Page 19 of Rattling Bone (OutFoxing the Paranormal #2)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Chris here again,” crackled Nigel’s walkie talkie.

Nigel paused, glad for the excuse to stop climbing the damn hill, or mountain, whatever it was at this point. Icy air excoriated his throat as he tried to catch his breath, and his heart drummed against his ribs. Fuck, he needed to get to the gym.

“Nigel here,” he replied, hoping he didn’t sound as out of shape as he was.

He let go of the transmit button and waited for Oscar to chime in.

There was only silence.

His pulse, which had started to slow down a bit, kicked back into high gear. “Oscar? Are you there?”

Nothing.

“Boss?” Chris chimed in. “Let us know you’re all right, over.”

The cold air was nothing compared to the chill that flooded Nigel’s veins. Abandoning use of the walkie talkie, he shouted, “Oscar!”

The snow deadened the sound; it fell flat against the shrouded landscape.

Fuck, he’d known this was a bad idea, he’d known it, but of course Oscar wouldn’t listen to reason. Of course he had to put himself out here, tempt a ghost who wanted him dead, all for the sake of keeping it away from his goddamned father.

Cursing every last one of Oscar’s ancestors, Nigel began to thrash through the low-hanging branches in the direction he thought Oscar had been in. “Oscar!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “I’m coming! Just hold on!”

But no matter how loud he shouted, the snow devoured his words.

* * *

Oscar took a deep, calming breath and stood very still. He concentrated on his surroundings with every sense he had.

There was something coming.

The EMF meter at his waist blipped—then began to beep, faster and louder as the presence drew closer.

He swallowed, but kept his feet firmly planted. “Agnes Dillon,” he called, keeping any tremors from his voice, “I’m Oscar Fox, your great grandnephew, descended from your little sister Virginia. I want to help you. Show me your bones, and I’ll give them a proper burial.”

A gust of wind blew the snow nearly sidewise, shaking the limbs of the trees so snow cascaded from them. He unhooked his EMF meter; it kept climbing, closer and closer to red.

“You need to cross over,” he said. “I can help you do that.”

The wind gusted again—then seemed to swirl oddly. For a moment, Oscar thought it was a small snow devil, until he realized the shape it was forming wasn’t a simple whirlwind.

It was a woman.

His EMF meter screamed into the red, just as she lunged at him.

* * *

“Oscar!” Nigel shouted, though his voice was going hoarse.

“Answer us!” Chris yelled. They’d caught up with Nigel, snow caked on their coat and hat so they looked almost like a living snowperson. “Oscar!”

Nigel looked around wildly, squinting through the snow. It was coming down harder than ever, and the light fading fast. He clicked on his flashlight, hoping for a glimpse of Oscar’s bright orange coat, but the beam only reflected blinding white snowflakes.

Dread filled him, and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Damn it, why hadn’t he argued more? Why hadn’t he insisted they stick together?

“Are we going the right way?” Chris asked, scanning their surroundings.

Visibility was cut to a few feet in every direction, nothing but white snow and gray trees. “I think so,” Nigel said, though he honestly wasn’t sure. “But the ghost turned Julie’s husband around, separated them…”

Chris shook their head. “We can’t think like that. We have to keep going.” They cupped their hands around their mouth. “Oscar!”

Nigel trudged after them, adding his own voice to their calls. But in truth, he wanted to crumple to the ground, wanted to curl up in a ball, wanted to scream in frustration and anguish.

Oscar had such high hopes when they came here. But Scott Fox refused to let go of his own trauma long enough to listen to his son, to hear his only child practically beg for a chance to set things right. He’d locked himself away, forced Oscar into this position.

And Nigel hadn’t argued hard enough, or done enough. If he’d only known, maybe there was something he could have done; maybe he could have claimed Ms. Montague wouldn’t or couldn’t get them the supplies they needed.

Not that it would have stopped Oscar.

More than anything, Nigel wanted to be back in his apartment in Durham, cuddled up on the couch with Oscar. Watching one of the romantic Christmas movies Oscar loved so much, drinking hot chocolate spiked with rum.

Instead, here he was, stumbling around a freezing mountainside, possibly lost. And Oscar was gone, maybe dying alone in the snow, with only a ghost for company.

* * *

Oscar jerked back instinctively as the ghost roared at him through the snow. His heel caught a root—and then he was falling, sliding down a steep slope. Tree branches whipped his back, and he grabbed futilely at them, but they evaded his grasping fingers as if pulled away by an unseen hand.

He hit the bottom of the slope, in a crunch of ice, EMF meter falling silent as it shattered on a rounded stone. A tiny stream, barely large enough to earn the word, trickled along the lowest point. Probably had carved the ravine it lay in over thousands, millions, of years, whatever expanse it took to wear away the very bones of the earth.

Oscar probably wasn’t even going to be the first living thing to die here, on his back with his elbows soaking in its icy water.

As he stared up the slope, trying to catch the breath knocked out of him, the snow swirled into an ominous shape.

She was coming.

Oscar concentrated as hard as he could on the shield of his old uniform, the imagined white light pouring from above, down through the top of his head, filling him with psychic energy.

“Stop!” he ordered as firmly as he could. “Spirit of Agnes Dillon, leave this place! Your time is gone.”

She did pause, at least, a few feet away. The snow swirled, giving him a crude idea of features, long hair, a dress.

“Murdered,” said a cold, angry voice that was just as much inside his head as without.

Okay. She was talking to him—that had to be a good sign, right? “I know,” he said. “Ivan Corbett murdered you for your land. But you had your revenge on him over a century ago. The people you’ve hurt since had no part in his crime.” He hesitated, uncertain if he should risk pushing too far. “You hurt Barbara Fox, your own grandniece, when she came here.”

If he’d hoped for remorse, it didn’t come. “A Corbett,” she snarled, and the swirling snow grew more agitated.

Fuck. Oscar swallowed against a throat gone suddenly dry. “She had Corbett blood, yes, but she had your blood, too. She wasn’t responsible for Ivan’s crimes. Neither was Julie, or Jeff, or anyone but Ivan himself. You had your revenge; it’s time for you to move on!”

“Not while they’re still here.” Was she closer now, or was that a trick of her form and the fading light?

His heart pounded, and a metallic taste filled his mouth. “If I remove them, will you stop?”

She paused. The world was silent except for the susurration of snow. Oscar clenched his teeth together to keep them from chattering.

“Remove every Corbett from my land by midnight,” said her whispery, cold voice, “and I will spare your life.”

Then the swirl of snow collapsed, and he was alone.