The Serpent in the Stone - By Nicki Greenwood Page 0,68

he thought of the woman standing before him now. Oh, God. “Sara, Callander works for Lambertson, doesn’t he?”

“What are you saying?” she asked, icy warning in her tone.

“I’m saying that if he’s involved, how do you know Lambertson isn’t? Callander is on loan from Eurocon, am I right?”

She shook her head fiercely. “No. Lamb wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t. He’s a friend of Cameron’s family. A friend of my family.”

Ian bristled. “I don’t trust anyone anymore, and that includes Lambertson. He was there with everyone else when Cameron died, and now he’s conveniently gone home.”

She stepped back toward the tent door. He took a corresponding step forward. “Sara, listen to me. Faith told me he got you the job here because he knew Shetland was your father’s life’s work. He was one of your father’s best friends. He’s in a perfect position to know about that amulet, and maybe the ley lines, too.”

He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away. The words he didn’t say hung in the air between them: Maybe Lambertson is responsible for your father’s murder. Pained, Ian raked his fingers through his rain-damp hair and moved away from her. “You’d better go see Faith. She’s waiting.”

Chapter Thirteen

By the time she arrived back at the dig, Sara felt feverish with chills and exhaustion. She’d run most of the way as a wolf, but even its heavy double pelt could not withstand this much rain. Her stomach twisted with dread that Ian might be right, and that there was no longer anyone whom she and Faith could trust.

The lantern in Faith’s tent threw a dim glow. Sara approached with caution and opened the flap.

Her sister looked up from a pile of books and released a long, weary sigh. “Becky?”

“Hospital. She’ll be all right.” Sara went to Faith’s cot and sank down, holding her roiling belly. She lowered her head until wet locks of hair swung, dripping, into her face.

Before she could add anything more, Faith stood up. “I was able to find out a little more about this druid serpent ceremony.” She came to the cot with a worn leather book, and sat beside Sara. “A sect of druids created the serpent ceremony to allow them to travel the ley lines in a kind of half-life, drawing knowledge from the ghosts already walking the lines, and bringing it back with them when the lines closed again.”

Faith ran a hand through her hair. “It made them powerful, but the ceremony got more and more unstable as time went on. To balance it, they had to sacrifice people in increasing numbers. Eventually, even the sacrifices weren’t enough, and the ley lines shut down for all but twice a year, on the days of the spring and fall equinox.”

Sara looked up as the weight of her sister’s words sank in. Faith’s expression sent a new chill dancing down her spine. “Where did you get all this?”

Hands shaking, Faith slid the book into Sara’s lap.

With a concerned glance at her sister, Sara opened the book’s tattered cover. Drops of water from her sodden hair fell onto the dog-eared flyleaf, smudging the ink of the inscription: Robert Markham, 14th April -

No end date.

Sara slammed the book shut and hugged it to her chest, feeling the blood drain from her face. “W-What is this?” she gasped, even though she knew the answer.

“Dad’s last journal. He started it the month before our tenth birthday. It was in with the stuff I threw together from his research before we left for Shetland.” Faith’s voice shook.

Sara reeled. Her churning stomach threatened to bring up what little food she had eaten that day. “Do you think he knew about us, about what we would be able to do? Do you think that’s why he gave us the lockets?”

“If he did, he never mentions it in there. He wrote all that in the context of a legend. I don’t even know if he believed in it himself. I was afraid to use my power to read it.” She reached anxiously for the book again.

Sara released it. Faith cradled it in her hands, and added, “He must have found the amulet and tracked down its history, or the other way around. I’ve looked everywhere for information on this serpent ceremony and the amulet, and found nothing until now.”

Distracted, Sara rubbed at her forehead. “The druids didn’t keep written records. They passed their culture on through spoken word. We’d be lucky to get anything in scattered pieces, like the