Passions of the Ghost (6 page)

The dragon stretched, stiffly testing each
muscle and sinew. She was slowly regaining her strength, but the secret chamber was cramped and uncomfortable. She had pressed her back and flanks against the stone perimeters, and chips and dust scattered about her like rain. She twitched. It had been a long time since she’d felt the sweet touch of rain.

Or sunshine.

Very soon now, the dragon would be ready to begin moving out of this place, where she had spent so long sleeping and waiting. And grieving for her beloved.

She opened her mouth and released a hiss of steam, filling the chamber with its damp warmth.
Better
. She stretched out her front legs, spreading her sharp talons and raking the ground. Her long tail whipped, striking the walls. Satisfied, she knew she had lost nothing of her great power. Soon Reynald would understand how puny he was, and all those mortals who walked upon her land would know how insignificant and unworthy they were.

They would bow down before her majesty!

The dragon lifted her head as far back as she could and gave a deep and terrible roar. The castle above her shifted on its footings. A tremor ran up through the thick stone and mortar walls, causing doors and windows to shake and floors to rock. A shelf of glasses in the kitchen crashed down.

I am here
.

The dragon opened her eyes. They were soulless, black, and ancient. Reynald had shown no pity for her beloved; he could not expect it from her, when it came to the final battle.

Ye Olde Medieval Feast was due to begin at two o’clock in the afternoon. That gave her long enough, Amy decided, for a well-deserved nap. But it didn’t turn out that way. Just as she closed the door to her room and kicked off her boots, the castle gave a shake, like a brief earth tremor, and the telephone rang. On the other end was a flustered voice, calling on Mr. Coster’s behalf. Could Amy come at once to the manager’s office on the ground floor?

“Why?” Amy demanded, not in the mood to be accommodating.

“Mr. Coster says that your, eh, actor friend is causing problems.”

Wearily, Amy pulled on her boots—still wet from the snow—and went downstairs. It took her half an hour to settle things, promising Mr. Coster that Rey hadn’t meant to draw and quarter the Singing Santa, whose body had been found this morning behind a Christmas tree.

“The creature swung its hips at me,” Rey said, in explanation.

“Well you’ve put a stop to that, haven’t you?” Coster replied angrily. “That was top-of-the-line, that Santa. Not only was it voice-activated, it was able to move toward the sound on its motorized sleigh.”

“I’m sure it was an accident,” Amy persisted, overcome with a terrible urge to laugh.

In the end she persuaded Coster that Rey was just getting overenthusiastic about his upcoming role in Hollywood, and she would make certain he behaved from now on. “Add Singing Santa to my bill,” she said, hoping “top-of-the-line” didn’t mean it was imported by reindeer from the North Pole.

“I won’t be able to get another one now before next year,” Coster complained, although he was less animated.

“Another one!” Rey roared.

Coster’s eyes narrowed, and his secretary cowered.

Amy threw up her hands. “Why do I bother?”

Cross and tired, Amy trudged back to her room, the journey made longer because Rey refused to use the elevator, and she dared not leave him alone in case he caused more mischief.

“Why did you murder ‘Jingle Bells’ Santa, Rey?”

“It crept up behind me. I thought it was an assassin,” he said, as if his explanation was perfectly logical.

“I’ll have to remember never to creep up behind you then. Why did you tell Coster it was you who’d done it? You could have kept quiet about it.”

“When I came back after the sword tournament, he was shouting, holding that creature in his arms. I thought it must be precious to him. When he asked who could have done such a thing, there were tears in his eyes.”

“So you told him the truth? Of course you did!”

“I could not lie, damsel.”

“No, you leave the lying to me,” she muttered.

Amy wondered when he had become her responsibility? She wasn’t his jailer, or his nurse, and yet she seemed to have ended up as both.

“I am offended.”

“
You’re
offended!” Amy burst out, as she unlocked the door.

“Aye. I am offended that my castle is being used for these mindless frivolities. That they are making fun of matters that should not be made fun of. This was not something to be mocked in my time.”

“Rey, they’re not mocking you. They’re celebrating your life. There’s a big difference.”

“They mock me!”

Amy slammed the door behind them and pulled off her boots, aiming them at the corner of the room. “Insulting Mr. Coster won’t help. I had to use all my feminine wiles to stop him throwing you out. Again.”

“You mean batting your eyelashes and simpering like a lackwit,” he rumbled.

Amy sat down on the bed, feeling flushed and angry. “I saved your skin, your lordship. You should be thanking me, not insulting me.” The room felt hot, and she stripped off her sweater and threw it after the boots. She wasn’t the sort to lose her temper, but Rey was seriously testing it. Didn’t he realize that all those lies she was telling on his behalf could get her into trouble? Instead of complaining and looking down his nose, he
could
try and help. Maybe his inflexibility was one of the reasons he died in the first place? Maybe that was the lesson he’d come back to learn?

“And I must be going crazy,” Amy groaned, “for believing he really is
the Ghost
.”

Reynald knew Amy was right about his causing her trouble, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He hated the way his castle was being used as a fairground, and he hated the people who had come here to play at the life that had been deadly serious for him. His battles had been brutal, frightening affairs, not something at which to giggle. To them it was nothing more than a game, an amusement they would forget as soon as they left this place. To him, and all the souls he protected, it had been life or death.

He felt belittled.

Amy had laid her head down as if she had gone to sleep, but he could tell by the little crease between her dark brows that she was pretending. He remembered her in Coster’s office, and the lies that rolled off her tongue so glibly. At first he’d been shocked at her attitude to the truth, but he was growing used to her ways. It was a good thing, he thought, she was not born in his time. If she had appeared before him at the manor court for her lying, he might have had difficulty doing his duty in punishing her.

Reynald noted the crease had deepened, as if she had an aching head. She was trying to help him, it was true. He could accept that she meant well. She had soothed Coster, and last night in the great hall she had helped him escape the embarrassment of the situation, when he had been about to do battle with his own reflection. Perhaps, Reynald admitted grudgingly, she was right. He should be more grateful and judge her less harshly.

“You have my thanks, damsel,” he said quietly.

One green eye opened.

“I am very sorry if I have upset you by implying otherwise.”

The other green eye opened, and she gave him the benefit of her limpid gaze.

“As you know, I am here to discover what I did wrong in my time, but…I don’t know where to look. I don’t know where to start. I cannot even leave the castle. I have tried, but there is some…some shield around it that prevents me from taking a step beyond the gatehouse.”

“So in fact you’re trapped here?” she said, taking his words at face value.

“Yes.”

“Well, I suppose that means the answer must be within the castle.”

“The witch said that.”

“Ah, yes, the mysterious witch who controls time. I’d like to meet her.”

“Believe me, you would not,” he said with feeling.

“Let’s go back then, in your mind, to 1299 and the day it happened…”

He folded his arms, looking haughtily down at her.

But Amy ignored him; she was too busy trying to help. “What decision could you have made to change what happened that day? How could you have saved lives?”

He sighed. “I wanted peace. I wanted to show that with peace we could
all
prosper.”

“So why didn’t they listen?”

“They did. That was why we were there that day—to celebrate the signing of the peace. I arranged feasting and games and mock-battles. My guests included a bishop and four lords, and their retinues. If I had known, I would never have invited them, but there was no reason to believe anyone would die that day.”

“You didn’t suspect, eh, treachery?”

“No! Angharad told me that the Welsh were well pleased, that they wanted peace as much as I. We had already signed the papers before the feasting began. All witnessed the moment. The deal was done. And then…”

“This Angharad, you trusted her?”

“With my life,” he said solemnly, for it was true.

Amy wasn’t so easily convinced. “Well you did, didn’t you? Gave up your life on her say-so? Did she die, too?”

“I did not see her die. I have prayed that she escaped. She deserved better.”

“I don’t know if anyone deserves to die, Rey. What made this Angharad any better than the rest?”

He wanted to argue, but one glance at her green eyes, and he bit his tongue. For some reason Amy Fairweather had taken against Angharad, and his championing of her only seemed to make it worse.

Amy yawned. “Did she help polish your armor, was that it?” She yawned again. “I’m sorry. I really want to help, but I need to sleep for an hour before the feast. Do you think you can stay out of trouble for an hour, Rey?”

This time his tongue broke free. “I resent your implications, damsel. I was a Marcher Lord, a king in my own lands. When I rode by, people hid their eyes for fear of me. And yet you speak to me as if I am a foolish child!”

She had gone very still.

He took a deep breath, then another, trying to calm himself, realizing he might have frightened her badly with his display of anger. “I am no child, I am a man,” he went on, in a more measured voice. “You should remember it, damsel, and pay me the respect I have earned.”

Still she did not reply.

“Amy?” And then he saw the slow rise and fall of her chest, the gentle parting of her lips on a snore.

She was asleep!

Reynald groaned. What was to be done with such a woman?

With a smile and a shake of his head, the Ghost strode to the door.
He
had no time to sleep. If he didn’t get the answers to his problems by the end of this weekend, then he would have to return to the between-worlds. This was his one and only chance, and he would do all in his power to claim it and save the world he had tried so hard to create.

The Sorceress strode down the tunnels of the between-worlds, her wolfskin cloak heavy about her shoulders, her auburn hair loose and wild. The primitive power of the hunt surged through her. Dragons were dangerous creatures, the most dangerous of all those she faced. Not that she intended to fight the Ghost’s battles for him, but whether he won or lost, it would be necessary for the Sorceress to complete the task.

She must capture the dragon.

All around her the heat began to intensify, making it hard to breathe. The Sorceress felt no discomfort, but a mortal would already be struggling to survive in such an atmosphere. For the dragons, though, it was perfect.

She entered the huge chamber. It was a fiery world, where a liquid red ocean bubbled, and geysers sprayed out steam, and hot mud spat. To one side was a lush, green jungle that throve in these conditions, and honeycombed cliffs with caves to offer shelter. The Sorceress could never understand why the dragons complained so much about their prison. Surely this was paradise?

“Ah, ’tis the witch!” cried a lilting voice.

A big gray dragon sat watching her from a rock, tail lashing, black obsidian eyes fixed upon her. There was something about dragons’ eyes that unnerved even the Sorceress, upon occasion.

“What is it you want,
cariad
?” the dragon sneered, playing at an affection she knew it didn’t feel.

Another one, smaller, darker, stuck its head up over the same rock and peered at her wickedly. “What do you want, witch?” it hissed. “This is our place, and you are not invited.”

“I’ve come to tell you that soon another will be joining you. An old friend of yours. Aren’t you pleased?”

There was silence, then a keening sound, as the dragons began speaking to each other in their own language.

“Stop that!” she ordered irritably. “You know I cannot abide that noise.”

The gray dragon lifted her massive head and blew flames high into the air. The stink of sulfur filled the cavern, but the Sorceress watched on, not moving an inch.

“You lie!” the dark dragon hissed. “You will never capture
her.
She is the old one, the queen of our kind. She would die rather than be caged in this zoo.”

The Sorceress looked about her in mock-surprise. “Zoo? I think it’s quite nice myself. You can’t expect to roam free forever. Everything has its day, and yours is finished and forgotten.”

“Forgotten?” another voice piped up, as a smaller dragon crawled toward her, sharp claws digging into the soft mud for purchase. It flapped its wings, fanning the ovenlike heat. “We will never be forgotten! She has promised to win the mortal world back for us!”

“She has promised!” More of them took up the chant.

“She is too wily for you, witch.” Another dragon, thin and serpentlike, whipped out of the forest. “And when she takes back the mortal world, she will come and free us all. She will lead us into a new era. Soon dragons will be the new masters.”

“Soon, soon!” they chanted.

“
Stop it.
” The Sorceress had grown impatient. “The mortal world doesn’t want you—you cannot exist there, no matter how much you might want to. You have become dangerous anachronisms. Your time is over. You have no choice but to make the best of your ‘zoo’ here, in the between-worlds. Be grateful for what you have.”