia bone which had made her sick to her stomach.

  “It’s the quickest, most efficient way to get fluids into him. He’s suffering from severe dehydration,” Doctor Something-or-other had said.

  Now, at least his previously gray pallor had been replaced by more of a pinkish complexion.

  “Is there something you need? Food? A break?” Lassi said, pulling up a chair opposite Siobhan. “I can watch him for a bit.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Siobhan breathed. “I’ve got to run back and get clean clothes. They want him overnight.” She pushed away from her chair, then hesitated. “How’s Billy?”

  Lassi’s expression grew shadowed. “Not good, Siobhan. Same as with Seamus. He took ill suddenly and now speaks like he’s with devils in hell.”

  “Oh, dear.” Siobhan’s hand smacked against her mouth.

  Lassi swallowed. “Bres sent his regards and his regret that he can’t leave Billy’s side. Both Cillian and he are there.” She reached for her throat, perhaps strangling what wished to follow.

  Something else is eating at her. I’d bet my life on it. Siobhan gave Lassi’s shoulders a couple of pats. Other people, it seemed, had their own sorrows. She couldn’t claim to be the one bearing the “Greatest Sufferer” banner, even though that’s how she felt most days. She blinked away tears.

  “Billy’s such a hoot. The moment he steps into the Rat, the place lights up. He’s always teasing me, telling me he’ll volunteer to ease me back into dating, no strings attached.” A chuckling sob left her throat. “He assured me he’d set the bar high so there would be no chance I’d end up with a loser.”

  Lassi scoffed. “Yes, he was full of himself, Billy was.” She blanched, quickly amending her sentence. “He is full of himself. Is not was. He’s still alive.” She reached for Paul’s hand and stroked his small fingers with her thumb. “But he has such a good heart, he does. He’s not like the selfish dicks who sail through town looking for a village lass to lay.”

  “No, not Billy.” Siobhan fell into silence.

  Lassi turned to look at her. She cocked her head, no doubt stunned at Siobhan’s lapse into kind words.

  I’m so pathetic. Everyone has come to expect the worst of me. Can you blame them? Siobhan forced a smile, then said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Lassi waved her hand. “No problem. Sitting in one place for a while will be good. All I’ve been doing today is driving from place to place.”

  Guilt stabbed at Siobhan. Other people have difficulties, too. I really need to stop feeling like I’m the only one with problems.

  Forty-five minutes later, Siobhan pulled into the carport, turned off the motor, and slid from the driver’s seat. The night air around her felt oppressive like the air held weight. She entered the house, flicking on the mudroom light. The light cast eerie shadows across the floor and walls. She headed for her bedroom.

  The night lamp she’d left on next to the bed cast the same disturbing shadows. Either that or her fatigued brain played tricks on her. Standing in the doorway, she studied the long, black ellipses reaching from the lamp and the chair full of clothes in the corner. The shadows appeared to stretch further than they should have. They even quivered, like they were alive. You’re seeing things. Stop it. A good night’s rest and your mind won’t imagine fanciful things like strange shadows.

  She paused before heading to the walk-in closet. All of Dylan’s clothes still hung there, exactly the same as when he lived. It always made her sad to look at them, but she hadn’t been able to bear parting with the last of his belongings. She swallowed the permanent lump of grief in her throat. I should donate his clothes. Dylan had great taste and the clothes are all in good shape. Someone could use them. She sighed. Am I ready to do such a thing? Squaring her shoulders, she marched toward the closet.

  The ringing wail in her ears she’d experienced earlier resumed. It screeched through her head, making it difficult to hear anything else, let alone think straight. She stumbled, putting her hand against the striped wallpaper covered wall for support. Holy hell, this is intense. She pulled and stretched her earlobes until the ringing lessened. Then, she staggered toward the closet and flung open the door.

  The automatic light Dylan had installed flicked on.

  Siobhan screamed.

  Thick, gooey-looking spider webs covered every piece of Dylan’s clothing.

  They were pristine just a few hours ago. I was in here this morning, looking for a pair of pants. This isn’t natural. This isn’t right. Siobhan began to tremble. The ringing in her ears continued, clawing at her sanity. She fingernailed her ears, wincing. I’ve got to get out of here. Something evil is in this closet.

  Suddenly, thousands of tiny red-eyed spiders poured from his clothing. They rushed toward Siobhan, appearing to coalesce into a giant shadow. Too scared to scream, she turned and scrambled as fast as she could out into the night.

  Chapter 13

  Day 5, Wee small hours of the morning - Lassi

  In the middle of the night, Crusty McKitty scratched Lassi’s face with his piercing claws, shocking her out of deep sleep, accompanied by music.

  “Crusty, no,” she mumbled, batting the cat out of the way. She pried her eyes open.

  Crusty McKitty wasn’t in sight. Her ringtone, however, blared. And, one of her fake-fur decorative pillows, the one she’d pinned together as she put off mending it, lay across the room on the floor. Jesus, I’ve been poked by pins, not the cat.

  Her phone continued to wail.

  “Good Christ, who wants me now?” She patted the soft green and gold bedspread, her pillow, and the side stand, searching for the intrusive device. Finally, she rolled on her tummy and fished the phone from the wood floor. “Hello?” she squeaked, rubbing her eyes with her free hand.

  Moonlight filtered through the windows.

  “Lassi. It’s Ryan.”

  Lassi scrambled upright. “Ryan? What is it?”

  “It’s Siobhan. She showed up on our doorstep, and she’s fecking hysterical. Raving mad.”

  Lassi swung her legs off the side of the bed. “I wondered what happened to her. I waited at the hospital for her until I got ten more calls of twenty more children needing help. I assumed she made it back to Waterford.”

  “She didn’t,” Ryan said. “She ran around the neighborhood and finally landed here. My mother is comforting her, but she seems to be going into shock. We need you.”

  Lassi pushed aside the cozy covers. “I’m on my way.”

  Fifteen minutes later, she stood before the Conway residence, at the far side of town. She clutched her medical bag.

  Lightning crackled in the night sky. Thunder rumbled. But the rain, thankfully, wasn’t pouring as it had, of late. Instead, a cool mist swirled around her shoulders.

  She shivered, then knocked on the bright blue door.

  The door flew open with a whoosh. Mary greeted her, blue-gray eyes wide and frantic. A pink floral robe hung from her slender shoulders. Pink-striped pajamas covered her legs, and her feet were tucked into fluffy wool slippers. An orange and blue scarf held her gray hair away from her face.

  “Oh, dear God, Lassi, thank you for coming so fast.”

  Siobhan shrieked and wailed from deeper in the house.

  “We tried to give her some tea to calm her down. We even tried whiskey. Nothing’s working.” Mary pressed her fist into her mouth.

  “Oh, dear.” Lassi scurried past Mary. She made haste down the hall, hurrying toward the dining room.

  Photos of Ryan holding fishing rods or rifles in breathtaking wilderness settings, and Mary displaying wares at craft fairs, lined the walls. A few showed Ryan towering over his mother with his arm around her. Both grinned happily in those pictures.

  As she raced the length of the hall, Lassi’s heart surged at
the warm relationship Ryan and Mary shared. Theirs had to be the healthiest mother-son relationship she’d ever beheld.

  Upon entering the arched doorway to the dining area, she slowed her pace.

  A huge polished table and chairs filled the space. A set of gleaming silver candelabra occupied the center of the table. Soft light glowed from an overhead chandelier.

  Ryan, clad in burgundy and black men’s pajamas, bolted upright from his crouch next to Siobhan’s chair. “Oh, good. You’re here.”

  Siobhan looked simply awful. She sat at the table in one of Mary’s high-backed chairs, whimpering, wringing a linen napkin between her hands. Tissues lay crumpled in front of her. A china cup with floral patterns sat next to her, full of tea. A snifter of whiskey had been positioned next to the teacup.

  Her strawberry-colored hair hung tangled around her face. Blotchy red marks marred her porcelain complexion. When she lifted her gaze to Lassi, her blue eyes peered from haunted pits.

  Lassi set her bag down and slowly crossed the spacious room.

  Ryan stepped back, making space for her.

  Using her soothing voice—the voice reserved for birthing women—she said, “Hello, Siobhan. I hear you’re not feeling your best. Can you tell me what’s the matter?”

  She squatted, and lightly placed her palm on Siobhan’s thigh.

  A string of incoherent words launched from Siobhan’s mouth sent on a spray of spittle.

  Lassi caught the words “spider” and “horrible webs” and “shadows.” She rubbed Siobhan’s thigh and gently said, “Sweetheart, I can’t understand you. Take a breath, slow down, and tell me what happened so I can help you.”

  Then, she pried the napkin from Siobhan’s grip and dabbed at her lips and chin where the spittle had landed.

  Siobhan submitted like a child.

  “Try again,” Lassi said, smiling. “I figured it had to be a really good reason for you not to return to Paul’s side. But don’t worry,” she said, quickly. “He was resting comfortably when I left.”

  “Oh, God, Lasairfhíona, it was awful,” Siobhan wailed. “A nightmare. All of Dylan’s clothes were covered with sticky spiderwebs. And while I was standing there, completely transfixed, a million baby spiders came at me. They formed this huge mother-fucking shadow like they wanted to wipe me out and swallow me into darkness.”

  Lassi’s gaze flicked to Ryan and then to Mary.

  They both shook their heads, slowly, their mouths grim lines.

  Lassi swung her attention back to Siobhan. “Okay. Let’s get you somewhere where I can check you out and keep you warm, all right?”

  Siobhan nodded, her eyes as wide and round as the rim of her teacup.

  “Bring my bag, will you, Ryan?” Lassi asked.

  He nodded. “You got it.”

  Lassi guided Siobhan toward the front room, followed by Mary and Ryan. She settled her on the plain, brown sofa. Then, she kneeled on the paisley-patterned wool rug.

  Ryan set the black leather medic kit next to Lassi.

  Lassi opened it, removed the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, and proceeded to take Siobhan’s blood pressure. “It’s a little high, but that’s no doubt from the stress. Let me check your pulse.”

  Siobhan stuck her wrist out.

  Lassi placed her fingers on Siobhan’s arm and stared at her watch for fifteen seconds, counting Siobhan’s heart rate. She multiplied the pulse count by four and said, “Your pulse is pretty high, too, but I don’t think you’re in shock. You’re not diaphoretic, cold, or clammy.” She retrieved a penlight from her kit and flashed it in Siobhan’s right eye, then her left, looking at pupil responsiveness. “Your pupils are equally responsive. Still, I’d like you to lay down on the couch. Mary, do you have a blanket or a quilt we can use to keep Siobhan warm?”

  “Absolutely,” Mary said, pivoting to scurry down the hall.

  Lassi held Siobhan’s hand. “I’m going to call Cillian. He’s more well-versed in paranormal and supernatural occurrences. Are you going to be all right while I do that? Ryan and Mary are right here if you need anything.”

  “Anything at all,” Ryan chimed in, hovering nearby.

  Siobhan nodded, robotically.

  “Okay, I’ll be right in the hallway.” She rose and crossed the room. After plucking her phone from her pocket, she tapped Cillian’s number.

  Mary swept past her, carrying a colorful gold, blue, and green patchwork quilt.

  Cillian didn’t answer. Lassi disconnected and puckered her lips. He’s probably at Billy’s. She did a one-eighty toward the front room.

  Mary tucked the bright quilt around Siobhan’s quivering form.

  Ryan stood with his hands on his hips, looking as if he wished he had something to do or somewhere to be.

  “I need to go find Cillian. He’s not answering, so he’s probably otherwise engaged. You’ve got this handled, right?” Lassi gestured toward Siobhan, who lay with her eyes closed, appearing somewhat calm.

  “We’re on it,” Ryan said.

  “Go find him,” Mary said. The overhead canister lights cast shadows on her face, creating a hollow-eyed appearance. “We need answers.”

  Lassi nodded, then hurried outside and headed for her Skoda. A calm-before-the-storm kind of stillness hung in the night air. Another shiver launched up her spine. She hopped in her car and drove to Billy’s house, near the harbor.

  Noting lights on in his house, she rat-a-tatted on Billy’s door.

  Bres opened it. The skin around his eyes appeared almost bruised, ringed with dark smudges. Dressed in a rumpled jumper and wrinkled pants, he looked every bit the bedraggled country doctor.

  “Hey, Bres,” she said. “How’s Billy?”

  Bres shook his head. “Not good. I’ve got Cillian here on standby. Do you need to talk to him?”

  “Very much,” she said. “I’ve got still more freaky shit to report.”

  “Come on in,” he said with a sigh. “Lay it on me.”

  “In a minute. I need to find Cillian. I’ll tell you both.” Lassi pushed past Bres.

  Billy’s bachelor pad consisted of a large studio apartment. A kitchenette stood along the back wall. A lone table and chair sat nearby. A sofa-bed occupied the other side of the room. Windows, overlooking the harbor, made the room appear larger than it was.

  Billy lay on the sofa-bed, moaning incoherently, same as Seamus had done.

  Cillian sat by his side. He hopped to his feet, lifting his hands toward Lassi. “Lasairfhíona. It’s the middle of the night. You should be in bed.”

  “I should be a lot of things,” she replied, scowling. Like living with the father of my child. “But apparently ‘in bed’ is not one of them. How’s Billy?”

  Cillian’s arms dropped.

  An expression of shame or sorrow, Lassi couldn’t tell which, shadowed his face. It hit her like a stone to the heart. Unable to bear looking at him, she swung her gaze to Bres.

  “I’ve got him stabilized,” Bres said, stopping by her side. He squeezed the back of his neck. “He could make it, even though whatever is afflicting him is impossible to diagnose. I’ve never seen such a thing.”

  “I’m not so sure he’s going to survive,” Cillian said. He’d dressed in his clerical garb, looking every inch the priest. He used his fingers to make circular movements along his stubble-lined jaw. “I can sense the shadows of death all around him.”

  Lassi glanced around the room. The shadows did appear particularly dark and sinister. But, then again, it was impossible to rely on the instincts of a hormonal, sleep-deprived brain.

  “What are you sensing?” She put her palms out, trying to perceive something, anything.

  “Darkness. Decay. Misery. Don’t forget, I’ve been a Leviathan longer than you have.” He moved his hands in the air, like stroking a stallion’s back. “Twisted magic. I don’t have better words for it.”

  “Huh,” Lassi said. She brushed the air as well, feeling like a doltish newbie. A frizzle of sensation
touched her palms. She shook her hands, relieving them of duty. “I’m not getting much of anything. Anyway, I came over hoping you’d be here, Cillian. Siobhan’s a wreck. I think some strange supernatural madness is at play. I need you to come to her house to see if we can figure out what’s there.”

  “What is it? What happened now?” Bres tensed in a ready-for-action kind of posture.

  She conveyed the story of Siobhan and her crazy-eyes and haunted appearance, and what Siobhan had told them about the spiders and shadows. As she spoke, she scanned the room, looking for signs of tiny crawly things. Instinctively, she rubbed her arms. “And then there’s little Paul.”

  “What about Paul?” Cillian asked, alarm in his gaze.

  “He fell ill earlier. Well, iller, if that’s a word. More ill.” She swished her hand. “He looked like something out of a horror movie, all gray skin and listless. It was awful. Siobhan took him to Waterford.” She shuddered. “Do you know how he’s doing, Bres?”

  “I called the Waterford hospital. They say he’s still in critical condition.” Bres swiped away his tears.

  “What a conundrum,” Cillian said, settling back into the chair next to Billy. He took several deep breaths, then grew as still as a corpse. When he turned his head to look at her, his eyes were the blue-green and gold slits of his Leviathan self.

  “Whoa, Cillian, you’re not going to turn into a Leviathan, are you?” Bres said.

  “He can’t hear you. He’s in pre-transformation mode, no doubt searching for something our human senses can’t perceive,” Lassi said.

  A few seconds later, his eyes turned back to human normal. “I sense dark magic, that’s for certain. But I don’t know what it is. I need to see Siobhan for myself. But…” His gaze slid toward Billy. “But, then there’s my obligation.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

  Lassi’s gut tightened into another twisted version of one of Seamus’ knots. Her hands waved wildly as she spoke. “Don’t you think all of this is connected? These fecking mystery deaths and the strange illnesses and Ailis’ grave and Siobhan’s house haunting might all be linked. We have to go check out her house. There’s your obligation, Father Ward.”