Awaken the Curse (5 page)

“I’ll concede that point, but the obelisk has four slots. Why go to all this trouble for just one of the disks?”

“Maybe our suspect already has the other three.”

“Maybe.” And just maybe keeping James focused on the mystery of the Imnada’s obelisk would make him too busy to pay attention to her. It would work. It
had
to work. Her willpower couldn’t withstand another silken assault. She’d collapse like a house of cards.

Pushing aside her tea, she lifted her head, determination firming her chin, though she couldn’t quite disguise the tremble in her fingers when she met his gold-flecked gaze. “Father believes the obelisk is a tomb marker.”

James had been leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head, staring into the rafters. But at her words, he sat up, concentration giving his face a severity it didn’t normally wear. “But the Imnada didn’t bury their dead. They burned them,” he said, a brow cocked in question, but that was far better than the keen-edged intensity of earlier that fluttered her stomach and made her forget every resolution she’d ever made about men in general and James Farraday in particular.

“Not all of them,” she answered, her voice growing stronger. “According to the legends Father’s collected in the last weeks, those guilty of crimes against the clan would be put to death, then buried with a stake through the heart to bind them to the earth. It was seen as a final insult and an eternal punishment.”

“Bloodthirsty, vengeful bunch, weren’t they?”

“That’s why Father was so intrigued. What kind of criminal would warrant such a monument?”

“And if that’s the case, what part do the disks play?” He paused in his reading of a stray page lined with her father’s messy handwriting. His expression hardened to one of implacable determination.“I don’t want you going out alone, Katherine. Not until I know where the threat lies.”

Wait a moment. Turning his attention to the obelisk was one thing. Shoving her completely out of the picture was quite another. “You mean until
we
know,” she clarified. “I won’t be frightened away, James, and I won’t be told what I will or will not do. My father has disappeared. I have a right to help.”

“Does your pigheaded attitude extend to anyone who orders you about or just me?”

She offered him a buttery smile. “You’re a special case.”

“Glad to know you rate me as special.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No?” he asked, his expression completely earnest and completely heart-stopping. “What
did
you mean?”

Back came the horrid fluttering, but this time it was accompanied by a flush of heat spreading along her limbs and a deep pulsing between her legs. She stood in a ruffle of skirts. “I’ll send for Cade. We can put our questions to him and discover if he has any more news of Father.”

She crossed to the door, pulling it open to find Enid just outside, her wrinkled face pulled into her usual scowl. “Come to tell ye Cade’s not back yet, miss. Nor am I thinking we’ll see him before morning.”

“Why not?” James asked.

“The mists have come down across the valley, milord. There’s no finding your way through them. Not when they lie so thick.” She turned to Katherine for reinforcement. “You know that, miss.”

James went to the window, pushing aside the curtain. Beyond the glass all was a swirl of damp that settled over the house like a shroud. “Surely it’s not so bad.”

“No, I’m afraid she’s right,” Katherine confirmed. “These mists are infamous. People go missing and perish in the mountains or wind up miles from where they thought they were. Cade will have to wait until it lifts. Thank you, Enid.”

After Enid’s departure, James continued to stare out into the night, a pensive frown drawing his brows together.

“Do you think Monsieur d’Espe seeks the disk so he can open the tomb?” Katherine asked.

James dropped the curtain with a shake of his head. “Could be. Or perhaps someone else doesn’t want it opened—ever.”

Chapter 3

James squinted against the morning sun glittering across the snow. All trace of the mist had evaporated but for remnants hanging wispy round the chimney tops. The snow underfoot squeaked with every step and the air held a mind-sharpening chill that stung his cheeks.

Katherine was already at the stable waiting for him. She wore an old coat of her father’s, a great woolen thing with a fur collar that draped all the way to her scuffed boots. With her hair stuffed under a hat and her hands encased in knitted mittens, she was as far as one could get from the bejeweled damsels flitting through London’s salons and ballrooms. And James would gladly have peeled off every bundled layer to the peach-soft perfumed skin he knew lay beneath.

“You weren’t planning to sneak off without me, were you?” she asked with a smug arch of her brows.

Of course, there was much to be said for those London damsels. For starters, they didn’t talk back. “That was the general idea. I don’t think it’s wise for you to be out there, Katherine. What if the shooter returns?”

She smiled. “I’m far ahead of you. Cade returned early this morning. I’ve instructed him to accompany us. If he’s guilty, better to keep him close. And if he’s innocent, he’s another set of eyes and another weapon in case we need it.”

Stubborn, but he had to admit, damn clever.

“Any news of the professor?” he asked, hoisting the pack he carried farther up on his shoulder.

The smile faded and she bit her lip, her gaze slanting away as she shook her head. “Nothing yet, though Cade said there are a few places still cut off by the snow. Father might be caught wherever he is until the passes are clear.”

“Are ye ready, Miss Lacey?” Cade led a shaggy mountain pony from the stable, supplies already strapped to its back. “We’ll not want to waste any time.” He cast a weather eye to the gray clouds. “Could be rough later, and it’s never smart to be caught out after dark.”

“Nightwalkers?” James ventured, studying the man for signs of guilt.

Cade’s gaze sharpened with a strange gleam. “Not all dangers up here are otherworldly, milord. Loosened snowpack, hidden clefts and gorges, obscured trails. It takes only one wrong step to get into trouble when the snow is flying.”

“Do you think that’s what happened to Professor Lacey?”

“More likely than a bunch of ghosts carting him away. No, milord, I warned the professor the day he ventured out. Told him we were in for a blow, but he was stubborn and wouldn’t listen. Nor would he wait for me when I offered to go with him. Said he needed to check on a hunch at the obelisk.”

“And disappeared the same day. How convenient.”

Cade stiffened, brows drawn into a scowl, mouth firmed to a bullish line. “Are you accusing me, milord?”

“Just speculating with the clues given.”

“Why would I want the professor to disappear? You tell me that. I’ve spent days and nights traveling over the mountain in search of him.”

James gave a lift of his shoulders, his coat sliding open to reveal his holstered pistol. “Yes, but how hard did you look?”

*   *   *

Like an enormous sundial, the obelisk cast a long, knifelike shadow over the snow, ticking off the impatient hours that Katherine had spent observing it. James stood at its eastern face, fingers running back and forth over the worn runes etched up and down its length, checking his findings against notes in a battered ledger. What he hoped to discover was completely beyond her. Father had said the ancient symbols were too faded, their meaning unknowable, but that didn’t seem to hinder James, who’d done little more than grunt in her direction since they’d arrived. Not that she was complaining. After all, that had been her plan: to turn his attention elsewhere to give her common sense a little breathing room. Unfortunately, her common sense was not cooperating. Instead, it plagued her with impossible ideas.

That part of her life had ended. She was definitely older. Hopefully wiser. Though one wouldn’t know it by her actions last night. Her complete mortification was only alleviated by the fact that James hadn’t alluded to it once—not one leading comment or a single sly dig. Part of her attributed it to chivalrous consideration, while the louder and more cynical side chalked it up to rakish indifference. But did it matter so long as he bit his tongue? No. She did not care. It would not happen again.

She would be strong.

She would be firm.

She would not in any way, shape, or form melt like hot butter at the first hint of his devilish care-for-nothing smile.

Forcing her mind into more suitable and less stomach-swooping channels, she directed a furtive glance toward Cade, who walked the clearing like a sentinel, musket held loosely in his arms. Rather than calming her nerves, his morose, simmering presence tightened the muscles in Katherine’s back. Had he been the one to shoot at them yesterday? Did he know more about Father’s disappearance than he let on? Should she have sent him out again today rather than keeping him close in case of trouble? Questions dogged her as she scanned the ground, half-expecting, half-dreading to find another of Father’s buttons or perhaps a handkerchief, a pen nib, a sheet of paper. A trail left like bread crumbs that would lead her to her father.

The wind plucked at her heavy skirts, the sky above gunmetal gray. Cade had predicted more snow by nightfall, but already a few flakes dusted her shoulders. They needed to start for home soon if they didn’t want to get caught out on the mountain in a storm.

“I knew it.” James’s voice freed her from the dragging anchor of her thoughts. “The answer was there all along.”

“Which is?” She retraced her steps to the obelisk, where James was madly flipping pages back and forth.

“Time and weather have all but erased the markings, but from what I can decipher, your father was right. The obelisk is a tomb marker. And not just any tomb. If my hunch is correct, this tomb belongs to the ancient Imnada chieftain Lucan himself.”

“King Arthur’s betrayer? I don’t believe it.” Yet Katherine eyed the tall weathered stone with trepidation, as if saying the treacherous chieftain’s name out loud had awoken some evil presence within the granite heart. It seemed to take on a new and ominous quality. A watching silence. “How can you be certain?”

“It was your question about the criminal’s grave that gave me the clue. After that, it was a reconciliation of your father’s notes and my own research.”

A grim-faced Cade approached, his musket gripped loosely at his side. “That old trail marker, a monument to a warlord? You’re as fanciful as the professor.”

James shot the man a dark scowl. “Is that what you think this is? A signpost? Out here in an overgrown clearing in the middle of nowhere?”

Cade’s hands tightened on the musket. “These mountains may be home to naught but sheepherders now, but not always. In ages past, the men and women who made their lives in the shadow of these crags spilled much blood to keep intruders out.”

“Which only cements my theory. This place was a perfect retreat for Imnada fleeing the slaughters sparked by King Arthur’s death.” James reached up to run his hands over the worn and mossy symbols. “The runes tell the story. This is the sign for treasure, and here is the crescent mark of the Imnada. What the people around here quaintly call nightwalkers.”

“They’re spirits, milord. Phantoms.” Cade tossed his head in disgust, pushing back through the snow toward the tree line. “Children’s stories.”

Katherine traced the descending symbols. “I can understand why the Imnada buried Lucan like a criminal upon his death. The man was a vicious monster with the blood of an entire race on his hands. But why erect such a lavish monument afterwards?”

James’s attention shifted away from Cade, though she noticed a new tension stiffening his shoulders. “That I don’t know—yet.”

“And what of the four disks? Does your research explain their importance?”

“No, but I have a feeling the professor discovered the truth. If we find him, we find the answer.”

She speared him with a cool look. “When, not if.
When
we find my father.”

James’s expression revealed the truth she’d tried so hard to deny, but he simply nodded.

“He’s not dead, James,” she asserted. “I’d feel it.”

She started to walk away, but he grabbed her hand, his fingers threading with hers. “Our hearts can play us false, Katherine. We see what we want to see. I know that too well.”

“He’s not dead. I—”

“Sorry to break up your cozy chat, milord, but as we’re on the subject of the disk, I’d like you to be handing it over.”

Katherine caught a quick flash of Cade’s aimed musket barrel and determined expression before James shoved her behind him, his hand falling to his pistol.

“Don’t try it, milord. I don’t want to hurt you. Nor Miss Lacey neither. I just want the disk. That’s all.”

James’s clenched hand fell to his side. “If I refuse?”

Cade gave an annoyed shake of his head, a hard-jawed strain in his face as he motioned with the musket. “You end as the professor did when he didn’t heed my advice.”

Katherine’s stomach twisted, her teeth chattering from more than the snow seeping through her heavy coat and damping her mittens. She threw herself toward Cade as if she might rip his head off. “No!”

Cade fired, the bullet smashing into the obelisk above them, slivers of stone spraying like shrapnel. James shoved Katherine to the ground as he slid free his pistol, squeezing off his own shot.

Cade lurched backward, blood spattering the snow. He tossed his musket aside, drawing a knife from his belt. “The disk, Duncallan,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Run, Katherine!” James shouted.

She bolted from the obelisk’s shadow just as Cade lunged, his blade aimed low.

Wrenching himself sideways, James avoided being gutted by a hairsbreadth, the blade slashing a jagged tear down his sleeve. He struck back, landing a fist to Cade’s jaw, another to his stomach. The two slipped, falling in a tangle of arms and legs as they struggled for possession of the knife.

Hiking up her skirts, Katherine slogged through the snow to the pony. She rummaged through the bags for something—anything—to use as a weapon. The most dangerous item was James’s metal spyglass. Perhaps a strong whack over the head would distract Cade long enough for James to gain the upper hand.

Hands shaking, she retraced her steps. By now James was a bloody mess, one eye swollen closed, a gash down his cheek. But it was Cade who froze her in place. His face seemed different somehow—his cheekbones more pronounced, his jaw longer, and his eyes burning with an iridescent light as he forced James’s arm back.

She shook off her fear with her fancy as she gripped the spyglass. Sweat splashed across her back and up her legs and her heart thrashed against her ribs, but letting her fury take root, she drew in a steadying breath and hoisted the heavy tube over her head. Ready . . . aim . . .

“Fool!” Cade whipped around, fangs glinting from bared lips.

With a cry, Katherine recoiled. One step. Two. She stumbled. Her boots caught in her coat, dragging her down, the spyglass lost in the deep snow. At the same moment, James heaved himself up, knocking Cade off-balance. His fist slammed into the man’s face over and over, giving him no time to respond and no time to recover until he lay limp and bloody in the churned snow.

For a long moment James remained on hands and knees, head lowered, sucking in deep ragged breaths. Blood dripped from his face into the snow, with more smeared across his cheeks like war paint.

Katherine rushed to help him to his feet. “Are you hurt? Did he stab you?”

Wincing, James straightened, a hand against his ribs. “I’ll survive—I think.”

Shudders wracked her body and she turned her stricken gaze to Cade. “He had fangs, James. He’s one of them. A nightwalker.”

“You’re imagining things, Katherine,” he wheezed.

But she barely heard him over the roaring in her ears, her temples throbbing in time to the thrashing of her heart. “Enid was right. The nightwalkers killed Father. Cade is one of them.” She kicked Cade’s unconscious body. “Bastard! Murderer! Filthy son of a bitch! Why? What did he ever do to you?” She kicked him again, her voice shrill and frightened. “Answer me!” She lashed out with fists and boots, her fury consuming her, tears burning her eyes. “Answer me, damn you! What have you done with him?”

Hands grabbed her. A voice spoke to her from beyond the crackling buzz in her head. “Katie, love. Easy.”

“Let go of me. Let go!” She struggled to free herself, but the arms tightened, the quiet voice a constant refrain pulling her back from the chasm of her despair.

“Stop, Katherine. It won’t bring him back.”

As quickly as the rage took her over, it faded away, leaving her limp, muscles as shaky and sore as if she’d run a mile.

James pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her, the scents of sandalwood and leather and pine all caught in the folds of the heavy wool of his overcoat, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. “It’ll be all right. I promise.”

She looked up to see sorrow and sympathy mingled in his stare. “Father’s dead, James. It’s true. I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s true.”

“We’ll truss Cade to a tree for now. On our way home, we can stop in at the Hall. One of Monsieur d’Espe’s men can come collect Cade and hold him there until a constable can be sent for.”

Katherine eyed the man’s limp form, his face swollen and bloodied but without any hint of the changes she was sure she’d seen. Had she imagined it? Had her rage conjured fanged monsters where none existed? “Father was no threat to anyone. Why would he kill him? None of it makes sense.”

“Perhaps a search of his pockets will give us some answers.” He rummaged through Cade’s coat. “Here, now, what’s this?” He pulled free a small notched glass disk. “Interesting.”

“It’s like yours.” She felt her eyes drawn once more to the forbidding starkness of the obelisk, the empty holes where the four disks were meant to fit.

“Aye, but this one doesn’t have the runes.” He closed his eyes as if concentrating. “And it feels different—almost as if there’s a sentient aura woven within the glass.”