Midnight Sacrifice by Melinda Leigh Page A

Not your doctors nor your priest. This…sickness. It will get much worse. She will do things…” The deep voice hushed to a murmur.
    Nathan rose and switched off the TV. Happy Days disappeared with a blip as the glass screen went blank. He eased to the kitchen, hesitating in the doorway. At the table, his father’s blond head rested on his bent arms. Uncle Aaron put his hand on Dad’s shoulder and squeezed.
    “But I’ve been researching something that may work. Something old and powerful.” His uncle’s burr deepened.
    Nathan pulled back. Eavesdropping wasn’t polite. But Uncle Aaron’s blue eyes lit up. He gave Dad’s arm a final, comforting pat. Broad arms nearly spanned the small room as Uncle Aaron opened them wide. “Come here, lad.”
    Nathan slid into the embrace, even though he was too big for hugs. He leaned into his uncle’s solid bulk and rested his head against his wide chest. The scent of the beef stew his uncle brought hung in the kitchen, like the kitchen used to smell before Mom got sick.
    Like Nathan wanted it to smell again.
    He inhaled, trying to bring back the past. A sour odor lingered under the smell of dinner. Something in the icebox must have gone bad. Dad wasn’t as good at housekeeping as Mom.
    “Robert, I need you.”
    They turned. His mother stood in the doorway. She twisted her hands together over and over, like she was holding a dishrag that refused to wring dry.
    “Gwen.” Dad rose and moved to her, pulled her close. Her thick brown hair mingled with Dad’s straight blond. Usually, they were perfect complements: the dark and the light.
    But tonight everything was just dark.

    Nathan wiggled the last two-by-four into place and secured it with a screw. He stepped away and admired his winter’s work. After four months of toiling, his masterpiece towered over him, a hollow wooden sculpture composed of three cages stacked on top of one another. The finishing touches lay to one side, ready to be added on the special night.
    The bottom section was occupied with the fisherman and the boy, both sprawled in a drugged slumber. The top two cages remained empty. He hoped six sacrifices were enough. The barn roof limited the size of his effigy.
    A breeze drifted through the converted barn. He glanced through the open doors. From the meadow beyond, the scent of fresh grass swept over him, obliterating the stale odors of mold and dust. Originally built to house dairy cows, the building had been gutted years ago to store large equipment. The farm’sdeceased owner had been a fisherman. Nathan had discovered a flat-bottomed boat and trailer under a heavy tarp. He’d made use of the old but working tractor to pull the boat along the mile-long track to the lake. A day on the water did wonders to restore a man’s soul. Water was cleansing, almost as purifying as fire. Spotting the fisherman and his son had been a sign. The gods were pleased with his plan.
    Nathan crossed the open space to the office. Like the rest of the structure, it had been built of solid materials in an age that valued quality. Though the deep-red paint had peeled from the exterior walls, the heavy timber was still solid. He drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. A window high up on one wall filled the space with light. A doorway in the back led to a half bath. On a cot against the far wall, his son, Evan, reclined, one arm thrown over his back, the other attached to a support beam by a wrist manacle and chain. His son’s wrist was raw where he’d struggled against the metal cuff. With the aid of the sedative Nathan had slipped him, Evan was sleeping deeply.
    A sliver of guilt sliced through Nathan. Keeping his son prisoner was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but no one ever said parenting was easy. A father often had to make unpopular decisions for his child. Someday, Evan might forgive him. But as long as the boy remained healthy—and able to sleep—Nathan could live with the consequences. Nothing