Chapter One
Howlston Lunatic Asylum, Howlston, WV. 1979
Barbara Fox didn’t have much time left.
She knew it: urgently when she could avoid the drugs, distantly when she couldn’t. Some nurses checked more thoroughly than others. And there had been a stretch of time…one year? two?…when the doctor ordered the whole ward lined up once a day and given injections of Prolixin to render them pliable, no matter what their initial diagnosis.
That had been…bad. She tried not to remember the screaming faces of the dead, crowding around her, desperate to be heard. The drugs slowed her thoughts, made it impossible to concentrate. Impossible to guard herself against their sorrow and pain.
If only that had been the worst of it.
Her tongue spasmed involuntarily, and her hands tightened on the smooth wooden banister running along the wall between rooms. It was meant to help steady patients, and she both hated she needed to use it and was grateful for its presence.
She glanced around, using the curtain of her hair—once her pride, now hanging in lank strings—to hide her gaze. No nurses nearby, so she shuffled a few more feet, closer to the locked door at the end of the ward. Other women wandered the hall along with her, made restless by Haldol or their own minds.
“Get out,” whispered a voice from no living mouth.
If only she could. Barbara didn’t have the strength left to block out the voices of the dead. There was nothing she could do to help them anymore. But maybe, maybe, she could help the living.
They’d finally taken Suzette to the medical ward, once her deep, wracking coughs became too frequent for even the overworked nurses to ignore. She’d gotten sick the night Barbara heard the voice of a dead man talking to her in the next room over. Over time, what had been a light cough attributable to the dust and pollen changed into something wet and gurgling as her lungs began to rot.
She wasn’t the first to go this way. If Barbara didn’t act, she wouldn’t be the last, either.
Gritting her teeth, Barbara shuffled closer to the door. The ward was a quiet one, most of its inhabitants drugged to the point of somnolence. Sometimes the nurses got sloppy, forgot to lock a door. She just needed to get lucky.
Lucky. A bitter laugh bubbled somewhere deep inside, then died before reaching her lips. Lucky didn’t tangle with a murderous ghost, get possessed—however briefly—and end up here.
They said the ghosts weren’t real. Said she was schizophrenic, then gave her drugs that made everything so much worse.
She wasn’t getting out of here alive. Scott, her baby boy, was almost a man now. She’d never dance at his wedding, never hold a grandbaby, never…
Tears threatened; she squeezed her eyes shut to keep them in. No use worrying about things she couldn’t change, that was what her mamaw always said. What happened outside these walls was beyond her reach forever.
But in here…
A rot infected the heart of this place. She could smell it sometimes, during the night when the ghostly creak of gurney wheels rolled past her door. A stink of gangrene and pus, a wound so infected and so deep it sickened everything around it. Turned orderlies mean, depressed nurses, and twisted the minds of the poor souls who’d come here needing help and found only overcrowded halls and electro-shock. In the worse cases, it crept into bodies and corrupted them, drowning lungs or inflaming organs.
Her defenses were paper-thin, torn apart by the drugs, but she was still a spirit-worker like her mamaw. Put on this earth to help bring peace to the dead, and thus to the living they haunted.
There were so, so many dead here who needed help she could no longer give them. But maybe, if she could burn out the rotten core, she could save the living like Suzette. With luck, cauterizing the wound would let the harmless dead move along as well.
Not much farther. She was almost at the door. Barbara glanced around again, saw no nurses, and reached for it.
The handle turned. They’d forgotten to lock it.
Moving as quickly as she was able these days, she swung it open—and stopped in her tracks.
A big woman loomed in front of her, dressed in a nurse’s uniform, the trailing skirt and frilled cap long out of date. Her eyes locked with Barbara’s, blazing with fury. Her mouth opened, stretched wider and wider, far past any human limit.
“Get back!” The words roared from the hollow cavern of her ghastly mouth, accompanied by a frigid blast that stank of freezer-burned meat.
Caught off guard, Barbara cried out and staggered away. Her twitching muscles betrayed her; she fell heavily to the floor, banging one elbow.
Within seconds, living nurses hurried into the hall, drawn by the sound. “Damn it, Deirdre, you left the door unlocked again!” one of them shouted. She walked toward the door, oblivious to the dead woman.
“Stop!” Barbara yelled at the ghost. “I can help you! Why couldn’t you have just let me through?”
She sounded crazy, she knew it, but what else could she do? Other nurses grabbed her arms; she tried to fight, biting and scratching wildly until she felt the sharp sting of a needle in her biceps.
No. No, this had been her one chance. Suzette’s one chance. They’d watch her from now on, make sure she swallowed her pills, maybe even confine her to her room. She struggled to get free, but already her limbs felt heavy and her thoughts began to fuzz.
“Call Dr. Dixon,” ordered one of the nurses restraining her. “She needs to go back to the fourth floor. And lock that door!”
The nurse closest to the door shut it, never realizing she stood only inches from a dead woman. Through the crack as it closed, Barbara saw the phantom nurse nod firmly, as if at a job well done.
One more life ruined.
CHAPTER ONE
May 4, 1918
Belgium
IN THE LAST BREATH of evening light, Elliot shoved Warren into a stable as the sound of boots in fast pursuit echoed outside. Startled horses snorted and stomped in their stalls. Elliot’s heart pounded loud in his ears alongside his heaving breaths. Hay crinkled underfoot, the musty scent of animal and decay heavy in the air.
Warren pressed close, his eyes dark and intent on Elliot’s. He guided Elliot back into a corner, his calloused hands rasping over Elliot’s cheeks, cupping his face. The door burst open, but Warren’s mouth only twitched into an irresistible smirk. Elliot’s gaze darted to it and he wet his own lips.
German soldiers flung open the doors, barking loud orders at each other. Elliot watched over Warren’s shoulder, his chest squeezing tight, fingers tensing over the pistol at his waist. He held his breath as a soldier approached, but the man’s gaze passed over the space they occupied without sign of alarm. Elliot exhaled slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible. Although he trusted Warren’s illusion to conceal sounds, there was no need to test it.
Around them, the noise of the search continued, but Elliot’s attention was recaptured by Warren’s shadowed gaze, full of adrenaline and edged with lust as he tipped his head up, lips parting in invitation.
A jolt of shocked arousal heated Elliot as Warren slid his hardening prick against Elliot’s thigh. He barely held back a groan as he ducked his head to kiss Warren, against his better judgement. The pressure and yield of Warren’s soft mouth was both pleasure and temptation; he couldn’t resist dipping his tongue inside, clutching Warren’s hips and dragging his body closer. This was the worst time, the worst place, and still Elliot couldn’t help himself. Need and desire had him in their implacable grasp, and Elliot had no intention of fighting when it was so much easier to give into the stroke of Warren’s tongue, the gentle pressure of his teeth against Elliot’s bottom lip.
Warren’s breathing hitched, and he rubbed slowly against Elliot’s own trapped, swollen cock. Molten pleasure consumed him. Elliot was half a second away from hauling Warren up to wrap his legs around Elliot’s waist when Warren tore his mouth free with a breathless chuckle.
Elliot’s pulse skyrocketed with delayed alarm, glancing past Warren to find the stable empty save the animals. “Christ,” he muttered.
Warren pressed his face into the curve of Elliot’s neck and shoulder, silent laughter wracking him. “Your face. Your eyes just—” He choked.
Served him right. “Yes, well, forgive me for a moment’s concern when I remembered what we were in the middle of and worried I’d distracted you,” Elliot said dryly. Which set Warren off once more. Elliot’s own amusement was difficult to conceal. “Whenever you’re finished.”
After a moment, Warren sobered and stepped back. “You are distracting, but I made you a promise. I’ll always keep you safe.”
Warmth flooded Elliot, and he had to look away.
“I showed them a quick illusion of us crawling out a window back there,” Warren said, gesturing to the back of the stable behind a big horse, made larger by the darkness. “They all took off around the building to give chase.”
“Come on,” Elliot said, taking Warren’s hand and leading him to the door. “We’d better get out of here while we have the opportunity.”
He didn’t have to ask Warren to conceal them as he cracked it open and checked the street. They’d been through this routine enough over the winter, rescuing key Belgian and French soldiers in occupied territory. They had it down pat.
By now his second in command, Lieutenant Bell—Bellona, as they called her—and the rest of their team would have Caporal Lucien D’aramitz stashed away at the safe house. LFB, a spy network they’d been working closely with, had provided it as a temporary gathering point before they made the return journey to their home base in Fienvillers. Hopefully the place would have hot water so they could finally get clean.
After a tense journey back to their well-concealed motorcycle, then an uneventful drive for which they were both grateful, Elliot and Warren arrived at the location they’d been directed to.
Climbing out of the sidecar, Warren grumbled under his breath, and Elliot tried not to look entertained. Warren still hated riding in one, but he didn’t particularly enjoy driving a motorcycle either. Elliot gave his shoulder a reassuring pat, and in the moonlight caught the roll of Warren’s eyes. He couldn’t keep a smile down.
“You’re lucky I like you,” Warren said, clearly trying for grumpy, but sounding much too fond.
Nodding, Elliot agreed. “I have been blessed.”
“Damn right.”
And because it was dark and no one was outside, Elliot stole a quick kiss before knocking on the door, inhaling the familiar enthralling scent of Warren. A warm surge of affection gathered in his chest, his lips tingling, as he forced a mild expression onto his face.
Bellona opened the door, her expression warm as she greeted them before settling into something serious. “We’ve got an issue we weren’t expecting, I’m afraid. I’m glad you’ve arrived. We only just found out about him ourselves.”
“Who, D’Aramitz? Was anyone injured?” Elliot asked quickly, stepping inside.
“No one was injured, come on. You’ll see.”
They found the team gathered around a man seated on a settee. His dark hair was long, stringy and unwashed, and his French army uniform had certainly seen better days. He looked as if he could use a hot shower, several meals, and a week’s sleep. His face was battered and bruised. Elliot suspected it wasn’t the only place he’d been hit considering how he cradled his ribs.
Kneeling before him was another French soldier Elliot didn’t recognize. His hair was a lighter shade of brown and he was much slimmer. Short too, with a young appearance and big eyes set over an upturned nose and thin mouth.
At their entrance, all heads had turned to Elliot and Warren. Caporal Remonet and Charbonneau, the two French army members of their team, had been talking with Lara Baudin, their LFB agent liaison. Hoffman was standing back from the group, and he nodded to Elliot and Warren.
“Thank goodness,” Lara said with genuine cheer. “We were starting to worry we might need to mount a second rescue. Bell was beside herself.”
Bellona narrowed her gaze at Lara from where she’d stopped beside Remonet. “I was no such thing.”
“Aw, you care about us,” Elliot said, relieved to see everyone in one piece.
“Obviously,” she said, her hands going to her hips.
Warren chuckled, and Bellona’s glare turned on him. He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, don’t look at me. I know you’re not the panicking type. I’m sure Lara’s exaggerating.”
Bellona flushed and gestured as she made introductions. “Captain Stone, Corporal Sullivan, meet Caporal Lucien D’Aramitz, and Caporal Gabriel Auclair.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Elliot said. Warren’s gaze darted speculatively between the two men, D’Aramitz sitting and Auclair kneeling, which prompted Elliot to ask. “Weren’t we only expecting one?”
“We were,” Lara agreed, with a tinge of guilt in her expression. “Gabriel—Auclair,” she corrected, “is my cousin. He’s been searching for D’Aramitz for weeks. When your team took up his cause, I alerted him to get here as quickly as he could. I know what you’re going to say, I shouldn’t have compromised your mission, but there’s so much more happening here than your team was let in on.”
Hoffman crossed his arms, stance shifting from relaxed to suspicious. Beside him, Remonet’s eyebrows rose. Elliot couldn’t say he felt different, unease prickling the back of his neck.
“You could not have brought this to our attention before?” Charbonneau asked.
Auclair shot to his feet. “She was forced to make a judgement.” His French accent was strong, and his voice was painfully earnest. “It’s difficult when you have competing loyalty. We try to fight a war for our nations at the same time we fight to save the world from terrible evil.”
“What kind of evil?” Warren asked, sounding skeptical. He’d shifted closer to Elliot, nearly in front of him, as if planning to shield him if it all went sideways.
Auclair and D’Ararmitz shared a look that spoke of years of silent conversation. Auclair’s gaze seemed to linger on the half-healed gash that stretched along D’Aramitz’s right cheekbone. His mouth went tight, and his eyes widened, clearly pleading. D’Aramitz sighed.
“It is a very long story, but to make it less, my family has been guarding a dangerous artifact for centuries. As far as we know, it cannot be destroyed, only contained, and it is our duty to ensure that it is kept so. We have managed through kings and revolutions, and my brothers have done their best through this war, but six weeks ago I lost contact with all of them. Lara was able to get a friend to visit the vineyard to find out why, but her friend vanished.”
“I assume that’s what led you to leave your post?” Elliot asked, guessing, since they hadn’t been told any such thing.
Auclair stepped closer to him, glaring as D’Aramitz grimaced. “What should we have done? Let the world burn in exchange for two soldiers to remain in a never-ending battle?”
“Ça suffit, Gabriel,” D’Aramitz murmured, resting a gloved hand on his forearm. “We found the vineyard untouched, but my entire family gone, along with Gabriel’s. What we guard was gone as well and all that remained in its place was a coded message from one of my brothers. A hint at where to find him.”
“So how’d you get captured, but not him?” Warren asked, tilting his head from D’Aramitz to Auclair.
“I went to search the vineyard while D’Aramitz went to the hidden room only the guards can enter,” Auclair explained, his face pinching with pain. “I was looking for my sister. By the time I return to the main house, he was missing. There were signs of struggle. I didn’t know who had come for him, but he would not go willingly without me.”
D'Aramitz’s lips quirked in a lopsided little smile. “Of course not.”
Auclair nodded as if he’d been repeating the same thing to himself for ages, and hearing D’Aramitz confirm it was an immense relief. “It…” He seemed lost, staring into the middle distance. “It took some time for me to know what to do. Then I went to Lara for help, and she started her contacts working, put me to use on other tasks to occupy me so I didn’t go mad waiting. You cannot blame Lara for giving me this location.”
“What I don’t understand,” Elliot said, “is why on earth we were sent after a deserter in the first place. No offense. If you left your post without a trace, and this thing you guard is supposed to be a secret, I assume?”
“Yes,” D’Aramitz confirmed without hesitation.
“Then why are the French looking so hard for you?”
D’Aramitz scrubbed at his face with both hands, wincing when the movement reopened the scab on his cheek. Auclair dug in his pocket and handed him a clean handkerchief. “I’ve wondered as much since your soldiers took me out of confinement. They must know something, it is the only explanation. And my family’s secret in their hands would be just as damaging as in German ones. It cannot be allowed to…” He struggled with his words, and when he found them, generations of unbearable weight echoed in them. “To be used in this war or any other. Ever. Some magic is lost for good reason.”
Elliot glanced at Warren, who quickly answered his unspoken question. “He’s telling the truth. He’s terrified of it, whatever it is.”
“So should you all be. The Germans attempt for weeks to get information from me about the location, and I gave them only lies. Because no torture would be as horrifying as what the artifact can do in the wrong skilled hands.”
Auclair made a small sad sound as he looked at D’Aramitz, before returning his distressed gaze to Elliot. “Lara told me you have orders to return D’Aramitz to our government, and if you must, I will go as well. But…”
D’Aramitz took over the plea. “But we would do the world more good searching for my brother, to keep that insidious thing the secret it must remain.”
Elliot surveyed his team’s conflicted expressions. They all wanted this war to end, were sick of losing people, wanted to be home with their loved ones. But he knew each and every one of them. Not a single soul on his team would choose to give a government they understood to be often unscrupulous the kind of weapon that would endanger the world.
Except where did that leave them?
“Sullivan, you’re certain?” Elliot asked, thinking on his feet as he rolled out his tight shoulder muscles.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Neither of ’em show any sign of lying. And Auclair’s emotions are particularly loud and clear. I don’t think he could pull off a lie if he tried.” He was so attractive when he was confident and teasing. Even if the person he was teasing wasn’t Elliot.
D’Aramitz chuckled and Auclair huffed. Elliot rubbed the back of his neck, struggling with a course of action. His gut agreed with Warren, but how much could he safely risk to do the right thing?
“We cannot disobey direct orders,” he said, reluctantly. Auclair and D’Aramitz both tensed. Warren, Bellona, and Hoffman all started to protest, but Elliot continued to speak, only elevating his volume to be heard. “That said, we’ll all need rest to recuperate for the return journey. Are there enough rooms upstairs to go around, Lara?”
Confusion flitted across her face, joining disappointment. “Yes?”
“Excellent.” Elliot refocused on Auclair and D’Aramitz. “I trust the two of you will remain here for the night without any need for official supervision, and we’ll head out in the morning. In the meantime, perhaps we could find a first aid kit for D’Aramitz?”
“Unnecessary,” Auclair said, shifting to block anyone from coming close to D’Aramitz. Perhaps unwilling to believe they weren’t a threat. “I am a healer. Very low ability, but I can take care of his injuries.”
“Right, well, see you bright and early then.”
