his. The shadow seemed to breathe its own essence onto the red-painted wound on my lover’s cheek, making the delicate fabric of magic brighten and gleam.
I turned my gaze back to Costigan, who’d noticed I was looking at his shadow. He put the bowl down and dropped into one of the sofas with his legs crossed. The bottoms of his feet were black and the position made it obvious he didn’t wear anything under his sarong. I tried not to grimace in disgust.
“Now, you say you didn’t lure my helpers to you to destroy ’em. I believe you. But who you say sent ’em?” Costigan asked.
“I didn’t. That’s what I’d like to know from you.”
He shook his head adamantly. “If not you, I know who it must be, but I’m not tell you the name.”
“Why not? Whoever it was ruined your plans. Aren’t you mad?”
“I deal with my child my own way.”
“Child . . . ?” I asked, wondering who’d have ever borne this creature’s baby.
He cackled again. “Not
“Him.” It didn’t tell me who I was looking for, but at least I now knew Willow was the rogue and there was one more person to fear. “How long . . . have you had this child?” I asked.
“For a while. Troublesome, but talented.”
“Does he live here?”
“I keep to myself. And I prefer that continue,” he added, glaring.
“I meant, does he live nearby, your child?”
Costigan shrugged. “Comes and goes.”
“On your business or his own?”
“Mine, mostly. I don’t care for that city you come from, but time and again, I need send him out there.”
“To Seattle?”
He looked at Quinton. “She a bit slow, ain’t she?”
“I don’t go for fast women,” Quinton replied, cupping one hand over his injured cheek. The shadow plucked at his fingers and Quinton shivered before he dropped his hand without apparently thinking about it.
Costigan squealed with laughter. Then he flew to his feet, his face gone as suddenly stormy as the lake outside his window whipped with angry waves from nowhere. He pointed toward the door. His voice came out as a guttural roar: “I done with you. Get out.”
We didn’t argue; we left as quickly as we could without running.
Outside, freezing sleet had begun pelting down.
THIRTY
The temperature kept dropping as I drove back across the top of the lake. If it continued, the sleet would turn to ice soon, increasing the pressure to finish up my inquiries and get indoors before dusk. I hoped it wouldn’t keep the magicians from showing up at Jewel’s house later. I stopped at the Log Cabin Resort to use the phone in hopes of finding Ridenour, but the ranger on duty at Hurricane Ridge wasn’t sure where the senior ranger was. I needed to find Willow also and see if I could talk her into meeting with Faith. So far, she’d always turned up on her own. I hoped she’d show up at her half sister’s house, but earlier would suit me better.
“No luck with Ridenour,” I said as I climbed back into the truck. “We’ll have to drive around and look for him.”
“If he’s still out here in this lousy weather.”
“He hadn’t checked out for the day, so chances are good he’s somewhere between here and Sol Duc. With the sleet, he might be checking on the fishery or resort buildings at Barnes Point. The resort people had started opening up the buildings for spring repairs and cleaning when I first came up here, so if this turns into an ice storm, those sites are the most likely to get damaged. Ridenour’s the sort who’ll jump in and start issuing orders or doing it himself if he thinks something needs to get done to protect his park.”
The road was a little slippery already, so I had to go carefully until the Rover was on the comparatively flat and high-traction gravel roads at Barnes Point. I didn’t see Ridenour’s truck at the Storm King ranger station or fisheries, so I turned around and drove toward the actual resort buildings around Lake Crescent Lodge. The barrier was down, but it wasn’t locked, so we lifted it and drove on toward the buildings, which clustered near the shore all along the jutting curve of Barnes Point.
I’d been up to the resort when I’d first come looking for Darin Shea and found its sprawl a little annoying. The old Lake Crescent Lodge had changed owners and names several times, been added onto, acquired outbuildings, and eventually expanded its grounds to include a large meadow and picnic area on the south end, two different sets of old cabins nearby, a new addition of detached condolike things farther north, and the remaining outbuildings and cottages of another resort that had burned down long ago on the farthest-north end, just before the point turned, sticking its stubby bulk into the lake at the narrowest part. The road split past the barrier, directing visitors north to the Marymere and Storm King buildings, or south to the lodge, and the Singer and Roosevelt cabins. The original two-story Singer Tavern was now the Lake Crescent Lodge; it was right in the middle of the shoreline buildings and seemed like a good place to start, especially when I spotted the white park service pickup behind it.
I put the Rover in the slot next to Ridenour’s—usurping the spot closest to the maintenance gate that was labeled EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH with a faded, hand-painted sign. Quinton and I bundled up with scarves and hats against the chilling sleet and got out to walk to the gate, which was locked. Peering over it, I thought the back door of the lodge was a little ajar, but it was hard to tell. The slat-sided two-story building with its weathered white paint was about one hundred years old and most of the doorways and window frames weren’t perfectly square any longer—if they ever had been.
As we walked around to the side of the building that faced the water, I thought about this being where Hallie Latham Illingworth had worked until her husband had strangled her and thrown her body into the lake to bob to the surface years later, turned to soap. I stopped a moment to look out toward where she’d been found. I could see the white smudge of the Log Cabin Resort’s parking lot and the evergreen finger of the point above Elias Costigan’s house. From this angle, they seemed to touch and cut off the northwestern end of the lake completely, creating a deceptive shoreline much shorter and straighter than reality, with Pyramid Mountain rising straight up and straight out from the short dock that belonged to the lodge as if the locations were connected. I stared at the scene.
Quinton put his hand on my arm. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure yet. I can almost put some pieces together, but they aren’t quite clicking.”
“Maybe they’ll click better inside. I saw light through the porch windows, so I think someone may be in the lodge.”
“The main doors are around on the north side,” I said, remembering the layout from the last time.
The double doors on the entry porch were locked. Through the tall narrow panes next to them, I could see into the dim lobby with its Morris chairs and the chandelier of deer antlers hanging over the fieldstone fireplace. Ghosts wafted to and fro or sat in the chairs, re-creating endless loops of memory in the flickering light of long- dead fires and the glow of wild magic. Shadows and shafts of dusty light made strange patterns on the wooden floor that looked a little like body outlines at a crime scene. I shuddered and we walked farther back to the jutting, many-windowed extension that was now the gift shop. The door was unlocked.
Apprehension tingled over my skin and sent a shiver down my spine. The lines on the floor seemed like an omen. I pushed on the door with my forearm, keeping my hand off it, just in case. The door opened with a squeal. Something out of view made a scrambling noise on the wooden floor of the lobby. Then a shadow trailing violet and blue energy darted across the next doorway and vanished into the gloom. I started to go after it but heard the kitchen door slam on the other side.
Backing away from the door, I brushed past Quinton and started toward the back, only to find a wooden wall that cut the back of the lodge and the next row of cabins off from the parking lot.
