Moonless (31 page)

Her eyes landed on the hairpin clipped at her neckline.

She slid it off, twisted the stubborn metal into shape and pressed it into the lock. Biting her lip, she felt for the pins of the familiar mechanism. A grating “click” announced her success.

Echoes down the hall pushed her into the dim confinement. She pulled the door shut, clinging to the knob as footfalls hastened nearer. She held her breath.

They kept going.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she seized her mother’s mangled gift from the floor, straightening it.

Mounted weapons covered the walls, a hint of dust resting on hilts, antique firearms, and glass-caged relics.

The desk.

She staggered over, marveling at how viciously her hip ached, and pulled the top drawer open. The case waited, a set of ornate silver pistols inside. Next to the box rested a powder horn and linen-wrapped balls.

Father had taught her how to duel when she turned ten, although she never understood the purpose. Mother hated the idea. Alexia thought it fun until she accidentally shot a blackbird, and she hadn’t picked up a weapon since. Perhaps Father wanted to be certain she knew what it meant to defend a woman’s honor. Then again, with her foresight, Dana might have requested it of him.

She slid a pistol from the case with shaky hands, measuring the powder as she’d seen Father do a hundred times. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Did she really intend to kill a man? Take a life?

She swallowed, pausing. But this was John—a Soulless creature. The very one who would destroy Sarah if not put down. The one who would kill Kiren.

The creature her aunt loved.

The weapon rattled in her grasp. She closed her eyes. It was not murder to destroy a monster, was it? Even if that monster spoke and reasoned like a man?

She settled the wadding covered ball into the barrel. If she didn’t think about it, if she could be someone else for two seconds, that’s all it would take.

The ramrod rattled into the barrel. All she had to do was pull a trigger.

She put the weapon down, eyeing the primer. She couldn’t do it! But Kiren would die unless . . . unless she . . .

She picked it up.

Her ankle had begun to swell. She ignored the stinging and hurried to the door, listening. She took a deep breath and pushed the exit open.

Down the hall she hobbled, wincing with every step. Movement turned her head. One of the servants neared.

She flattened against the wall, unable to slip through a doorway and out of sight. She closed her eyes, imagining the empty wall, that she didn’t exist, that no one stood in this space waiting for discovery. The butler’s pace didn’t break. He padded on, carrying a chamber pot away down the passage.

She couldn’t believe it. She stood in plain sight and he hadn’t noticed her! This was incredible! It was absurd!

She was wasting time!

Flickering firelight spilled out into the hall from the study as she arrived at the top of the darkening stairs. She breathed, heart quickening.

“Please Arik, I know you have your reasons—”

Sarah! She dashed down the stairs, not caring if anyone saw her, not caring how badly it hurt. 

“But do not hurt my husband!”

Her what? Alexia halted, trying to make the words register. There was no time! Her finger slid over the trigger as she neared the door. She lifted the gun. She knew where John stood, next to the hearth, next to Sarah.

A new shock of pain ran up her leg. She stumbled. The doorframe caught her shoulder, jerking her arm and pinching her trigger finger against cold metal. Gunpowder exploded. Her ears howled in agony.

83

Misfire

Pain riveted through Alexia’s head with greater intensity than she’d ever experienced. Blackness engulfed her. The ground came up hard under her knees and she gasped. No echo sounded in the darkness. No breeze stirred. The scent of tarnish and wood had disappeared. Hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” a haunting female voice echoed back. “Alexia.”

She leapt to her feet. She could feel the presence off to her right, invisible, but certain. She glanced down. Her ankle didn’t hurt.

A circle of light beamed over her. She stiffened, blinking. Topaz taffeta draped over her hips, a dress she recalled from last year’s ball.

Had she failed? Had John beaten Kiren? Did he get her? Is that where she’d gone—to the emptiness that followed having your “soul” drained?

A figure stepped out of the darkness, not tall, but shoulders back, head high. Long dark hair plumed about a determined, youthful face, poignant green eyes, and a dulled roseate gown. She was older than Alexia, though not by much—three years perhaps. The young woman’s head tilted, as if to ask, don’t you recognize me?

Alexia squinted.

The stranger stepped into the circle of light. Brilliant skin reflected the glow as compelling emerald eyes leveled with hers. The woman grinned, an intimidating beauty.

“Do you see?” The voice startled Alexia, soft and sweet.

She shook her head.

“I am Dana.” The stranger raised a hand to her chest.

Alexia blinked back. This alluring creature before her was too young to be a mother—least of all hers. “Dana is dead!”

“Yes,
when
you come from, I am.” She lifted her chin. “But we are in the absence of time.”

Alexia peered at her more closely. “The what?”

Her grin deepened. “Absence of time. I like to call it
stepping out
.”

Alexia shook her head, willing this hallucination to shatter, but it remained.

Dana leaned forward, biting her lip. “I have been waiting for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes you, for you are the successor of Grandfather Time.”

Alexia cleared her throat skeptically. “Grandfather Time?”

Dana’s eyes narrowed, smile dropping. “After all you’ve been through, this seems improbable to you?”

Alexia crossed her arms. “If you are Dana, what did you ask Kiren to give me?”

“My father’s time box, with my hairpin.”

A time box? Not a puzzle box? “Your father’s?”

She nodded. “Grandfather Time is my father, and your—”

“Grandfather.” Alexia swallowed. She was the successor of Grandfather Time?

“When I came into the world, he died—for there can be only one: one to govern the flow of time.” Her lips pulled up at one corner in a sad smile. “Yet at the same time, he did not die. Not to me. He was here, waiting for me, ready to teach and guide. I became the Maiden of Time, and now this heritage has passed to you.”

She waited silently for Alexia to grasp the concept. A long,
long
silence.

“If there can only be one,” Alexia swallowed, “how can you be here?”

“This is the
absence
of time.” Dana nodded. “I stepped out an instant before you entered the world. When I leave this place, I will end my life.” Her penetrating eyes cut through Alexia’s shock. “But death will be welcomed.” She stepped closer, reaching out, eyes softening. “My time has been short, but it was always meant to be so, just as the dreams predicted.”

Alexia fell back. “You had the dreams?”

“They are part of our heritage.” Dana’s fingers landed on her daughter’s arm, solid and real. “Great things are coming, great things in which you play an important role.”

Alexia blinked.
Me?

Her mother nodded, jaw tightening.

She swallowed. “And you brought me here to tell me all this?”

Dana laughed, her voice a lyrical chime of silver. “No. You brought you here.” She placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “You can come to this place any time you like, and I will be here to pass on our family secrets and help you. I imagine we will become good friends.”

Alexia hoped so. “How? How do I come here?” She remembered her urgency, the gun, Kiren’s imminent demise. “And how do I go back?”

“You want it.” Her mother winked. “And now that you know . . .”

Alexia blinked at her. That’s all she had to do? Want it?

“Alexia?” Dana’s smile had disappeared. “Tell Charles I never blamed him. Tell him I love him.”

She sucked in a breath. Her parents had indeed cared for one another, and still did—even parted by the grave. She nodded. “I will.”

Alexia closed her eyes, wanting more than anything to be back in the study, to save Kiren and see Sarah.

A surge of pain jolted from one temple to the other.

Her eyes flew open. She landed on her stomach, the air rushing out of her lungs, pistol bouncing away.

Kiren gasped. A thump sounded, and then a moan.

“Arik!” Sarah shrieked.

Alexia clambered to her knees, batting at the gun smoke to clear her vision. A dark outline crouched behind her aunt. Crimson pupils peered from the shadows, gripping his wrist as though in pain, his pistol missing. His shape shuddered.

“Sarah!”

Arms looped around her aunt. Sarah gasped. The sickly stench of her near-sister’s searing flesh wafted from the corner.

“No!” Alexia leapt up. She froze. Kiren lay against the wall, blood staining his lower shirt, streaking the floorboards.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her fists balled, lifting as she turned to the enemy, nails biting into the flesh.

Scarlet eyes glared at her. He growled and leapt at the window, clinging to his prize. Sarah’s pain-laced scream scorched her ears as Alexia’s headache flared. Sarah reached for her, eyes wide in frozen horror as glass exploded in slow motion around her. Shards danced out into the night, whirling snatches of light through the air.

Alexia stepped after them. Her ankle gave out. She tumbled into the couch, losing her hold on time.

Glass crashed to the ground. Her aunt was gone.

She whimpered, unable to dismiss the image of Sarah begging for rescue.

The sharp sting of blood hit her nose. She pulled herself over to Kiren, a crimson pool seeping from below him. The Lord’s name rolled off her tongue. “No! Please no—!”

“Lest you defile that pretty mouth further . . .” He lifted a trembling finger to her lips. The beauty of his voice—the sound she feared she’d never experience again, the sound that even now threatened to end forever—tightened into a moan.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “What have I—oh, Kiren! How could I have —!”

He breathed in. More pain.

“I—I did not—I could not—” She blinked back tears.

“You missed,” he grated through clenched teeth.

“I what?”

“You missed.” He pointed to a hole near the top of the wall. “John did not.”

Guilt spread through her aching chest. His face blurred in the rush of tears as she realized how utterly she’d failed him and how terribly they would both suffer for it.

“Remind me never to rely on your marksmanship.” He half chuckled, half groaned.

“You are going to survive this.” She reached to touch him, but didn’t know where to do so. Blood consumed her vision. “We are together now.”

His fingers landed on her cheek, drawing her eyes to his. “Why did you come?”

“To save you.”

“Save
me
?”

“My mother sent me.”

His eyes pierced hers. “Dana?”

She nodded.

A wave of agony claimed his attention. His bloodied hand clasped over hers and placed it to his lower thigh. “Hold pressure here?”

She pressed as he pulled back the hem of his shirt, tearing the end in a strip. Blood seeped from between her fingers. She brushed her other hand down his chest, searching for another wound.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Are you quite finished, or shall I afford you another minute to paw me?”

She pinked. “It is only your leg?”

“No, I believe that was my torso.”

She pinched his arm. “Ripe time to start being funny.”

“Blame it on the blood loss.” He lifted his leg from the ever-growing pool of blood and slid the strip of cloth beneath it. “I thought for a moment it would be either him or me, but you might have just scared him into aiming awry.” He pulled the bandage about his leg well above the wound, tightening it with a gasp. “Ahh . . . I shall never take for granted a gun wound again.”

“Can you mend it?” she whispered.

“That would be nice.” He grunted taking a deep breath. “But it does not work that way. I can focus my energies from one muscle to the next, but healing requires time and rest.”

“We need a surgeon?”

“Please no. I will tend to myself. I only need something to remove the ball.”

She rose to find the necessary tool and halted.

Father stood in the doorway, jaw agape.