Dawn Thompson (35 page)

Milosh smiled his humorless smile. “My poor young friend,” he said. “How much it is that you have to learn . . . and to suffer before ’tis done.”

Joss would not dwell upon that cryptic augur. His bones felt brittle with the chills ripping through him from listening to the Gypsy’s tale. He’d heard much of it before, but had never really absorbed it until now.

“What are we doing down here?” he asked. The subject needed changing.

“I may not know where Sebastian is, but I will know where he isn’t,” Milosh replied. “He was not in the rooms I searched, nor had he ever been. If he is not below stairs, we shall secure your staff, collect more holy water and resume our search.”

“Is Cora safe where she is?”

“Once Sebastian is invited in, he may come and go at will without further invitation. She is in danger. Are her hearths lit?”

“I stoked those fires myself. She knows to keep them stoked—and why.”

“Will she stoke them? Suppose she falls asleep. Would it not be safer to have the maid stay with her?”

“Amy did stay with her—and Grace, when I first brought her here, but they both failed to keep that first vampire out. It either drugged or hypnotized them.”

Outside, the howling and snarling voices of the wolves—almost subliminal in their constancy—reentered
Joss’s hearing. He shuddered. All at once, the wolf in him responded. A low, guttural growl that resembled the roar of a lion leaked from his throat of its own volition. Something foreign roiled inside him. Was he answering the call of the Brotherhood? Or was he evolving again? Something deep inside screamed:
Nooo!
while something else embraced the inevitable with yet another roar.

“Shouldn’t we be out there helping in that conflict?” he said.

Milosh studied him. Those multifaceted onyx eyes drove Joss’s away. What did the Gypsy know? What did he see? What was that look—part sorrow, part something Joss couldn’t name?

“Trust the Brotherhood to deal with what threatens from without,” Milosh said. “Our task is here, within, where the greatest danger lies. All of the infected from that coach have been destroyed. What remains are the creatures they made before their demise, and Sebastian. If we cannot destroy him—and I doubt we can—we must drive him from the Abbey, where the Brotherhood can have their way with him. Oh, they will not destroy him, either. But they are sufficient in number to force his retreat.”

“Drive Sebastian out, or let the Brotherhood in,” Joss corrected him.

Milosh cocked his head to the side, his sparkling black eyes narrowed. It almost seemed that the Gypsy had not thought of letting the howling pack of summoned wolves
into
the Abbey.

“Or let the Brotherhood in,” Milosh parroted. “If needs must, yes.”

No, the Gypsy had not thought of that, but he was contemplating it now. Joss said no more as they descended through the green baise paneled door to the
servants’ quarters. There they found Parker, Rodgers and Cook huddled around the long dining table in the servants’ hall. A collective gasp rose from the gathering as they entered. It wasn’t until then that Joss realized what a sight he must look with his torn, blood-soaked sleeve, rumpled buckskins, likewise spattered with blood, and mussed hair. He brushed a dark lock challenging his eyes back from his brow, and made an attempt to neaten his attire.

Parker surged to his feet and shuffled to his side. “Oh, sir! How have you hurt yourself?” he breathed, taking hold of Joss’s arm.

“ ’Tisn’t serious,” Joss assured him. “There isn’t time to tell you. Has anything untoward occurred here below stairs?”

A
no
voiced in unison replied to that, and Joss drew an easier breath. “Where is Amy?” he asked.

“She is with Grace,” Parker said. “We thought it best to keep Grace in ignorance of the situation. Cook has been dosing her with one of her herbals.”

“A wise decision,” said Joss. He turned to Milosh. “What say you?” he asked, hoping the Gypsy would take his meaning. He needed to know if Sebastian was near.

He needn’t have worried. Milosh read his mind, and answered:
Sebastian is not below stairs.

Joss cleared his voice. “We have destroyed the vampire that Parker accidentally let in earlier, and another that the creature had invited to enter. . . .” A rush of murmured relief rumbled among the servants. “But,” Joss said, his voice raised above them, “there is another creature inside the Abbey to be dealt with, and it would be safer if you all were closeted in one secure place until Milosh and I can flush it out.”

The rumble soured, and Joss raised his voice again.
“We can do that much more quickly without worrying about you lot,” he said, “so I would like you all to take whatever you need—food, bedding, whatever will see you through the night, and congregate in Grace’s chamber—”

“Bedding?”
Cook cried. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but who’s goin’ ta be sleepin’, I’d like ta know? I ain’t shuttin’ my eyes again for a month in here!”

“Take what you need for your creature comfort,” Joss said tersely. “I want you all together in one safe place. Do it now, and lock yourselves in. This is not a request. It is an order. And stay there, no matter what you hear. Do not unlock that door until Milosh or myself comes to tell you it is safe to do so. Do I make myself plain?”

“Y-yes, sir,” the group said.

“Good! Now carry on. We will wait while you gather your necessities.”

“What of the young miss?” Parker said, hanging back.

“Young miss is locked safely in her chamber,” Joss told him. The valet’s eyebrow lifted, and Joss patted the chatelaine dangling from his belt. “This time
I
locked her in, Parker,” he said.

The valet did not seem impressed. “Nonetheless, I should like to stay with you, sir,” he said.

“The point of this is to have you all safely out of the way in order to have clear heads for what is to come, Parker. Besides, I need you to remain with the others to keep order. You are in charge below stairs now, old boy, remember. That is where I need you now.”

“Yes, sir,” said the valet emptily. He opened his mouth to speak, but the look Joss gave him closed it, and he sketched a bow and shuffled off after the others.

Joss sank into a chair at the table, and raked his hair back from a sweaty brow with both hands. “Grace’s
chamber is the best possible choice,” he said. “It’s the largest. She’s shared it with Bates since before I was born.”

Milosh studied him for a moment. Joss couldn’t meet the Gypsy’s eyes; they had the power to see into his soul. Instead, he surged to his feet and began to pace the carpet.

“Something is troubling you,” the Gypsy said.

Joss loosed a mad, misshapen laugh.

“No, something other than the obvious,” Milosh said.

Joss hesitated. “My symptoms have begun to . . . evolve again,” he said at last.

“In what way?”

“I’ve had extraordinary night vision ever since I was first able to shapeshift into a wolf,” Joss said. “At first it only happened when I was in wolf form. Over the years it has intensified. Earlier, while I was searching the third floor, it was stronger than it has ever been.”

“Go on. . . .”

“Then there is my hearing,” Joss continued. “That happened when you came and spoke to me with your mind. I had no idea I could converse mentally. It may be that I always had the gift, but never needed to use it until you arrived. Or it could be something new.”

“You would have to speak with your mind to another who has the same gift. You never spoke thus with your parents?”

“No.”

“Is there . . . anything more?”

“My sense of smell. I could smell blood—Cora’s . . . and just now, when I heard the howling, I was compelled to answer. Compelled to howl like a wolf, though in human form. Something has happened inside me, overwhelmed me. . . .”

“Your welcome into the fold—your bonding with the Brotherhood,” Milosh said. “You have become one with your brothers of the blood: nothing extraordinary. And . . . the bloodlust? Have you had the urge and the appetite for blood?”

Joss shook his head. “No, not yet,” he said. “But the way the symptoms are escalating . . .”

“You fear it most because of your lady,” Milosh said.

“She is not my lady, Milosh,” Joss insisted. “I meant what I said. As soon as it’s safe, she must go.”

“You are a colossal fool, Joss Hyde-White. You have the love of a lady who has accepted you as you are, unknown as that is. You may never find such a one again.”

“As long as I do not know what I am, I have no right to any woman, no matter what she accepts.”

“Fine scruples, but they will not keep you warm at night,” Milosh said. “Like I said, young whelp, you are a fool.”

Cora’s eyes were nearly swollen shut from the flood of tears she’d shed since Joss locked her in the master suite; the counterpane was wet with them. How long had she lain there? She hadn’t lit the lamps. Only the blazing fire in the hearth shed light upon her sorrow.

Darkness looked in through the window, a pearly, gray-blue darkness pressed up against the pane. The snow had ceased falling again, though airborne particles carried by the wind still hissed against the glass. There was no moon, but stars winked down like so many curious eyes. Cora couldn’t bear their scrutiny. It was as if they mocked her.

Throwing her feet over the side of the bed, she moaned. She’d forgotten about her gashed ankle, and moving brought sharp, sobering pain. She cried aloud when she put her weight on it. There was no one to hear, and she limped to the window and cast her gaze down over the tor. It was alive with wolves; their terrible howling challenged the wind’s deep sighs. Black ones, dark and silver gray, even shaggy russet ones, but none
were white; Milosh was not among them—at least not within her range of vision.

How long before Joss would come for her? Suppose he didn’t come. Suppose something happened to him. Suppose she was never to see him again! She couldn’t imagine that; not after witnessing the way he felled the two vampires in the attic, as if they were young saplings, with one mighty stroke. He’d been in a blind passion when he wielded that halberd. She could still see him in her mind’s eye standing, feet apart, carving wild circles in the air with the deadly weapon, wild-eyed like a madman. And there was more to it than destroying two creatures of the night. He’d been avenging her honor. He loved her—she knew he did. How could he put her from him so easily . . . as if she meant nothing to him? Why were his eyes so cold when he left her? Why was his jaw set like granite, his posture so rigid, so utterly impervious? It was as if he’d built a wall around himself that she could not penetrate.

Favoring her wounded ankle, Cora moved away from the window and limped to the door. She jiggled the brass handle, knowing it was no use. Leaning her ear against the paneling, she held her breath and listened. All she heard was the ragged rhythm of her own heartbeat. The corridor outside was as silent as a grave, and she reeled back from it and went to the wardrobe.

Her frock was spattered with blood—Clement’s blood. How was it that she hadn’t noticed that before? Her skin crawled at the thought, and she wriggled out of the gown until it puddled at her feet, then kicked it aside with her good foot and reached for the wardrobe doorknob. It was ajar. Had she left it that way? Cora couldn’t remember. She shrugged. She was cold standing
there in just her camisole and petticoat so far from the fire; cold as ice. A bitter draft seemed to be coming from the wardrobe—an unnatural cold. It was visible! A crawling mist, the kind that always hovered about the icehouse back home, drifted toward her; breathing it seemed to freeze her lungs. All at once, a blast of frigid air rushed from it, forcing the wardrobe door open wider. Dozens of bats rode the current out, rushing past her in all directions. The room was black with the squeaking, flapping creatures sawing through the air, and still more poured from the wardrobe. Cora screamed as they grazed her arms, her shoulders. One had fastened its talons in her long hair, wrenching another scream from her throat—a troop of screams as she fell to the floor and groped for the frock she’d discarded to fight them off.

All at once a whirlwind collected the bats into a swirling blur of wings and fangs and talons, and the creatures merged into a hideous, towering entity—half man, half bat—with acid-green, red-rimmed eyes. Its skull scraped the ceiling and its wingspread filled the span. It was the very same creature she had glimpsed through the root cellar door. Soon it shrank to human height and human form—a hideous, emaciated figure of a man, bald-headed, swathed in yards of some anonymous gauze that looked like grave clothes, looming over her. Cora backed away.

Sebastian!

Joss surged up the second-floor staircase as if his feet had wings, driven by Cora’s screams. Milosh surged ahead of him and reached the master suite door first. Joss had never seen the Gypsy at the height of his power,
and it rocked him back on his heels. Milosh raised his head sniffing, nostrils flared, then leapt into the air and streaked past him, lingering only briefly outside the master suite before disappearing down the staircase in a glaring, mercurial blur.

Joss was beside himself. There wasn’t time for thought speech with the Gypsy. He was out of range anyway. Cora was locked inside the chamber with Sebastian, and he himself had locked her in. He was all thumbs as he fumbled with the chatelaine, groping for the key. Exasperation wrenched a string of blasphemous expletives through his clenched teeth, and brought his fists against the door with force enough to split the paneling.

“Cora!” he bellowed. “Do not look it in its eyes!”

Did she hear him? There was no way to tell. All that replied were her screams. The sound pierced him to the core, and he fumbled with the chatelaine again, seized the key and turned it in the lock.

His fangs were fully extended by the time he burst into the room. The wolf lurked just under the surface of his skin, though the chilling sound that came from him was more like the roar of a lion. The sight before him turned the blood cold in Joss’s veins. The emaciated Sebastian stood before him with a choke hold upon Cora. Was that blood on her throat, on the creature’s fangs? Dazed, she had ceased screaming and gone limp in its arms.