Now that she saw it, she felt incredibly stupid.

* 166 *

With trembling hands she fetched the acetate grid she had used to scale down her artwork and that also matched Marie's bizarre recipe amounts. The same grid, that when placed over Connie's illustrations had each mysterious mark falling dead center of a square. But that was all she had found-something had been missing, a second key to make sense of it all. Now it was here in her hands.

A book in an ancient language. It had been secretly gifted to her last night. She had an ally. Someone wanted her to break the code and find the Garoul secret.

The Garden of Earthly Delights was the third element of her cipher. Somehow it was the link between the almanacs and the langue d'oc dictionary. Amy frowned at the dust jacket on the table before her. Her artist's eye sized up the book cover with the grid. It wasn't a good fit. This was the wrong rendition of the painting. The scale was incorrect and parts were cut away to fit in with the book design.

Amy needed a full copy set in the original dimensions. Only that would match up properly. And she knew just where to find one. In Marie's office.

v The rain did not let up for her walk down to the compound.

"Yo, Amy. Don't tell me you're out working in this?" Jori met her halfway across the central clearing.

"Hi, Jori. No, I'm working indoors today with all the sensible people. Is Marie around?"

"Leone drove her into Covington. Time to stock up the larder."

This was good news; a larder run to the largest nearby town's food markets was practically an all-day chore. Hopefully, she'd have more than enough time to try out her theory on the print over Marie's desk.

"Okay. I'm going to do some work over at her place. I'll catch up with you and Elicia later."

* 167 *

The first thing on the agenda was to make sure her guess was right and the Bosch triptych was part of the overall code. With the painting laid out on Marie's big cedar table, Amy pulled the acetate grid from her backpack. She carefully aligned it with the edges of the actual print, not the frame.

It fit.

Amy held her breath; several painted figures now fell neatly into some of the squares, just as the marks had done. She peered closely at them. They were the weird hybrid animals, half-man, half-fish, fowl, dog, boar, wolf, whatever misfit Bosch had imagined.

Amy was unsure what they were meant to represent, they were all so fantastical. She did know that every depiction of a human hybrid, half-man half-beast, fell into the center of a grid square as if prearranged to do so.

"I know what I'm looking for. I know how to break the code,"

she whispered in awe to the empty room.

Borrowing an almanac from Marie's library, Amy opened it to an illustration with embedded sigils. Laid over Connie's illustration, each mark fell within a square. Gently, she traced each mark onto the acetate grid with a soft lead pencil.

Next she placed the marked grid over the print of Bosch's painting. As it was a triptych, she had three choices. She set it on the first panel, The Garden of Eden, Bosch's representation of creation.

Nothing matched up. The traced sigils marked on the plastic grid did not align with any figure or structure in this panel of the triptych.

She tried again with the central panel, The Garden of Earthly Delights, depicting mankind's activities on earth. This time a few of the marked squares fell over particular painted figures-the man-beasts. These sigils she transferred to a blank sheet of paper, positioning each as accurately as it was on the grid.

Finally, she moved onto the last panel, Hell, a grim and gory chaos. Several more fantastical human hybrids filled the remaining marked squares. They too were transferred to the writing paper in the positions they were found in.

Now she had a sheet of paper dotted with sporadic squiggles.

It still made no sense, but there were probably hundreds of other * 168 *

marks hidden throughout all the almanacs. At best she would only ever find a few to decode.

"So basically, a mark in the illustration is only used if it lines up with something in the Bosch painting. That's the key. That's all there is to it?" Amy was skeptical. It seemed far too easy now that she had all the elements before her. But then, she supposed that's how codes worked. They were easy to use once you had the keys.

The other plant illustrations Amy knew about gave her marks that related to different hybrid figures in the painting. Now they too drifted across her paper pad. Some floated in space; others snuggled up close to each other, forming rough alphabetical letters.

Amy foraged through Marie's almanacs and found a few more marks in the illustrations of Solomon's seal, mandrake, Belladonna, cowslip-all from different years, and all in Connie's work. How long had the Garouls been doing this? She had no idea how far back it went, but believed probably since the beginning of the Press.

Maybe even since the time of Hieronymus Bosch?

Her head ached. Her eyes were tired and dry. She had barely half a page with a few words and half-formed sentences sprinkled here and there, and all in a nonsense language.

It was late in the day and she didn't want to be here when Leone and Marie returned. She was not prepared to confront them with this until she knew exactly what she was decoding. It could be a recipe for steamed fish for all she knew.

She was thirsty and went to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen. Marie had been partway through a recipe before she'd left. Idly, Amy examined the dried and fresh herbs sitting out on the bench. Henbane, juniper berries, and white wine. In the right quantities, and in the hands of an expert, this infusion would be a strong and very effective painkiller. A quick glance at the recipe notes amazed Amy. This was a whopper dose. Even a layman like her could see that a spoonful would flatten a horse. She stood and glared at the pan and its contents. What was the point of making such strong potions? Who were they for, and what good could they do? Baffled, she headed back to the office to tidy up. She could * 169 *

do no more here. She had used all the secret marks she knew of in Connie's work and had not even a paragraph to show for it. Once she'd straightened up, she decided to head back to Connie's cabin.

She needed to stop and think. She was so close...she could feel it.

But close to what?

v The heavy overcast weather had not lightened any. In fact, it looked like a storm was approaching fast. At least the rain had ceased, making the walk back a little easier.

Halfway home, and deep in the forest, a mournful howl rang out, rooting her to the spot. Its echo ricocheted through the trees, giving her no idea where it originated from, except that it was close by. The hackles on the back of her neck rose and the blood drained from her face down to her toes, rooting her to the spot. Was the prowler back? She looked around anxiously, but all was quiet.

Eerily quiet. Amy quickened her pace, wishing home were closer. A second stricken howl curdled her stomach. This one was filled with pain. With no hesitation, Amy broke into a steady jog.

The last curve in the track opened up onto the small clearing before Connie's cabin. There she skidded to a halt. Blood was splashed over the porch steps. Her door lying wide open. A trail of wet crimson led into the cabin.

"Oh, crap." Cautiously, she approached; the only other option was to run away into a forest filled with howling wolves. It was best to get indoors and quickly, providing indoors was safe. And there was only one way to find out.

She slowly mounted the porch and peered with trepidation into the gloomy interior. There was a lot of blood. This was not a small creature. She thought of the elk hanging gutted in the tree, and the snake burrowed in her bed. Had something decided this was now its pantry and left a tasty morsel for her to find?

A moan from inside made her jump back a few feet. Then she surged forward; it was a human cry. It was Paulie!

* 170 *

"Paulie! Oh God, Paulie. What's happened?" She fell on her knees beside the naked youth. He was semiconscious and his body was shaking, she assumed from shock and blood loss. He was covered in blood. She dragged a blanket off the couch to cover him, to keep him warm, and scrabbled to remember her first aid lessons.

She had to get help. A series of howls sang out the length and breadth of the valley. More cries than she could ever recall hearing.

How many wolves were out there? It creeped her out. Amy didn't want to leave Paulie here like this, but how was she going to get help? She needed to draw attention to the cabin.

She grabbed the revolver from the mantel and checked that the chamber was loaded. She ran out to her front porch. Aiming in the air, she pulled the trigger. Shots rang out sharply into the darkening sky, making their own echo down the valley. That had to get the attention of any Garoul in the vicinity. The howling immediately ceased. That unnerved her, too.

Back in the room she knelt beside Paulie. He had passed out.

With a handful of soaked dish towels, she washed the blood off his face and body, trying to see what damage was underneath. His face was unhurt. Most of the blood must be from his other wounds. She cleaned his shoulder. It had a nasty series of slashes. His hands were unharmed, just very bloody. She wiped them clean. In fact, apart from the wounds on his shoulder, he was relatively unharmed. So where had all the blood come from?

Ashadow filled the open doorway. She looked up to see Claude.

She was relieved he had arrived so soon.

He knelt beside her, examining Paulie with deft efficiency.

"It's his shoulder. It looks bad, but I don't think it's all his blood. His wound is just seeping now," Amy said. Claude nodded and wrapped the blanket tighter around Paulie, easily lifting him into his arms. Paulie moaned, starting to come around.

"It's okay, son. You did good," Claude murmured. Turning to Amy, he said, "Yeah, you're right. It is superficial. I'm taking him to Marie. She has all the stuff I need to fix him up."

Amy stood, ready to go with them. "Aren't you going to get a doctor?"

* 171 *

"Marie and I can see to this."

"But he's been attacked. We need to get him to a hospital."

"Marie's a doctor, remember? She may not practice anymore, but she can look after Paulie." Claude was adamant.

Amy was confused. This was important. Paulie was hurt. Marie had given up medicine years ago to take over the Garoul Press from her own mother, just as Leone had taken over from her. Surely Marie would want Paulie to go to the hospital?

"But-"

"Amy. Let it be." Claude was turning away with Paulie in his arms. "I know what I'm doing. It's just shock. His body is in overload and has shut down. I have to go now, okay?"

Amy silently held the door open for him to pass through.

Now was not the time to ask more questions about overloads and shutdowns, but she was hurt at being excluded.

She watched him disappear down the track. The Garouls always closed ranks on her: first over Connie, then the code, and now Paulie. But then Amy had always been the outsider; even as a child she had been aware of it. She used to put it down to the fact she came and went every vacation. Or that she wasn't really blood kin. But most of the younger Garouls came and went for the summer months, too. And Marie was Connie's partner, and had been like an adopted aunt to Amy.

Amy knew her excuses were threadbare. On some deep, unfathomable level she had been kept on the outer edges of this family and its secrets. The real question was how could she feel so connected lying in Leone's arms, yet so isolated in the real world of this valley?

Amy filled a pail with soapsuds and sluiced down her floor and porch steps. She was incredibly upset. She liked Paulie and was distressed he had been hurt. The wounds in his shoulder had been jagged and vicious. Deep, lacerating claw marks that reminded her of the marks on the trees, and on the studio wall. And that made her shudder.

v * 172 *

It was late afternoon when she finally curled up on her couch with her piece of paper and its curious drift of letters and half-formed foreign words. The day had taken its toll and she was listless and defeated. The dancing flames in the fireplace mesmerized her, so much so that she had to physically shake herself to get up and actually do something before the day slid away.

Instead of heading for the studio as she half expected to, she found herself pulling the passkey book from the shelf. She returned to the couch and began a painstaking search for her partially completed words in the langue d'oc dictionary. Slowly, she translated her marks and squiggles, guessing at some of the words and crude lettering.

She worked for hours until finally she could do no more.

Then she sat back in the mellow glow of her reading lamp, and with disbelieving eyes read, over and over, her half-formed sentences.

You are Garoul. Honored are you in the sacred groves of Gaul. Feared by Rome, the voices of Celtica sing your name...

O Keeper of the Beast within...

...the moon is in thine eye and all shall...

Long may you hunt...and...the mountain. Long may you walk among man.

* 173 *

* 174 *

chapteR nineteen.

Keeper of the Beast? She read the words over and over until her eyes swam. A beast? Of course there was a beast. She knew that. She'd known all along, but was just too stupid to actually accept it.

The Garouls locked it away in the old storage shack-except for the times it broke free and ran amok in the valley, ripping up trees, and elk, and Paulie? Her eyes widened as she thought about the claw marks on Paulie's shoulder.

At the storage cabin she had been aghast at the destruction. The door hanging off its hinges, furniture broken and strewn across the floor. But the curious cutesy curtains? Was that an attempt to give a prison some comfort?

Amy jolted. The cherry candy on the windowsill? Connie had been in that cabin. Connie had known!

What had she known? She must have been trying to break the code, too. Had she stumbled across it during her work for the Garouls and investigated the beast for herself? Was that why they had taken her away? Or had it attacked her like it had attacked Paulie?

Amy leapt to her feet in panic. Connie had realized her work was part of an elaborate code. And being Connie, she had set out to break it. Amy recalled Virgil; the prim librarian had sidled up to her every time she looked at the code books on his shelves. His interest bordered on downright nosiness. Had he really been a puzzle buddy to Connie all along? A secret ally she had kept from the Garouls?

* 175 *

Was he helping her with the code? It all made sense. Someone had left the langue d'oc book as a clue for her. And it appeared after Virgil's visit.

Connie had disappeared, and Virgil didn't know who he could trust anymore. He had to find out if Amy was friend or foe. That's why he was always snooping around. Could Virgil tell her what had really happened to Connie? He must have some idea what was going on.

Certain in her course of action, Amy grabbed her jacket and headed out the door. It was late, but if she gunned it she might get to Lost Creek before the library closed. She jogged down to the parking lot and made straight for Claude's truck. Thankfully, his keys were tucked under the visor where she'd left them, Amy took the turn for Lost Creek and sped along the dirt track as fast as she was able, throwing up plumes of dust and grit. It was a single-track road with frequent cut-outs for a vehicle to pull over and let another pass, and coming toward her was Leone's truck. She could clearly see Leone and Marie in the front seat, returning from their larder run, looking back at her in surprise. Amy kept up her speed. She knew if she capitulated first and pulled up into a passing bay Leone would stop alongside her to snoop, and then doubtless interfere and try to boss her around.

Determined, Amy hogged the road ahead in a bizarre game of chicken, not slowing down at all. With confused faces Leone and Marie pulled over and Amy blew by without so much as a glance, eyes fixed firmly ahead. She could feel Leone's glare burning into her, but she drove past, relieved the little confrontation had so easily gone her way. By the time Leone had driven Marie to the compound and found out about Paulie, Amy would be in Lost Creek getting her answers at last.

v There was a light on in the office window when Amy skidded to a halt outside the library. Frantically, she rapped on the door. A dim light lit the hallway, and a bolt slid with a loud metallic snap. A * 176 *

few more rattles and clicks followed before Virgil Bloomsy opened the door a crack and squinted out.

"Amy?" he said in sharp surprise.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but can I come in?" Her request was so urgent he didn't hesitate to open and let her enter. Deftly he locked it behind her in a reverse series of clunks and clicks. He seemed very nervous.

"Are you okay, Virgil?" Amy picked up on his twitchiness.