Part 32 (1/2)

Mitch nodded.

”We're waiting for X ray to check for broken bones, but I don't think the damage is too severe. She got quite a b.u.mp on the head, possibly a minor concussion. The fact that she's already awake is a good sign.”

But Mitch was barely even listening to the doctor. ”Tiff?” he said, taking his daughter's hand. ”What do you mean it was no accident?”

His daughter did not answer, and the doctor pulled back an eyelid and s.h.i.+ned a narrow beam of light into her eye.

Tiffany startled awake with a gasp.

”Princess?” Mitch began again. ”What did you mean when you said it wasn't an accident?”

”They tried ...” she whispered, and then her voice trailed off for a second before she pulled together the strength to finish the sentence. ”... to kill us.”

Her eyes closed again and her hand went limp in her father's.

Angie leaned over the gurney. ”Tiffany? Honey?” When there was no response, Angie looked up at the doctor, her terror clear in her eyes.

He pulled the stethoscope from around his neck and scanned the meters displaying Tiffany's vital signs. ”Maybe you folks ought to wait outside for now. Just give me a couple of minutes, all right?”

Mitch took Angie's arm and drew her away. ”C'mon, honey. Let's let him do his job.”

Back in the tiny waiting area, Tiffany's strange words finally sank in, and a cold fury began to build inside Angie. ”She said it wasn't an accident, Mitch. You heard her. 'They tried to kill us!' That's what she said, Mitch.”

He sat down in one of the plastic chairs and drew his wife down into the chair next to him, feeling her anger, along with the fury in his own heart. ”Who, though?” he grated, directing the question to no one in particular. ”Who'd do something like that?” But even as he asked the question, an answer was already forming in his own mind.

”Why doesn't someone ask Conner?” Zach asked. ”That's who she was with, wasn't it?” But when he looked at his father, he instantly knew the truth. ”Oh, jeez ...” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. ”Conner can't be dead! He-”

”It was murder,” Angie said, her fury finally erupting. ”Whoever they were, they killed Conner, and they tried to kill Tiffany, too. You call Dan West, Mitch! You call him right now!”

But she didn't need to tell him; Mitch Garvey was already punching Dan West's home number into his cell phone. Whoever had done this was going to pay.

If he had to, he might very well kill them himself.

In fact, he'd like to do that.

He'd like that very, very much.

Bettina's eyes moved from the light and shadows on the wall to the window. A car was approaching, its running lights refracting in the snow, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

The house trembled as a nearly subsonic rumble rolled through it, and a chill swept over her.

She backed away from the window.

Her hand closed on the iron poker from the fireplace.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

The strange rumble in the house grew louder, but not quite loud enough to keep Bettina from hearing a car door slam.

Her grip tightened on her weapon.

There was a great pounding on the door, and before she could move either to open it or back away, the ma.s.sive oaken door flew open.

Shep Dunnigan strode in, his face scarlet, his body shaking with barely contained fury.

Bettina unconsciously reached out to steady herself against the wall as she faced him.

”Where is he?” Dunnigan demanded, his voice low and dangerous. ”What the h.e.l.l have you done with my son?” He stepped toward Bettina, the front door slamming shut behind him and the locks falling into place. Shep spun around and tried to open the door.

It held, locked fast.

”Nick isn't here,” Bettina said, struggling to keep her own voice under control, to betray nothing of the panic-and fury-welling up inside her.

Shep glowered. ”You've done something to him,” he snarled. ”And to my wife, too. You're a witch.” And there it was.

The word that had been whispered about her for so long, finally flung in her face.

Bettina felt her legs weakening, and when she opened her mouth to speak, nothing came out. No, she told herself. You've done nothing to be ashamed of, and never have. She steeled herself, and found her voice. ”I did nothing to them, and you know it.” Her eyes bored into him, and she hurled one more word at him: ”Nothing!”

Shep stepped closer. ”Nothing?” he echoed, his voice as poisonous as the sneer on his lips. ”Then what the h.e.l.l is this?” He held up the bag of loose tea. ”It's drugs!” he shouted, not giving her time to reply. ”You think I don't recognize drugs when I see them?” He flung the bag of tea at Bettina's face, but before she could duck, a blast of air ripped through the huge foyer, s.n.a.t.c.hed the Baggie and hurled it to the far end.

”What the h.e.l.l was that?” Shep yelled at her. ”What the h.e.l.l are you doing?”

Again Bettina made no reply, but this time the house itself seemed to answer his question.

Bang!

Slam!

The outside window shutters slammed shut and a guttural sound emanated from the base of the house. Bettina froze.

Shep's eyes widened for a second, then narrowed as he focused on her. ”You,” he growled, starting toward her. ”You think what I did to you last time-”

Bettina raised the poker, ready to defend herself, and then the whole house heaved violently, throwing Shep to the floor.

Bettina watched in shock as he tried to regain his feet, but he'd risen no farther than his knees when a burst of air buffeted him, throwing him down the hallway after the tea.

It was as if the whole house had suddenly come alive; there was electricity in the air, and all the energy the house was generating seemed to have focused on Shep Dunnigan.

A noise like thunder followed the stream of air that enveloped Shep, and he could neither get to his feet nor fight the force that drove him inexorably toward doors that led to the dining room, and then to the kitchen beyond.

And yet, though Bettina could hear the sounds-the thunder and what was now a howling wind-she could feel nothing of the tornado Shep Dunnigan appeared to be caught in. It was as if he were being drawn into some parallel universe, one that was close to hers, but different enough that she was not experiencing it.

She watched helplessly as Shep gasped for air and mouthed words she could barely hear.

”Stop it!” he was begging. ”What are you doing?” But it was useless-though he could still see her, she was no longer in focus, as if she were fading away into some other place.

The wind strengthened further, propelling Shep through the dining room and into the kitchen. He reached for the pipes of the ancient porcelain sink, desperate to anchor himself against the energy pus.h.i.+ng him, but just as his fingers were about to close on them, the faucets opened and a gush of black sludge-sludge that reeked of death itself-spewed over him and spread across the floor. A moment later Shep himself was thras.h.i.+ng on the floor, the slime burning his skin everywhere it touched him.

Bettina Philips, watching in stunned awe, stepped into the kitchen just as the door slammed shut behind her and the bas.e.m.e.nt door burst open, cras.h.i.+ng against the wall behind it.