A Desolate Hour. Mae Clair
nodded. “It was built by my great-grandfather Clarence in 1922. Flynn is my married name.”
She’d be a good source of local information with her family history, but right now he couldn’t wrap his head around the curse, or the promise he’d made to his sister. When he wasn’t coming off an eleven-hour drive, he’d think better.
“Thanks, Eve.” He gave her a parting smile and headed for the stairs. His family had been cursed for centuries. Waiting another day to get to the bottom of that plague wouldn’t matter. And it certainly wouldn’t change his misfortune.
Chapter 2
It was dark, pitch black with heavy cloud cover by the time Caden’s shift ended and he made it home. He parked his Capri along the street and killed the ignition. Lights glowed through the front windows of the large house on Pine Creek Avenue. Eve was still up, probably waiting for him. He would have been home earlier if not for a detour to the TNT. Over the last few months she’d gotten used to his forays into the place. Once an ammunitions site during World War II, the area had been reduced to a labyrinth of abandoned weapons igloos, ponds, wetlands, and the crumbling shells of a few old buildings scattered over 3,600 acres of woodlands.
Or as most people in the area had come to think of it—the home of the Mothman.
Caden stepped from the car to the smell of wet asphalt and damp grass. They needed the rain. It had been a dry summer, unusual for a town that sat on the confluence of the Ohio and Kanawha Rivers, and had sustained horrible floods through the decades. Old-timers said those floods had been the curse of Cornstalk in play. Maybe the unusual summer was too.
“Hey.” He smiled as he stepped through the door, catching sight of Eve on the sofa. She sat with her legs tucked to the side, sipping from a cup he guessed held hot tea. Chamomile by the scent. Her face lit up when she saw him. Within seconds she was across the room, arms wrapped around him to bestow a kiss.
“Missed you.”
“Missed you, too.” He kissed her back. Their marriage was just over a month old, both still flush with the glow. “Sorry I’m late.” It was hard being away from her, but she understood the pledge that kept drawing him back to the TNT. Thankful to be home, he set his hat aside and un-holstered his gun. All part of the uniform. The bullets came out before he put the weapon in the drawer of an end table by the door. “I took a drive through the TNT.”
Eve’s eyes grew wide. “Did you see anything?”
He shook his head. The creature was lying low. Mothman sightings historically played out in spurts, the most recent last fall. There’d been few reports in between. He’d personally encountered the creature once or twice, but for the most part the thing had gone into hiding. Despite the promise he’d made to Indrid Cold, he hoped it stayed that way. Far better the Mothman keep off the radar.
“Have a seat and I’ll get you a beer.” Eve motioned to the couch.
Nodding his thanks, Caden sank into the cushions while she disappeared into the kitchen. He heard the refrigerator snick open and closed. It had to be somewhere after eleven, but he was still wired from work. He’d be rotating off shift soon and could enjoy two days of downtime before going on daylight.
“We got a new guest at the hotel.” Eve returned with a can of Miller.
Caden popped the top and took a drink as she settled in beside him. “That Quentin guy you were waiting on?”
Eve nodded. “Quentin Marsh. He’s not what I expected.” She wrapped her hands around her teacup and leaned against him.
Hooking an arm around her shoulder, he made room for her to nestle closer. The radio played in the background, something soothing and melodic, likely tuned to the station for her plants. She pampered them as if they were pets.
“I hope he didn’t show up dressed in black.” Caden wasn’t entirely joking. He took another swig of beer.
Eve laughed. “No. He’s nothing like the Men in Black from last fall.”
Point Pleasant had been inundated with mysterious men in black suits who arrived with little explanation, their sole intent to warn anyone who’d claimed to have seen a UFO to be silent. Given the town had experienced a UFO Flap in October, that was close to half the population.
“But he is odd,” Eve continued. “Oh, nothing like Lach or those other men,” she added when he sent her a sharp glance.
Lach Evening was someone he wasn’t sure he’d ever see again. Caden waited a beat but she didn’t say anything further. “What’s so odd about him?”
“I’m not sure.” Eve pressed her lips together, considering. “When I asked what brought him to Point Pleasant, he evaded the question.”
“Why is that so strange? It’s no one’s business but his.”
Eve made a pffing sound. “Most guests chitchat, Caden.” The concentrated look on her face indicated Marsh’s reluctance to talk was only half of what was troubling her. “I told him about my great-grandfather building the hotel, and it got me thinking about him and my grandparents.” She swiveled to face him, her eyes wide and probing. “Did I ever tell you what happened to them?”
Something told him he should already know.
A buried memory stirred awake in the back of his mind. His father shaking his head, talking in hushed tones to Caden’s mother. A tragedy.
“There was a fire at the hotel,” Eve continued before he could answer. “I was four when it happened, so I only know what I’ve been told.” She rubbed a thumb over the diamond ring on her left hand. “The fire broke out on the third floor. No one knows what started it, but they were all up there together—my grandfather and grandmother with my great-grandfather, Clarence.”
“Yeah.” Caden’s voice dropped. “I remember now. I was ten. I remember walking down Main Street the night after it happened. The brick on the third floor was black in the front where the flames shot through the windows. My parents went to the funerals.”
“That’s when my parents took over running the hotel, along with Aunt Rosie.”
Caden tensed. Rosalind Parrish had died over a year ago, taking a secret to her grave that still made him bitter. He lived in the house she’d bequeathed to Eve but wasn’t certain he’d forgiven her. “This is old history, Eve.” His voice sharpened, a knee-jerk reaction to Rosie being mentioned. “Why bring it up now? Because some guy asks about how long you’ve lived here?”
“Yes.” Eve gripped his hand. “Quentin has me thinking. I grew up hearing about that tragedy and about grandparents I don’t remember. Daddy said they never did find the cause of the fire.”
Caden drained the last of his beer. “Old wiring. That’s what I heard.”
“That was speculation, but my father would have known. Do you know what my mother said?” Eve’s gaze held challenge, but she hurried ahead before he could answer. “She blamed it on the curse of Chief Cornstalk.”
Shaking his head, he stood. “Everything that happens around here gets blamed on Cornstalk’s curse. Wayne Rosling’s dog got hit by a car yesterday and he blamed it on Cornstalk.”
“Oh, no.” Eve looked stricken. “Is Brisket all right?”
“He’s fine.” Caden headed for the kitchen and another beer. “Broke his leg, but otherwise he’s going to be okay.” Rosling, a senior deputy with the sheriff’s department, had told Caden about the incident while they caught up on reports. Wayne’s frisky Labrador had slipped its leash and bolted into the road just as a Vega rounded the bend.
“Let ancient history be ancient history,” Caden called from the kitchen. He paused with his hand on the refrigerator door. The tip of the scars he carried from the Mothman poked from beneath his sleeve. Three branded marks he’d had since 1967 when the Silver