Cusp of Night. Mae Clair
the situation more seriously, decked out in period clothing that included black sack coats with matching waistcoats, trousers, and boots. Some had even opted for elaborate face paint rather than the plastic and latex masks hawked at the vendor booths. Early June wasn’t unbearably hot, but even with the light breeze from the Chinkwe River, she imagined most of the costumed fiends were roasting in their inky getups.
Graham turned appraising hazel eyes on her. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Graham Kingston, Maya Sinclair.” Ivy waved a hand between them. “Graham’s company did the interior painting on your brownstone, Maya.”
“My dad’s, actually.” Graham rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “I mean…my dad’s company.”
Maya smiled. “Nice to meet you.” The tag-on explanation was every bit as awkward as his mannerisms.
Ivy used her straw to poke the ice chips in her cup. “I thought you’d be here with Tina Sanford.” The spark in her eyes bordered on amused.
“Nah.” Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Graham shifted from foot to foot. On a shorter person, it would have looked like waddling. “We just bum around sometimes.” A flush stole over his cheeks. “I’m headed to the food tents to grab some barbeque and fries. I heard Brook’s helping out.” He flipped a parting wave. “It was nice meeting you, Maya. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
Ivy watched him leave, the humor in her gaze hooded by affection. “I almost hate baiting him.” She brushed chestnut hair from her eyes. “Almost.”
Maya felt like she’d missed something. “What was that about?”
“Me stirring the kettle.” Ivy hooked her arm through Maya’s and steered her farther down the riverbank. Several masked fiends had gathered in front of a portable stage draped with a curtained backdrop. Rows of folding chairs lined the space in front of the platform and small white lights dangled from a wire around the base. A few of the chairs were occupied, people camped out with pizza or hot dogs, cans of soda and cups of lemonade planted in the grass at their feet. Several festivalgoers had brought their own lawn chairs, stationing them beneath the trees to take advantage of the shade. The air smelled of sun-warmed grass, wet river stone, and hot bubbling cheese. The tempting aroma of fresh-baked pizza made her mouth water.
“Graham’s besotted with Brook Tyler,” Ivy explained as two school-aged boys darted past, black fiend cloaks flapping behind them. “Tina is his standby. Sad, because I’m not sure Brook knows he exists.”
“Our Brook?” Maya’s mind shifted from pepperoni and oregano to the pretty blonde who worked the circulation desk at the Hode’s Hill Library. Maya, a transplant from South Central Pennsylvania, had only been employed at the facility for a little over two weeks, but she knew Brook as a chatty twenty-something who favored broom skirts, herbal tea, and books on spiritualism. “Isn’t he a little too…” She struggled for the right word—Awkward? Mundane? Ungainly?—to convey her initial impression of Graham. Stumped, she motioned helplessly.
“And all that. I’ve known Graham since high school, but he’s an acquired taste.” Ivy dismissed the subject with a shake of her head. “Look.” She pointed to the portable stage. “If you’re going to live in Hode’s Hill, you need to know what makes us tick. Later tonight they’ll choose one of the contestants as the Fiend.”
Maya followed her direction. “Aren’t they all fiends?”
A fiftyish man with a clipboard had climbed up on stage. He sat down on the lip, then swung his legs over the edge. Costumed fiends lined up to his left, most jostling in a good-natured manner. The man with the clipboard motioned to someone on the ground, and a box containing large white squares with black numbers was shoved onto the stage.
“I’m talking Capital F.” Ivy made air quotes with her fingers. “The embodiment of the legend. The original Fiend goes back to the turn of the twentieth century. All these people dressed in costume—they’re hoping to be as spooky and terrifying as the legend.”
Maya nibbled her thumbnail, watching as numbers were passed out to those who wanted to compete in the contest. Graham wasn’t there, but he’d said he’d only thrown on the cape and mask for fun. “Sorry, but none of them seem very terrifying.”
“Sure. Not now.” Ivy tossed her empty soda cup into a trash bin. “What’s spooky about a bunch of people in Halloween costumes on a hot June evening? But imagine encountering one of those guys on a dark night when the only light is from a gas lantern that can’t penetrate the fog. Imagine walking through a deserted alley, then having a cloaked, masked figure leap from the shadows.”
“Okay.” Maya re-evaluated her stance. “Definitely worth a scream.” She wished she’d taken the time to learn more about the Fiend of Hode’s Hill. Ivy had told her the story years ago when they’d been college roommates, but her memory of the tale was spotty. A masked demon, murder, a body in the river. She couldn’t remember and hated to admit the truth. She’d meant to delve into the legend before getting settled in Hode’s Hill, but there had been so much to do.
When Ivy had first told her about the opening for a reference librarian, she’d been hesitant to act. She’d only recently returned to work after a car accident had left her incapacitated for eight weeks. By the time she’d finally decided to apply, she’d been certain the position would be filled, but the opening had remained as if waiting for her.
Ivy had turned her onto a rental, an old brownstone a few blocks from the library, enabling her to walk to work. Her physical therapist had recommended daily walks to strengthen her muscles, and she’d come to enjoy the time outside. Not only was walking good exercise, it gave her the opportunity to reflect, something she’d been doing a lot of since the accident.
She’d signed the lease on the brownstone by e-mail, sent her deposit check to Hode Development, Inc., and arranged for a moving van to arrive the weekend before she started her new job. The town was small, located on the Chinkwe River, an offshoot of the Ohio. Caught somewhere between quaint and struggling for expansion, Hode’s Hill was a blend of old homes, converted factories, cozy eateries, and civic buildings.
Maya’s gaze wandered across the river to the opposite shoreline where a sprawling home jutted above the trees. The Hode Estate. She had a clear view of the property from her brownstone on the corner of Front and Chicory.
Ivy had pointed it out the day Maya moved in. “You’ll get to know the name Hode. It’s attached to more than just the town.”
Ivy elbowed her side directing her attention back toward the stage. “There’s a power group if I ever saw one.”
Maya took note as two men and a woman moved closer to converse with the man seated on the edge of the dais. With her long dark hair, crisp white blouse, and tailored red skirt that oozed professionalism, Angela Rossi, the mayor of Hode’s Hill, was easily recognizable. A man with salt-and-pepper hair hovered by her side, his angular face pinched above a light business suit. Maya had seen him somewhere before—newspaper? TV?—but couldn’t place where.
Her attention shifted to a tall man standing a few steps behind the others. He appeared to be in his early thirties, his sandy brown hair well-groomed if a bit on the long side. Unlike the mayor and her companion, he was dressed casually in an open-necked shirt and gray khakis.
Maya leaned closer to Ivy. “I know the mayor, but who are the men?”
“The one glued to her side is City Councilman Gerald Pottinger.”
The name clicked as the association fell into place. “What about the other one?”
Ivy folded her arms over her chest. “That depends who you’re talking to. Some think he’s the son of the devil incarnate, others that he should be the city’s next mayor.”
Maya looked at her askance. “Can you translate that?”
Ivy laughed. “Collin Hode. And in case you’re curious, he has no political aspirations. Or so I’ve