The Isle Of Sin And Shadows - Keri Lake Page 0,171

mounted to the walls.

Wood creaks with every step, as I search the space for Céleste. In a bedroom toward the back, more animal skulls and pieces of bone lay about the gritty floor. Black candles and inverted ‘A’s made from twined-together sticks have also been placed around the room.

Crossing the space brings me to a picture of a woman, dressed in white, who could easily be Céleste’s sister, given their similarities. She stands amid a small group, and is the only one not wearing a white goat skull. Another picture is of Jo and Hal wedged between a couple.

Looking at that second image, a disturbing thrum of shock pulses through my veins.

One face is familiar. Unsettling.

Jude Bijou, the investor for Daughters of Mercy, where my sister resides, and who I assume was her late husband beside her. The four of them stand before the entrance to a hospital.

Frannie. Fuck!

A tingling sensation hits the back of my neck, and at the first creak of wood from behind, I twist around in time to dodge the swing of an axe.

My attacker is slightly bigger than me, well over six feet tall, and huskier, wearing overalls and a goat skull to hide his face. On a growl, he lifts the weapon for another swing and charges toward me again.

Without hesitation, I pull the trigger and shoot his arm. The enormous figure curls into himself, dropping the axe, and lets out a squeal that reminds me of a pig. One I’ve heard before. Hand covering his wound, he backs away from me, but I lurch toward him, gun aimed for another shot. When he spins on his heel toward the door, I reach out and grab the cross of his overalls, yanking him down to the floor.

A struggle ensues when he kicks and squeals, swinging his fists. His size is no easy feat to wrangle, and I’m forced to set my gun aside to round up his flailing limbs. Once I’ve pinned him to the floor, I press down on his gunshot wound, and the guy squeals again.

“I’m looking for a girl,” I grit out, my voice affected by the struggle to keep him still. “Where is she?”

The annoying sound of squealing is the only response.

“Where is she!” A hard jerk of his arm intensifies the squeals, and at this point, I’m ready to put a bullet in his head. Instead, I awkwardly tear the skull away, one-handedly, to find the telling features of mental handicap: a lazy eye, low nasal bridge, jaw cocked slightly off center.

A hoarse moan escapes him, his eyes wide with fear. It’s when he opens his mouth to squeal again that I realize this interrogation is futile.

He can’t tell me anything.

His tongue has been removed.

Pushing off him, I swipe up my gun, holding it on him and watching him tremble, as I back myself out of the room. The urge to keep searching the swamps for Céleste is divided by my need to get to Frannie. There seems to be a connection between them, and my hope is that if Frannie leads to Jude, then Jude might lead to finding Céleste.

I race out of the cabin toward the only lead I have.

47

Céleste

Four hours earlier …

Long blink.

Overcast sky. Treetops. Crows.

Long blink.

Overalls. A shovel. Ratted mop of hair sticking out beneath the curve of long black horns.

Long blink.

Trees in my periphery. An intense burn climbing my spine. Pain in my ankle.

Long blink.

A scratching sound crackles at my ears.

Skrrrrt. Pause. Skrrrt. Pause. Skrrrrt.

An incessant pulsing throbs inside my head, as if my brain has ballooned inside my skull. Wincing at the pain, I lift my head, and find my legs outstretched, caught in the grip of an enormous figure that drags me along. Through a dreamy haze, I focus on the scene before me, trying to discern if it’s real, or not. My head feels heavy, too heavy, and I fall back against the hard surface, screwing my eyes shut against a zap of pain that shoots into my nose.

Skrrrt. Pause. Skrrrt. Pause. Skrrrt.

I let out a quiet moan and will myself to sit up again. Just as before, I’m staring at a beast of a person, dragging me through the forest. Not a dream.

More lucid this time, I glance around at the passing foliage and brush, and my chest freezes with panic as the realization washes over me. Reaching out, my hand catches on a thick log, but its bark tears at my fingers as my body is wrenched away, and