Lightning Strikes (Hudson 2)

We kissed.

"Well?" I asked.

"What?"

"Did it feel like stone?"

He laughed.

"Hardly. It felt and tasted like candy cotton.

"I'll call you tomorrow, early in the afternoon," he said as he walked away. I waved and then turned and started toward the front door.

Suddenly, I thought I saw a shadow move on my right. I stopped and studied th

e darkness. My heart began to race when something did cross the lane of light that fell across the grass. The light came from an upstairs window.

"Is someone there?" I called.

All I heard was the soft breeze slipping in and out, under and above the leaves of the trees and around the roof of the house. Thicker clouds had moved in again and blocked what little moonlight there had been. The darkness felt heavier, deeper, rushing forward and coming up behind me like a tide of black water.

Everything sensible and cautious told me to go into the house and forget what I thought I had seen, but I didn't like being spied upon. It was enough to feel constantly under glass when I was in the house performing my duties, but not to ever have any privacy even out here was more than just annoying. It raised the temperature of my hot blood to near boiling. If that Mr. Boggs was lingering there to watch what I did and then report my kisses, I would give him a blast that would have even surprised and shocked Beni, I thought.

I took a step toward the corner of the house and then another, listening hard for footsteps and concentrating on the shadows, peering through the corridors of darkness in search of some silhouette. There seemed to be none. I was glad of that, happy to attribute it all to my overworked imagination, but before I turned back, I saw that there was a light on in the cottage.

For a long moment, I just stood there staring at the cottage. All the time I had been here, I hadn't been closer to it than this, I thought. What was the big deal about it anyway? I gazed up at the lighted window on the second floor of the estate. A heavy curtain had been drawn closed. No one appeared and it was very still, very quiet about the grounds. The light in the cottage flickered. It was a candle, I realized. Why would there be a candle lit inside?

Curiosity put magnets in my eyes and in my feet. I had to get closer. I had to know. Softly, almost as sleekly as a cat, I stepped through the shadows and the candlelight toward the small building. Every once in a while, I paused to listen, but I heard no one, saw no one. The candlelight flickered again. Shadows seemed to leap and fly across the grounds like dark spirits. A small glow burned through the darkness against the side of Endfield Place and then disappeared as would light from a match that had been blown out. The breeze picked up, whistled through some brush and small trees, spun a crown of cool air about my head and then lifted toward the ever darkening night sky, a sky without stars, blanketed in a shroud of silence.

I continued until I was about ten feet or so from the front window of the cottage. The candlelight came from this room, off to the right a bit. Still, I saw or heard no one. Inching forward, I leaned toward the window to gaze through the gauze-like white curtains. They were parted just enough to give me a view of the room. I lingered, confused for a moment at what I saw, and then I took two more steps toward the window and gaped.

It looked like a dollhouse inside. All the furniture was scaled down and sitting on the chairs and on the sofa were dolls. On top of the round center table was a set of teacups and a pot. One of the larger dolls was facing the window. Its bejeweled eyes caught the flicker of the candlelight and brightened at me. It took my breath away for a moment because the doll was large enough to be mistaken for a small girl. I looked more to my right and saw the candle in a holder placed on a side table. For a split second or two it looked like someone was sitting on the floor, but when I focused closer, I realized it was just some clothing, a skirt and a blouse and a pair of shoes.

Even more curious about it all now, I moved closer until I was right up against the window, but just as I was about to lean in and put my forehead to the glass, I felt a hand on my shoulder squeeze so hard it shot a jolt of pain down my spine. Another hand grasped me at the waist and I was bodily lifted and turned from the cottage as if I weighed no more than one of the dolls inside.

With the shadows and the candlelight distorting his features, making them even more grotesque and startling, Boggs stood there glaring at me.

"What'cha doin' back 'ere?" he demanded in a gruff voice.

"Nothing," I said. "I saw a light so I just wanted to see what it was."

"You was told not to come near 'ere, wasn't you? You was told," he said.

"Why? What's the big deal about this place anyway?"

"You was told to stay away. It ain't your business now, is it? You got to listen to what you're told, 'ear?"

He still had his fingers on my shoulder. I felt them tighten like a vise.

"All right," I said. "This is stupid anyway. Let me go," I snapped at him. It was a show of courage that didn't have much depth because my heart felt as if it had fallen into my stomach and my legs trembled so much, I didn't think I could get them to move forward when I wanted them to. Boggs kept his fingers lingering on my shoulder and brought his hard, cold eyes closer to me.

"Just remember what you was told," he said. "Now get to where you belong," he ordered and gave me a small push forward.

I kept walking, a part of me fuming, but a bigger part of me happy to get away. As I rounded the turn at the front of the house, gazed back. He was gone and the candle had been put out.

The cottage was vaguely outlined in the shadows that eagerly closed around it as if night itself wanted to guard and protect all the secrets that lived within its walls.

It was another night of troubled sleep. After I had gone to bed, I couldn't help but listen for the heavy footsteps of Mr. Boggs as he made his way down the corridor to his room. He seemed to hesitate at my door and my heart stopped and started when I heard him continue. I still had no lock on my door, although my great-uncle had promised. I thought I would remind him in the morning.