Dances With Demons - A Phoenix Chronicle Novella Read Online Free PDF Page B

appeared for an instant as if we’d drive right off the edge of the earth and into that sea. Then a cottage seemed to rise out of the earth, and the road ended at its own bright red door.
    “Was the town named after the doors, or were the doors painted red after the naming of the town?”
    Ben cast me a quick glance. “A better question might be be; Why are the doors red?”
    “Why?”
    He sighed and got out of the car as if I’d asked him a hundred annoying questions, instead of only the one he’d proposed. “Red doors are found all over Ireland.”
    Ben snatched my bag and headed for that door. I scrambled up the cobblestone walk in his wake. “Why?”
    If he was going to treat me like a three year old, I might as well act like one.
    “To ward off evil spirits.”
    I laughed. Ben did not.
    “Why?” I said again.
    He opened the red door—wasn’t locked, did the color red also keep out thieves?—then cast me a sour glance over his shoulder. “Blood of the lamb.”
    “I... what?”
    “Have ye read yer Bible lately?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “Blood of the lamb on the doorposts protected the Hebrews from the plague of the firstborn.”
    I knew that. What I didn’t know was what it had to do with this.
    “This is an ancient land,” Ben continued. “With ancient legends and beliefs.”
    “Like the Hebrews,” I agreed, and his sour gaze turned shrewd.
    “Yer smarter than ye appear.”
    “Thanks?”
    The sour returned.
    “It’s a symbolic connection then?” I continued, unable to keep my curiosity to myself. “Red paint instead of blood, evil spirits instead of the hand of God?” I’d heard of looser connections.
    “Whatever ye say.” Ben stepped inside.
    The stone cottage had two rooms—one a combination living and kitchen area, the second a bedroom. That there was no third meant the bath... wasn’t. Hell. How old was this place?
     Handmade, glossy wood furniture gave the place a rustic air that was complimented by the rough-hewn cabinets and floor. The ceiling had appeared thatch from the outside, but inside it presented solid sturdy beams and tight planking that would keep the rain and wind out.
    “No one really believes a red door turns away evil spirits, do they?”
    “If not, then why have one?”
    “You believe there are evil spirits?”
    Ben’s gaze met mine. “Don’t you?”
    I did. I’d seen them, but I was one of the few. And the one I’d seen... well, I doubted she’d be deterred by a red door.
    Ben made a sound deep in his throat—both amusement and disgust—how did he do that? “The Irish are a superstitious lot. And the red doors are a bit pretty, aren’t they?”
    I nodded, my gaze on his face. Something in his dark eyes bothered me. “Why was the town named Red Door?”
    That smacked more of a need for protection than a bit of pretty superstition.
    Ben hesitated, then lifted one shoulder as if saying: She’ll find out anyway.
    “There’s a local legend.” He glanced out the back window, at a garden as overgrown as my own.
    “Of evil spirits?”
    “ Cat dubh ,” he murmured, sounding as if he were in a trance.
    “Black cat?” I didn’t know much Gaelic, but I did know the word for black. “A black kitty cat caused the entire town to paint their doors red, then name the place that for good measure when they could have just—” I paused not wanting to voice what they could have done. “The Irish can’t be that superstitious.”
    Ben spun, fingers clenched. “’Twas not a pussy cat but a long, lean killing machine.”
    I resisted the urge to laugh again. He wasn’t kidding.
    I spread my hands to indicate the size of a tom cat, lifted my eyebrows. Ben shook his head and opened his arms wide, then emitted a snarl so vicious, the hair on my neck fluttered.
    “That sounds like a—” I searched my mind for the right animal. Big, black, vicious cat equaled—
    “Panther,” Ben said.
    A sudden image of the statue in my garden flickered. That