the back of the photo.
“Bernard. Bernard Montfort.”
He looked down at the old desk. His finger traced the BM inside the heart. Sophie’s finger was on the ES.
“Emilia Stoddard. Catherine’s mother.”
Ryan looked up with understanding in his eyes. “Stoddard? Like Tom Stoddard?”
Sophie nodded, and Ryan’s gaze drifted to the window looking out on the barn.
“Oh, shit.”
Sophie grabbed his hand. “Wait till you see what I got upstairs.”
He followed Sophie to her bedroom at the opposite end of the hall from his. He raised an eyebrow at the wooden barrels in the corner, connected to each other by plastic tubing. A crate of empty green wine bottles sat nearby. The fireplace was dominated by an oversize replica of Bouguereau’s Nymphs and a Satyr, the unwilling beast being dragged toward a woodland stream by a tangle of naked limbs.
Sophie grabbed the half-empty wine bottle on her bureau, popped the cork, and took a long swig. She smiled knowingly at Ryan and handed him the bottle.
“Ain’t no harm, not for us anyways.”
He lifted the bottle to his lips.
Sophie knelt down by her bed, pulled a wooden trunk out; she opened the lid and grinned. “Wanna meet him?”
“Herne’s in the trunk?”
She reached in and raised her arms reverently, like a priest raising a chalice of wine. Ryan set the bottle back on the bureau and took a step forward, mesmerized. Kneeling, he stared into the deep eyeless sockets, gazed at the row of yellowed teeth in the upper jaw, and gasped in disbelief at the curved horns protruding from the top of the skull.
“Old Samuel Montfort kept it after he shot Herne for messin’ with his daughter. If it weren’t for Emma meetin’ Herne in Westminster Wood, you and I wouldn’t be here.”
Ryan reached out to touch the skull, paused, and drew his hand back. “So how many were there?”
“Well, there was Bernard—you saw him—then the male Montforts, and finally Gerard, my daddy. None of ’em lived long.”
Sophie turned the skull around and gazed lovingly into the eye sockets.
“He’s been watchin’ over his children. He saved you from Tom today, brought you to me. He knows we’re the last.”
Ryan’s face darkened at the mention of Tom’s name. “Good God, he really was after me, in the wood?”
Sophie nodded, running a finger over the horned skull. “The Reverend Stoddard was furious when his daughter Emilia ran off with Bernard. I guess Tom must be carryin’ some kinda family grudge.”
Ryan stood up, went to the window, and threw it open. “I don’t hear the tractor anymore.” He turned away from the window and grabbed Sophie’s arm.
“Rebecca hid all this from me on purpose, and I’m guessing she sabotaged your mother’s computer, as well. She’s working with Tom. We’ve got to get the hell out of here.”
Herne’s skull clattered to the floor as Ryan dragged Sophie toward the door. He grabbed the handle to throw it open and had time for one surprised gasp before the butt of the shotgun crashed down on his head, sending the room into blackness.
Sophie’s screams pulled Ryan back from oblivion. Rough cords of rope bit into his wrists and ankles. The room sat at an odd angle. Ryan realized he was hanging off the bed, head down.
Tom threw him a wink as he dragged Sophie toward the door by her bound wrists. Blood ran down Ryan’s forehead, pooling in his eyes. He blacked out.
It was there when he blinked the crusted blood out of his eyes. The horned shadow in the corner grew, looming closer. He fought the searing pain in his skull, fought to keep from slipping back into blackness. His voice croaked.
“Help me get to Sophie.”
The door banged open. Ryan squirmed in the ropes. He grunted in surprise when, instead of Tom and his shotgun, Rebecca Kimball sat down next to him on the bed. Her fingers tugged at the knots around his wrists.
“He wasn’t supposed to hurt Sophie. She’d be harmless with you out of the picture. No way to
“Bernard. Bernard Montfort.”
He looked down at the old desk. His finger traced the BM inside the heart. Sophie’s finger was on the ES.
“Emilia Stoddard. Catherine’s mother.”
Ryan looked up with understanding in his eyes. “Stoddard? Like Tom Stoddard?”
Sophie nodded, and Ryan’s gaze drifted to the window looking out on the barn.
“Oh, shit.”
Sophie grabbed his hand. “Wait till you see what I got upstairs.”
He followed Sophie to her bedroom at the opposite end of the hall from his. He raised an eyebrow at the wooden barrels in the corner, connected to each other by plastic tubing. A crate of empty green wine bottles sat nearby. The fireplace was dominated by an oversize replica of Bouguereau’s Nymphs and a Satyr, the unwilling beast being dragged toward a woodland stream by a tangle of naked limbs.
Sophie grabbed the half-empty wine bottle on her bureau, popped the cork, and took a long swig. She smiled knowingly at Ryan and handed him the bottle.
“Ain’t no harm, not for us anyways.”
He lifted the bottle to his lips.
Sophie knelt down by her bed, pulled a wooden trunk out; she opened the lid and grinned. “Wanna meet him?”
“Herne’s in the trunk?”
She reached in and raised her arms reverently, like a priest raising a chalice of wine. Ryan set the bottle back on the bureau and took a step forward, mesmerized. Kneeling, he stared into the deep eyeless sockets, gazed at the row of yellowed teeth in the upper jaw, and gasped in disbelief at the curved horns protruding from the top of the skull.
“Old Samuel Montfort kept it after he shot Herne for messin’ with his daughter. If it weren’t for Emma meetin’ Herne in Westminster Wood, you and I wouldn’t be here.”
Ryan reached out to touch the skull, paused, and drew his hand back. “So how many were there?”
“Well, there was Bernard—you saw him—then the male Montforts, and finally Gerard, my daddy. None of ’em lived long.”
Sophie turned the skull around and gazed lovingly into the eye sockets.
“He’s been watchin’ over his children. He saved you from Tom today, brought you to me. He knows we’re the last.”
Ryan’s face darkened at the mention of Tom’s name. “Good God, he really was after me, in the wood?”
Sophie nodded, running a finger over the horned skull. “The Reverend Stoddard was furious when his daughter Emilia ran off with Bernard. I guess Tom must be carryin’ some kinda family grudge.”
Ryan stood up, went to the window, and threw it open. “I don’t hear the tractor anymore.” He turned away from the window and grabbed Sophie’s arm.
“Rebecca hid all this from me on purpose, and I’m guessing she sabotaged your mother’s computer, as well. She’s working with Tom. We’ve got to get the hell out of here.”
Herne’s skull clattered to the floor as Ryan dragged Sophie toward the door. He grabbed the handle to throw it open and had time for one surprised gasp before the butt of the shotgun crashed down on his head, sending the room into blackness.
Sophie’s screams pulled Ryan back from oblivion. Rough cords of rope bit into his wrists and ankles. The room sat at an odd angle. Ryan realized he was hanging off the bed, head down.
Tom threw him a wink as he dragged Sophie toward the door by her bound wrists. Blood ran down Ryan’s forehead, pooling in his eyes. He blacked out.
It was there when he blinked the crusted blood out of his eyes. The horned shadow in the corner grew, looming closer. He fought the searing pain in his skull, fought to keep from slipping back into blackness. His voice croaked.
“Help me get to Sophie.”
The door banged open. Ryan squirmed in the ropes. He grunted in surprise when, instead of Tom and his shotgun, Rebecca Kimball sat down next to him on the bed. Her fingers tugged at the knots around his wrists.
“He wasn’t supposed to hurt Sophie. She’d be harmless with you out of the picture. No way to
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