Wickerman Cove

Part 14: Wickerman Cove

They followed the sheriff into town, winding down twisting nighttime roads that tortured Steph into a hell of motion sickness. The pain had subsided quickly, which wasn't the way it usually worked, but the dizziness had resolved into a deep nausea that made her want to die. She hadn't been in much of a state for conversation when she'd gotten into the car, but Penny stole regular glances, squeezing her arm after gear changes.

"I'm okay," Steph said, not even really convincing herself. "It doesn't hurt anymore, although hopefully that's not a bad thing."

Renard fussed over her, which mostly consisted of leaning over the seat and sticking his nose into various places between her neck and ear, with occasional breathy face-licks for variety. Steph tried to ignore the guilt that someone else's service animal was bonding with her. Then again, it did feel like a just reward for fighting a truckload of nutjobs, including one who was either an X-Man or a Wizard.

It was starting to get light by the time they got their first look at Wickerman Cove: cute, white houses clustered around a rocky coast. Cliffs rose to either side of the town, one populated by trailers, the other topped with a majestic 19th century house – a gothic monster made of white wood, with a tower and widow's walk. Stairs wound down the cliffside to where a pontoon jetty bobbed, floating at water level.

Whoever lived there was serious about boating. That jetty could take a yacht.

The nausea was starting to subside, maybe because she could see where they were going. A brief fight with the glove box yielded a print copy of Hitch's briefing notes. The house was Professor Lenkersheimer's place. A light burned in the window on the top floor.

"Jesus," Steph said, noticing the time on the chrome dash clock. "It's oh-seven-thirty. It should have been light hours ago."

Purple dimness clung to the town and forest, along with a chill that made Steph think of deep Autumn or early Spring. They were only a few hours' drive to Canada, but it still didn't make sense. Still, the pain and grogginess of her beating was falling away – another thing that didn't make sense.

She watched Penny drive for a moment. "I just need you to verify something – I got the crap kicked out of me, right?"

Penny gave her a worried, sidelong glance. She looked back to the road and nodded.

"That's what I thought," Steph said, "but I feel... okay... and I haven't got any bruises or abrasions. Something's wrong."

The tiniest hint of a smile crossed Penny's face. She patted Steph on the arm without taking her eyes off the road.

"Hey," Steph said, "not that I'm complaining, but this is the second time that an injury has just gone away, and I'm starting to worry that either I'm imagining things or I've got some sort of pain insensitivity and I'm gonna drop dead."

The archaeologist bit her lower lip and carried on driving, her shoulders shaking with amusement.

Steph rolled her eyes. "Fine, laugh it up, but this isn't natural and you're just adding to the list of things I'm going to interrogate you about when we stop this car."

The edge of town was even cuter than it had looked from the forest – warm, buttery lights shone out of a diner where workers sleepily ate breakfast; an older guy with an apron set his goods out in front of a general store; a woman with an overcoat undid the locks on what looked like a salon.

The sheriff drew up alongside them, and waved them over to a red brick building that stood apart from the rest of the street.

Penny pulled up and, cautiously, Steph got out of the car and checked herself over. There were a couple of bruises, but nothing anywhere near as bad as she'd expected. Plus, her head was fine. The spot where she'd been hit by the tire iron wasn't even tender.