The Pagan Stone

“Maybe for normal people under normal circumstances. But try to look at this from Cal ’s angle. Would you want the woman you love, who’s carrying your child, risking her life, the life of the kid? Or would you wish her a hundred miles away from this?”

“I’d wish her a thousand miles away. Do you think I can’t understand how he’ll feel? I love her, enormously. But I know she can’t be a thousand miles away. So I’m going to look at this, as Qui

“We also saw her killed.”

“Please don’t.” Cybil closed her eyes as her belly twisted. “I know we have to prepare for the worst, but please don’t. Not today.”

He pulled away from the curb, let her have silence for the next several minutes. “Fox is going to close his office in a couple days anyway. If Layla wants to keep on with the rehab-”

“She will. It’s another positive.”

“He can go back and forth with her, work with his father some. Between them, Cal and his father, we’ll have eyes and ears on the town. There’s no reason for Qui

“Maybe not.” A reasonable compromise, she mused. Surprise.

“My old man’s been having dreams,” Gage said, and told her.

“Feeding on fears, pain, weaknesses.” Cybil closed her hand over his a moment. “It’s good that he told you. That’s another positive, Gage, however you feel about him. You can feel it in town now, can’t you? It’s like raw nerves on the air.”

“It’ll get worse. People coming into the Hollow for business or whatever else will suddenly change their minds. Others who pla

He sca

He turned onto Cal ’s lane. “There’s a burning in the air, even before the fires start. Once they do, nobody’s safe.”

“They will be this time. Some will be safe out at Fox’s family’s farm. And when we end it, the air won’t burn, Gage. And the fires will go out.”

He shoved open the door of the truck, then looked back at her. “We’ll get this stuff inside. Then-” He grabbed her hand, jerked her back as she opened her own door. “Stay in the truck.”

“What? What is it? Oh my God.”

She followed his direction and saw what slithered and writhed over Cal ’s front deck.

“Copperheads,” Gage told her. “Maybe a dozen or so.”

“Poisonous. And that many? Yes, the truck’s an excellent place to be.” She drew her.22 out of her purse, but shook her head. “I don’t suppose we can shoot them from here, especially with this.”

He reached under the seat, took out his Luger. “This would do the job, but not from here. And shit, Cal will burn my ass if I put bullet holes in his house. I’ve got a better idea. Stay in the truck. I get bit, it’ll piss me off. You get bit, you’ll be out of commission-at the least.”

“Good point. What’s the better idea?”

“First, trade.” He handed her the Luger, took the pistol. “Any other surprises, use it.”

She tested the weight and feel of the gun in her hand as he stepped out of the truck. Since she had no choice but to trust him, she watched the snakes, and tried to remember what she knew about this specific species.

Poisonous, yes, but the bite was rarely fatal. Still, a few dozen bites might prove to be. They preferred rocky hill-sides, and weren’t especially aggressive. Of course, they weren’t usually driven mad by a demon either.

These would attack. She had no doubt of that.

On cue, several of the snakes lifted their triangular heads as Gage came around the house with a shovel.

A shovel? Cybil thought. The man had a gun but decided to use a damn shovel against a nest of crazed snakes. She started to lower the window, call out her opinion of his strategy, but he was striding up the steps, and straight into the slithering nest.

It was ugly. She’d always considered herself in possession of a strong stomach, but it rolled now as he smashed and beat and sliced. She couldn’t count the number of times they struck at him, and knew despite his healing gift there was pain as fang pierced flesh.

When it was over, she swallowed hard and got out of the truck. He looked down at her, his face glistening with sweat. “That’s it. I’ll clean this up and bury them.”

“I’ll give you a hand.”

“I’ve got it. You look a little green.”

She passed a hand over her brow. “I’m embarrassed to admit I feel a little green. That was… Are you okay?”

“Got me a few times, but that’s no big.”

“Thank God we got here before Layla. I can help. I’ll get another shovel.”

“Cybil. I could really use some coffee.”

She struggled a moment, then accepted the out he offered. “All right.”

She didn’t suppose there was any shame in averting her eyes from the mess of it as she went into the house. Why look if she didn’t have to? In the kitchen she drank cold water, splashed a little on her face until her system re-settled. When the coffee was brewed, she carried it out to him where he dug a hole just inside the edge of the woods.

“This is turning into a kind of twisted pet cemetery,” she commented. “Crazy Roscoe, and now a battalion of snakes. Take a break. I can dig. Really.”

He traded her the shovel for the coffee. “More of a practical joke.”

“What?”

“This. Not a big show. More of an elbow in the ribs.”

“I’m still laughing. But yes, I see what you mean. You’re right. Just a casual little psyche-out.”

“Snakes come out during the Seven. People find them in their houses, the basement, closets. Even in their cars if they’re stupid enough not to close the windows when they park. Rats, too.”

“Lovely. Yes, I’ve got the notes.” The summer heat and exertion dewed her skin. “Is this deep enough?”

“Yeah, it’ll do. Go on back in the house.”

She glanced toward the two drywall compound buckets, and thought about what he’d had to put inside them. “I’m going to see worse than this. No pandering to the delicate female.”

“Your choice.”

When he dumped the contents in-and her gorge rose-she could only think she hoped she didn’t see much worse. “I’ll wash these out.” She picked up the empty buckets. “And clean off the deck while you finish here.”

“Cybil,” he said as she walked away. “Delicate’s not how I think of you.”

Strong, he thought as he dumped the first shovelful of dirt. Steady. The kind of woman a man could trust to stick, through better or worse.

When he’d finished, he walked around the house, and stopped short when he saw her on her hands and knees, scrubbing the deck. “Okay, here’s another way I haven’t thought of you.”

She blew hair out of her eyes, looked over. “As?”

“A woman with a scrub brush in her hand.”

“While I may prefer to pay someone else to do it, I’ve scrubbed floors before. Though I can say this is the first time I’ve ever scrubbed off snake guts. It’s not a pleasant, housewifely task.”

He climbed up, leaned on the rail out of range of the soap and water. “What would be a pleasant, housewifely task?”

“Cooking a pretty meal when the mood strikes, arranging flowers, setting an artistic table. I’m ru