The Marked Son (Keepers of Life) by Shea Berkley Page A

Knowing Mom, she didn’t want to bother with me and a pet.
    Grandpa quickly sends the dogs out to keep the sheep in a tight knot and away from the downed ewe. “All right, Reggie, what happened?”
    “It’s Willow,” Reggie says in a pained voice. “She’s dead.”
    A series of cuss words fly out of Grandpa’s mouth, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “How?”
    They go to where the other men are and I follow. It’s a strange sight. The ewe is lying on her side like she’s asleep, but there are a lot of red speckles in her wool, and when Grandpa digs deeper, he finds tiny marks where blood has seeped out. He sits back on his haunches, his eyes still on the ewe.
    Reggie scratches his head. “I don’t know anything that does that.”
    Grandpa examines the poor animal, taking pictures with his camera phone as he does. “There’s blood everywhere.”
    The old man standing next to Reggie does a bunch of quick hand gestures, and I realize he’s using sign language. He and his son begin arguing, and I see the old man is lip reading. After a few moments, Reggie shakes his head and turns away, but the old man pulls him back.
    “What’s he saying, Leo?” Grandpa asks.
    The younger guy—who’s probably a few years older than me—digs his toe into the earth and mutters, “Something about men from another world.” His deep voice is at odds with his young appearance.
    “Aliens?”
    “Just Pop being Pop.”
    Grandpa’s hand balls into a fist, and he slowly mouths the words so Pop is sure to understand. “I don’t need superstition right now. I need answers.”
    The old man drops his hands. Leo shrugs at Grandpa. “Sorry. He can be crazy.”
    “Mind your manners,” Reggie snaps. He squats next to the dead ewe. “What’s your take, boss?”
    “I don’t know.” Grandpa’s forehead wrinkles. He probes the tall grass around the ewe. “Where’s her baby?”
    “Can’t find him.”
    Grandpa stands. The skin around his eyes crinkles against the mid-morning sunlight as he looks around. “Any prints?”
    The three men grow nervous. “None.”
    “Any clues at all?” Tension mounts in Grandpa’s voice.
    Reggie shakes his head. “Not that we can find.”
    “Look harder,” Grandpa barks, and then eyes Leo. “Get me my kit.”
    As Reggie and Pop fan out to do another sweep of the area, Leo brings back a small plastic box. It’s some sort of medical kit. Grandpa pulls out a needle and a tube and draws some blood from the dead ewe.
    I squat down next to him. “What do you think happened?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    “A vampire bat?” Leo suggests.
    “Bats around here are insect eaters. You’d have to go pretty far south to get vampire bats.”
    Leo leans closer and whispers to me. “Pop swears these woods are haunted by people we can’t see until they want us to see them. By then, it’s too late.”
    An unexpected prickling attacks my skin. Haunted? I quickly stand and peer into the woods. Did the girl in white do this? I shiver. The thought is beyond creepy.
    Grandpa scowls hard and shakes the vial so the blood won’t clot, completely unaware of Leo’s new theory, and my sudden attention to it.
    The trees crowd the meadow, all nearly identical in height and color, except a nearby tree. There’s a dark, strangely-shaped spot midway up its trunk. I skirt the dead ewe to get a better look. “What’s this?”
    Grandpa and Leo join me. The tree is scarred, the design rendered in deep, blackened strokes. From far off it looks like a smudge. Only when I get closer can I make out the design, and it isn’t pretty. There’s something sinister about the circle and the deep gouges that pass through it.
    Grandpa shouts over his shoulder, “Are any of the other trees defaced like this one?”
    Reggie and Pop rejoin us, and when Pop sees the symbol, he steps back and spits on the ground.
    Reggie touches the scarred bark. “This isn’t good.”
    “Why?” I ask. “It’s just a stupid design someone