The Hollow

OUTSIDE, UNDER THE DIM LIGHT OF THE WAXING moon, Layla kissed Fox good night. And that brush of lips slid into a second, soft and seductive as the night air. "I just think I need to stay here tonight." But she melted into him for another. "Cybil's edgy, Quinn's distracted. And they've been poking at each other. They need a referee."



"I could stay." Gently, he grazed his teeth over her bottom lip. "Back you up."



"Then I'd be distracted. I'm already distracted." With a little groan, she eased away. "Besides, I have a feeling you'll be going to Cal's. The three of you are going to want to talk this over."



"It's a lot." He ran his hands down her arms. "You're up for it."



"That wasn't a question."



"No. I could see it. I can see it now."



Very little could have pleased her more than that single, almost casual, vote of confidence. "Time to take the next step. And by the way, I need tomorrow off."



"Okay."



"Just okay?" She shook her head. "No what for, or who the hell's going to run the office?"



"Three or four times a year-that was the limit-we could take a day off school. We just said, I don't want to go to school tomorrow, and that was okay. Never had to fake sick or sneak a hook day in. I figure the same applies to work."



She leaned into him, arms around his waist, hands linked together. "I've got a terrific boss. He even sends his parents in to check on me when he's out of the office."



Fox winced. "I may have mentioned that-"



"It's all right. In fact, it's better than all right. I had a nice chat with your mother, then one with your dad-who dazzles me a little because you look so much like him when you smile."



"Number One O'Dell Charm Tool. Never fails."



She laughed, leaned back. "There's something I should tell you before you go. I've been working it out in my head for a while now, then today, when I was talking to your father, something occurred to me. Why was I working on it so much? Why couldn't it just be? Because, well, it is."



"What is?"



"I'm in love with you." She let out a half laugh. "I love you, Fox. You're the best man I know."



He couldn't find words, not with so much blowing through him. I love you, she said, with a smile that made the words sparkle in the dark. So he lowered his brow to hers, closed his eyes, and gave himself to the moment. Here she was, he thought. Everything else was details.



Then tipping her head back, he kissed her brow, her cheeks before laying his lips on hers. "You're telling me this, then sending me home?"



She laughed again. "Afraid so."



"Maybe you could just come over for an hour. Make it two." He kissed her again, deeper, and deeper. "Let's go for three."



"I want to, but..."



Even as she started to yield-what was an hour or two when you were in love-Gage came out of the front door. "Sorry." He glanced at Fox, cocked his head. Fox nodded.



"How do the two of you manage to have a conversation without speaking?" Layla wondered as Gage strode down to his car.



"Probably has something to do with knowing each other since birth. I'm going to ride with him." Fox caught her face in his hands. "Tomorrow night."



"Yes. Tomorrow night."



"I love you." He kissed her again. "Damn it, I've gotta go." And again. "Tomorrow."



When he walked to the car, his mind was too full of her for him to notice the dark cloud that smothered the moon.



LEAVE IT TO QUINN, LAYLA THOUGHT, TO FIND the perfect bridal boutique. Every minute of the two-and-a-half-hour drive had been worth it once they'd arrived at the charming three-story Victorian house with its stunning gardens. Layla's retailer's eye noted the details-the color schemes, the decor, the fussily female sitting areas, the oh-so-flattering lighting.



And the stock. Displays of gowns, shoes, headdresses, underpinnings, all so creatively contrived, made Layla feel as if she wandered along a wedding cake, with all its froth and elegance.



"Too many choices. Too many. I'm going to choke." Quinn gripped Cybil's arm.



"You're not. We've got all day. God, have you ever seen so much white? It's a blizzard of tulle, a winter forest of shantung."



"Well, there's white, and ivory, cream, champagne, ecru," Layla began. "I'd go for the white with your coloring, Quinn. You can pull it off."



"You pick one. That's what you do-did-right?" Quinn rubbed a hand over her throat. "Why am I so nervous?"



"Because you only get married the first time once."



Quinn poked at Cybil and laughed. "Shut up. Okay." She took a steadying breath. "Natalie's setting up the dressing room," she said, referring to the shop's manager. "I'll try on what she's picked out. But we're all going to pick at least one gown each. And we have to vow to be honest. If the gown sucks on me, we say so. Everybody, spread out. Dressing room, twenty minutes."



"You'll know yours when you see yourself in it. That's the way it works." But Layla wandered off.



She looked at lace, silk, satin, beads. She studied lines and trains and necklines. As she stood, eyeing a gown, visualizing Quinn in it, Natalie bustled over.



Her cap of salt-and-pepper hair suited her gamine face. Small, black-framed glasses set it off. She was tiny and trim in a dark suit Layla imagined she chose to contrast rather than blend with the gowns.



"Quinn's ready, but doesn't want to start without you. We've got six gowns to start."



"I wonder if we can add this one."



"Of course, I'll take care of it."



"How long have you been in business?"



"My partner and I opened four years ago. I managed a bridal boutique in New York for several years before relocating."



"Really? Where?"



"I Do, Upper East Side."



"Terrific place. A friend of mine bought her gown there just a few years ago. I live-lived-" Which was it? Layla wondered. "Um, in New York. I managed a boutique downtown. Urbania."



"I know that store." Natalie beamed. "Small world."



"It is. Can I ask what made you leave I Do and New York, open here?"



"Oh, Julie and I talked about it endlessly over the years. We've been friends since our college days. She found this place, called me and said, 'Nat, this is it.' She was right. I thought she was crazy. I thought I was crazy, but she was right." Natalie angled her head. "Do you know what it's like when you find the customer exactly what she wants- exactly what's right. The look on her face, the tone in her voice?"



"Yes, I do."



"Triple it when it's your own place. Should I take you to the dressing room?"



"Yes, thanks."



There was tea in delicate china cups in a spacious room with a tall triple mirror and chairs with needlepoint cushions. Paper-thin cookies waited on a silver tray while blush pink lilies and white roses scented the air.



Layla sat, sipped, while Quinn worked her way through the selections.



"It doesn't suck." Cybil pursed her lips as Quinn turned in front of the mirror. "But it's too fussy for you. Too much..." She circled her hand. "Poof," she decided.



"I like the beadwork. It's all sparkly."



"No," was all Layla said, and Quinn sighed.



"Next."



"Better," Cybil decided. "And I'm not just saying that because it's the one I picked out. But if we're considering this the most important dress of your life, it's still not ringing the bell. I think it's too dignified-not quite enough fun."



"But I look so elegant." Quinn turned, her eyes shining as she watched herself in the triple glass. "Almost, I don't know, regal. Layla?"



"You can carry it with your height and build, and the lines are classic. No."



"But-" Quinn blew out a breath that vibrated her lips.



After two more tries and rejections, Quinn took a tea break in her bra and panties. "Maybe we should elope. We could go to Vegas, have an Elvis impersonator marry us. That could be fun."



"Your mother would kill you," Cybil reminded her as she broke one of the delicate cookies in two and offered Quinn half. "So would Frannie," she added, referring to Cal's mother.



"Maybe I'm just not built for the gown kind of thing. Maybe a cocktail dress is a better idea. We don't have to go so formal and fussy," she said as she set down the tea and picked another gown at random. "This skirt is probably going to make my ass look ten feet square." Her glance at Layla was apologetic. "Sorry, this one's your pick."



"It's your pick that counts. It's ruching-called a pickup skirt," Layla explained.



"Or we could just go for completely casual, a backyard wedding and reception. All this is just trappings." She spoke to Cybil as Layla helped her into the dress. "I love Cal. I want to marry Cal. I want the day to be a celebration of that, of what we are to each other, and to what the six of us have accomplished. I want it to symbolize our commitment, and our happiness, with a kick-ass party. I mean, for God's sake, with all we've faced, and are going to face, one stupid dress doesn't mean a thing."



As Layla stepped back, she turned around. "Oh my God." Breathless, she stared at herself. The heart-shaped bodice of the strapless gown showed off strong, toned shoulders and arms, and glittered with a sprinkle of cut-glass beads. The skirt fell from a trim waist in soft ruches of taffeta accented with pearls.



With her fingertips, Quinn touched the skirt very lightly "Cyb?"



"Well, God." Cybil knuckled a tear away. "I didn't expect to react this way. Jesus, Q, it's perfect. You're perfect."



"Please tell me it doesn't make my ass look ten feet square. Lie if you must."



"Your ass looks great. Damn, I need a tissue."



"Remember everything I just said about the dress and the trappings not being important? Now forget I said any of that. Layla." Quinn closed her eyes, crossed her fingers. "What do you think?"



"I don't have to tell you. You know it's yours."



SPRING BROUGHT COLOR TO THE HOLLOW WITH greening willows reflected in the pond at the park, with the redbuds and wild dogwoods blooming in the woods, along the roadsides. The days lengthened and warmed in a teasing preview of the summer to come.



With spring, porches gleamed with fresh paint and gardens shot out a riot of blooms. Lawnmowers hummed and buzzed until the smell of freshly cut grass sweetened the air. Kids played baseball, and men cleaned their barbecue grills.



And with spring, the dreams came harder.



Fox woke in a cold sweat. He could still smell the blood, the hellsmoke, the charred bodies of the doomed and damned. His throat throbbed from the shouts that had ripped out of him in dreams. Running, he thought, he'd been running. His lungs still burned from the effort, and his heart still drummed. He'd been running through the deserted streets of the Hollow, flaming buildings around him, as he tried to reach Layla before she...



He reached over; found her gone.



He leaped out of bed, snagging a pair of boxers on the run. He called out for her, but he knew-before he saw the door standing open, he knew where her own dream lured her.



He was out the door, into the cool spring night, and running, just as he'd run in the dream. Bare feet slapping in a wild tattoo on brick, asphalt, grass. Fetid smoke hazed the deserted streets, stinging his eyes, scoring his throat. All around him, buildings roared with flame. Not real, he told himself. The fires were lies, but the danger was real. Even as the heat scorched his skin, as it seemed to burn up through the bricks to sear his feet, he ran.



His heart hammered even when he saw her, walking through the false flames. She glided through the smoke, like a wraith, the mad lights from the fires rippling over her body. He called, but she didn't turn, didn't stop. When he caught her, yanked her around to face him, her eyes were blind.



"Layla." He shook her. "Wake up. What are you doing?"



"I am damned." She almost sang it, and her smile was tortured. "We are all of us damned."



"Come on. Come home."



"No. No. I am the Mother of Death."



"Layla. You're Layla." He tried to push himself into the haze of her mind, and found only Hester's madness. "Come back." Chaining down his own panic, he tightened his grip. "Layla, come back." As she fought to break free, he simply locked his arms around her. "I love you. Layla, I love you." Holding tight, he drowned everything else, fear, rage, pain, with love.



In his arms, she went limp, then began to shudder. "Fox."



"It's okay. It's not real. I've got you. I'm real. Do you understand?"



"Yes. I can't think. Are we dreaming?"



"Not anymore. We're going to go back. We're going to get inside." He kept an arm firmly around her waist as he turned.



The boy skimmed along the fire. He rode it as a human child might a skateboard, with glee and delight while his dark hair flew in the wild wind. As the rage rolled into Fox, he poised to spring.



"Don't." Her voice was thick with exhaustion as Layla leaned her weight against Fox. "It wants you to, it wants to separate us. I think we're stronger together, holding on to each other."



Death for one, life for the other. I'll drink your blood, boy, then plant my young in your human bitch.



"Don't!" This time Layla had to lock her arms around Fox's neck to keep him from rushing forward. She pushed her thoughts into his head. We can't win here. Stay with me. You have to stay with me. "Don't leave me," she said aloud.



It was brutal, walking away, struggling to ignore the filth the thing hurled at them. To continue to walk as the boy whipped around them in circles, taunting, howling as it flew on its skate of flame. But as they walked, the fires sputtered. By the time they climbed the steps to his apartment, the night was clear and cool again, and carried only the dying hint of brimstone.



"You're cold. Let's get back in bed."



"I just need to sit." She lowered to a chair, and helpless to do otherwise, let the trembling take her. "How did you find me?"



"I dreamed it. Running across town, the fire, all of it." To warm her, he grabbed the throw his mother had made him off the couch, spread it over Layla's bare legs. "To the park, to the pond. But in the dream, I was too late. You were dead when I pulled you out of the water."



She reached for his hands, found them as icy as hers. "I need to tell you. It was like back in New York, when I dreamed it raped me. When I dreamed I was Hester, and how it raped me. I wanted it to stop, to end. I was going to kill myself, drown myself. She was. I couldn't stop her. It had my mind."



"It doesn't have it now."



"It's stronger. You felt that. You know that. Fox, it nearly made me kill myself. If it's strong enough to do that, if we're not immune-Quinn, Cybil, and I-it could make us hurt you. It could make me kill you."



"No."



"Damn it, what if he had made me go into the kitchen, get a knife, and stab it into your heart? If it can take us over when we sleep then-"



"If it could have infected you that way, to kill me, it would have. Offing me or Cal or Gage, that's its number one. You come from it and Hester, so it used Hester against you. Otherwise, I'd be dead with a knife in my heart, and you'd be going under for the third time in the pond. You've got a logical mind, Layla. That's logical."



She nodded, and though she struggled, the first tears escaped. "It raped me. I know it wasn't me, I know it wasn't real, but I felt it. Clawing at me. Ramming inside me. Fox."



As she broke, he gathered her in, gathered her up. There was no hell dark enough, he thought, cradling her in his lap, rocking her as she sobbed.



"I couldn't scream," she managed, and pressed her face to the plane of his shoulder. "I couldn't stop it. Then I didn't care, or couldn't. It was Hester. She just wanted to end it."



"Do you want me to call Quinn and Cybil? Would you rather-"



"No. No."



"It used that. The shock, the trauma, to push your will down." He brushed at her hair. "We won't let it happen again. I won't let him touch you again." He lifted her face, brushed at her tears with his thumbs. "I swear to you, Layla, whatever has to be done, he won't touch you again."



"You found me, before I found myself." She laid her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes. "We won't let it happen again."



"In a few days, we'll take the next step. We're not going through this to lose. And when we end this thing, you'll be part of that. You'll be part of what ends it."



"I want it to hurt." On that realization, her voice strengthened. "I want it to scream, the way I was screaming in my head." When she opened her eyes again, they were clear. "I wish there was a way we could lock him out of our heads. Like garlic with vampires. That sounds stupid."



"It sounds good to me. Maybe our research ace can come up with something."



"Maybe. I need to take a shower. That sounds stupid, too, but-"



"No, it doesn't."



"Will you talk to me while I do? Just talk?"



"Sure."



She left the door open, and he stood leaning against the jamb. "Pretty close to morning," he commented. "I've got some farm fresh eggs, courtesy of my mother." Switch to normal, he told himself. That's what they both needed. "I can scramble some up. I haven't cooked for you yet."



"I think you opened a couple of soup cans during the blizzard when we stayed at Cal's."



"Oh, well, then I have cooked. I'll still scramble some eggs. Bonus feature."



"When we went to the Pagan Stone before, it wasn't as strong as it is now."



"No."



"It'll get stronger."



"So will we. I can't love you this much-scrambling eggs much-and not get stronger than I was before you."



Under the hot spray, she closed her eyes. It wasn't the soap and water making her feel clean. It was Fox. "No one's ever loved me scrambling eggs much. I like it."



"Play your cards right, and that might bump up one day to my regionally famous BLT."



She turned off the water, stepped out for a towel. "I'm not sure I'm worthy."



"Oh." He grinned as he trailed his gaze over her. "Believe me. I can also toast a bagel, if I have the incentive."



She stopped in the doorway. "Got a bagel?"



"Not at the moment, but the bakery'll be open in about an hour."



She laughed-God what a relief to laugh-and moved by him to get the robe she stashed in his closet.



"Lots of excellent bakeries in New York," he commented. "The city of bagels. So, I've been thinking, as I like a good bakery, and a good bagel, after this summer I could look into taking the bar up there."



She turned back as she belted the robe. "The bar?"



"Most law firms are fussy about hiring on associates unless they pass their particular bar. The sublet on your apartment runs through August. Maybe you'd want to hang here until after Cal and Quinn get married in September anyway. Or you might want to find a new place up there. Plenty of time to decide."



She stood where she was, studying his face. "You're talking about moving to New York."



"I'm talking about being with you. It doesn't matter where."



"This is your home. Your practice is here."



"I love you. We covered that, didn't we?" He stepped to her. "We covered the part about you loving me back, right?"



"Yes."



"People in love generally want to be together. You want to be with me, Layla?"



"Yes. Yes, I want to be with you."



"Okay then." He kissed her lightly. "I'll go break some eggs."



LATER THAT MORNING, FOX SAT IN CAL'S OFFICE, rubbing a foot over Lump's hindquarters. Gage paced. He hated being here, Fox knew, but it couldn't be helped. It was private, and it was convenient. Most of all, Fox had taken a personal vow to stay within hailing distance of Layla until the full moon.



"There has to be a reason it targets her, specifically, for this. Fucking rapist."



"And if we knew the reason, we could stop it." Cal nodded. "It could be that she's the loosest link. Meaning, the three of us go back all the way. Quinn and Cybil since college. None of us knew Layla until February."



"Or the evil bastard could've just rolled the dice." Gage stopped by the window, saw nothing of interest, moved on. "None of the others have shown any signs of infection."



"It's different. It's not like what happens to people during the Seven. It's only happened, the rape, when she's asleep. And it was a kind of sleepwalking after. Following the same pattern as Hester Deale. Lots of ways to kill yourself, and we've seen plenty. But it was going to be drowning, in an outdoor body of water. Same as Hester. Maybe it had to be."



"One of us stays at the house at night until this is over," Cal decided. "Even if Layla's at your place, Fox, none of them are left alone at night from here on."



"That's where I was heading. Once we've done our full-moon dance, we should look into this angle more. We need to find a way to stop this, to protect her-all of them."



"Day after tomorrow," Gage muttered. "Thank Christ. Has anybody been able to squeeze more details out of Madam Voltar?"



Cal's lips twitched. "Not really. If Quinn knows, she's got it zipped, too. All she'll say is Cybil's fine-tuning. Then, she distracts me with her body, which isn't hard to do."



"She writes the script." Fox lifted his hands at Gage's snort. "Look, we tried it our way, various ways, and managed dick. Let the lady have a shot at it."



"The lady's worried we're all going to die. Or five out of six of us."



"Better worried than too cocky," Fox decided. "She'll cross all her t's. That's one smart skirt. Added to, she loves Quinn. Layla, too, but she and Quinn are as tight as it gets."



Fox pushed to his feet. "I've got to get back to the office. Speaking of which, I'm thinking I'll probably be moving to New York after you and Quinn get married."



"God, another with a hook in his mouth." Gage shook his head. "Or maybe it's a ring through the nose."



"Bite me. I haven't said anything to my family yet. I'm going to ease into that by degrees." Fox studied Cal's face as he spoke. "But I thought I'd give you a heads-up. I'm figuring I'll wait until after the Seven to put the building on the market. I've got some decent equity in it, and the market's pretty stable, so-"



"Eternally the optimist. Brother, for all you know that place'll be rubble come July fourteenth."



This time Fox simply shot Gage his middle finger. "Anyway. I thought you or your father might be interested in it. If you are, we'll kick around some figures at some point."



"It's a big step, Fox," Cal said slowly. "You're established here, not just personally, but with your practice."



"Not everybody can stay. You won't," Fox said to Gage.



"No, I won't."



"But you come back, and you'll keep coming back. So will I." Fox turned his wrist up, and that scar that ran across it. "Nothing erases this. Nothing can. And hell, New York's only a few hours away. I zipped up and down Ninety-five the whole time I was in law school. It's..."



"When you were with Carly."



"Yeah." He nodded at Cal. "It's different now. I've still got a few lines up there, so I'll put some feelers out, see what comes. But right now I've got some town lawyer business to take care of. I can take a shift at the house tonight," he added as he started for the door. "But I still say those women have to get ESPN."



Gage sat on the corner of Cal's desk when Fox left. "He'll hate it."



"Yeah, he will."



"He'll do it anyway, and he'll find a way to make it work. Because that's what O'Dell's about. Making it work."



"He'd have tried with Carly. I don't know if he could've pulled it off, but he'd have tried. But he's right. It's different with Layla. He'll make it work, and I'm the one who's going to hate it. Not being able to see his stupid face every damn day."



"Cheer up. Five out of six of us could be dead in a couple days."



"Thanks. That helps."



"Anything I can do." Gage straightened. "I've got some business of my own. Catch you later."



He was nearly to the door when his father stepped up to it. They both stopped as if they'd walked into a wall. Helplessly, Cal got to his feet.



"Ah... Bill, why don't you check the exhaust fan on the grill? I'll be down in a minute. I'm nearly done here."



As the pink the climb up had put in his cheeks faded, Bill stared at his son. "Gage-"



"No." It was an empty word in an empty voice as Gage walked out. "We are done."



At his desk, Cal rubbed at the fresh tension in his neck as Bill turned shamed eyes on him. "Um... What'd you want me to check?"



"The grill exhaust. It's running a little rough. Take your time."



Alone, Cal lowered to his chair, pressed his fingers to his eyes. His friends, his brothers, he thought, had both chosen rocky roads. There was nothing he could do but go with them, as far as it took.