Wickerman Cove

Part 25: By the Dashboard Light

What few businesses were open this late had decided to close as the storm did its best to flood the town, which meant Penny, Steph and Renard found themselves gathered in Mansfield's cruiser, with the heating cranked up and rain lashing at the windows. Renard was in the back with Penny, having established a new speed record for the time it took him to get from the back door and into the car. Steph made sure she was in the front with Mansfield, her gut still uneasy.

"So," Mansfield said, lighting a hand rolled cigarette. The spicy tobacco smoke curled through the confined space. "Did you find anything at the bleeding tree?"

"Uh-uh," Steph said. "We're nowhere near that yet. You gave me a dud weapon and used magic to shoot a man in the back."

Mansfield shook her head. "And what happened to him? Was he lying there on the ground when you came to? Did you bury him under a cross made of sticks?"

Steph looked at Penny. The fact was, Maksym hadn't been there when she'd emerged from the whiteness.

"I went into the dark, as I'm sure you know," Steph said. "He did too, but he didn't come out."

Mansfield let out a clipped, dry laugh. "I'm sure he's fine," she said, turning to watch the rain. "He wasn't there any more than I was. He's just a little better at it."

"Who are these people, sheriff?" Steph asked. "What the hell is wrong with Wickerman Cove?"

Mansfield shrugged. "The people? They come, from time to time. People like him. The ones touched with unreality. The Russians, the Israelis. The French used to try and sneak over from Canada, but I haven't seen one since '06. The British just truck up and stay in the guesthouse. They don't need to sneak in – we've got some reciprocal deal where we send people to a village in Corn-Wall.

"The Mi'kmaq have all kinds of legends about the 'Cove: they say it's a weak point between worlds. Their holy men used to come here to talk to the spirits, but you had to be careful because you might get followed by the dead. Whatever it is, it isn't stable, not like some places... but there are things that you can do here that don't work anywhere else. It's probably why Emil was posted here with the statue."

Penny raised an eyebrow. Mansfield laughed. "Yeah," the sheriff said. "I said 'posted.' You didn't believe he found that in some Bangor flea market, did you? He probably got sent here because they couldn't make it work, then it did something it shouldn't have and they detailed you to take it back."

I don't believe this. Hitch would have told me, Penny signed.

Steph tried not to let the chagrin show on her face. If Hitch even knew, she signed back. Neither of us are exactly Secret Service hotshots. They probably told him to find a team that was deniable and disposable.

"Is that why the Church of the Eye set up camp?" Steph asked, turning her attention back to Mansfield.

The sheriff took a drag of her cigarette, then shrugged. "David, the guy who runs things, thinks he can use the 'Cove to meet God. The weirdness had been pretty quiet until you arrived, so I just assumed he'd give up eventually and his people would drift off. It might be they have some power. Maybe not much, but enough to cause trouble."

Steph stared around the car, trying to piece her thoughts together. The sheriff's police ID sat out on the dash: 'Jane M Mansfield' and a picture of her, smiling up from the photo.

"What's your angle on all this?" Steph asked.

Mansfield took another drag on her cigarette, rolling the window down a crack before she blew out an especially deep lungful of smoke. "I don't trust anyone who hits me with a goddamn taser the first time we meet, magic or otherwise. I don't like the fact that something is moving through my town, and I'm pissed that David's people feel tough enough to beat the crap out of you on a public highway.

"And, I'm sorry I gave you a dud weapon," she added. "I took the firing pin out when I used it for a thing with some high school kids over in Woodward. In all the excitement, I forgot. I wasn't trying to get you killed. If I was, why would I have given you a gun in the first place?"

Steph watched Mansfield for a moment. In the military, there was no way someone would make a mistake like that. On the other hand, cops didn't get as much firearms training.

"Well," she said, deciding to keep that one in the 'maybe' column, "I survived, and your SIG went to a watery grave. You know anything about the things that tried to tear us limb from limb?"

Mansfield stared into the rain again. "You heard the singing yet?"

I didn't hear the singing, Penny signed, her face creased into a frown.

"She says," Steph said, "she didn't hear anything."

"Yeah," the sheriff said, with a laugh. "That's because she isn't singing to you. Not that I know anything."

In Steph's mind's eye, an image of the slug-thing rose out of the darkness. "It's big, isn't it? In a city under the sea – not something built for human beings."

Mansfield's eyes widened. She looked at Steph as if it was their first time seeing each other. "I wouldn't know," she said, "nobody who saw it ever came back sane."

Now it was Steph's turn to laugh. "My sanity remains to be determined."

Mansfield stubbed her cigarette out. She reached out to scratch Renard's head, but he drew back. "If you've seen what I think you've seen, the problem might be that you're too sane."

Penny patted Steph on the shoulder. I think we should go to the gas station as quickly as possible, she signed. The call sounded urgent.

Shall I tell the sheriff? I think she's keeping things close to the vest, but I don't think she's out to get us or anything, Steph signed back.

Penny looked Mansfield up and down, and screwed her face up thoughtfully, immediately nullifying any benefit to communicating in a language the sheriff didn't understand.

Don't tell her about the box, Penny said. I don't know how to open it, but I want whatever is in there to be between ourselves.

"Uh, sheriff?" Steph said. "We might have a problem. Penny has a voicemail from the guy who runs the gas station outside town."

"Angus?" Mansfield asked. "He usually takes care of himself."

"Angus?" Steph mouthed.

"I don't know, I didn't name him," Mansfield said. "You mind if we all hear the voicemail?"

Steph turned to Penny, who got the phone out of her bag – it was the usual featureless slab of black glass, except for the jewelled bats glued to the back of the case – and balanced it on the passenger seat where they could all hear.

After a moment of jabbing at the screen, Angus's voice came through the speakers. It was low and he spoke quickly, sometimes drowned out by a thumping sound in the distance.

"Hi, my name is Angus Benoit. You don't really know me – you left your card at my gas station and I looked you up. I don't know what you're doing here, but if it's what I think it is, we've got to speak. Things are going crazy right now, but when they settle down, come by. I'm here all night, and all night tomorrow. I'm not sure what you're doing, but you shouldn't try to do it alone."

The sheriff started speaking, but Penny shushed her with a wave of the hand. Steph almost broke the silence, until she realised that Angus hadn't hung up. She could still hear his breathing. There was another faint thump as he put the phone down without hanging up. He moved, the sound of cloth on cloth, and then his sneakers slapping against the tiled floor.

The thumping rose. It had a lot of parts. Some were fast and irregular, others were slow and rhythmic. The louder they got, the more they carried the reverberation of glass that was about to give way.

Penny waved a hand in the air. This, she signed.

In the distance, Angus cried out.

Then there was the sound of breaking glass.