Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1)

by Jeanine Croft

  As soon as the library was behind her, she glanced at the front panel of the book and the title thereon. Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. Good God! The man truly was a shocking beast.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Black Moon

  Milli could scarcely believe that she’d been at Winterthurse an entire week. How swiftly the time had flown and if not for Emma’s imposing an occasional dark cloud upon Milli’s felicity, she’d have esteemed each day a perfect success.

  Today had exceeded her every expectation, for Mr. Valko—Nicholas, as he was known in her private thoughts—had been most generous with his compliments and attention, making love to her at every opportunity. She could not remember a more wonderful day.

  Nicholas had even refused a game of billiards with Mr. Black and Mr. Morris before dinner and had, instead, offered to take the sisters on a tour of the castle. They had even explored the chapel crypt!

  Milli would have been better pleased if Emma had declined and left her alone with Nicholas, but it seemed her sister was determined to play chaperone tonight. Milli supposed it was all for the best, for she was too busy admiring her beau’s athletic physique to attend the history lessons or to ask any particularly pertinent questions; she left that duty to her highbrow sister. So long as Milli answered with the occasional, “How fascinating,” her companions appeared satisfied.

  They were in the south wing, exploring the old armory, and Milli was pretending to examine a curious set of black swords and daggers of various lengths, some straight and others curled most viciously. She had positioned herself so that Nicholas might best admire her figure from his vantage point beside Emma. The two of them were poring over some old military map on the wall.

  “Ah,” said Nicholas, coming to stand beside her, “I thought those might draw your notice.”

  Milli arched her neck as prettily as she could and affected a scholarly nod of interest. “I was struck at once by their strangeness,” she said.

  Emma joined them, coming to stand on Milli’s other side. “A very peculiar set of weapons, I daresay. I’ve never seen anything like them.”

  “Nor I,” Milli agreed, stifling a yawn.

  “No, you wouldn’t have, I shouldn’t wonder. The Horeb blades have a very interesting legend attached to them.”

  “Oh, I do enjoy a good legend!” Milli’s interest was finally piqued.

  “It is said that these holy blades were all that stood between the immortality and omnipotence enjoyed by the old gods—or titans, I suppose they were.”

  Milli’s brow lowered thoughtfully. “Then why not destroy them?”

  “Perhaps,” said Nicholas,” they possess some unimaginable, illimitable power and cannot be destroyed.” He then smiled and glanced down at her, the action promptly warming her cheeks. “But I like to believe that these holy blades were revered by those gods rather than despised, left intact to remind them that, though they esteem themselves infinite and powerful, there exists in the world such things yet more infinite and more powerful still.”

  “What is more powerful than a god?”

  Nicholas searched Milli’s face, his features gentling. “Is not love?”

  “Or another god,” said Emma, obtruding. “God himself, in fact.”

  Milli was sorely tempted to stamp her heel down on Emma’s foot. Instead she shot her sister a foul look as Nicholas moved off. Something of great consequence had been burgeoning between Nicholas and herself before Emma had opened her mouth.

  But Emma was oblivious to all but the blades. “Holy blades, you say?”

  “Yes,” Nicholas answered. “Blades of Heaven forged from the immortal tree and the sacred fire; holy weapons forged to slay the indestructible.” He gave a shrug. “Or the unholy.”

  “And I suppose that,” said Emma, pointing to a rather long and imposing spear on the wall, “is the Holy Lance?”

  His mouth twitched with irony. “You may suppose that.”

  “Fascinating,” said Milli, yawning again.

  Nicholas turned to her, his expression softening. “Holy blades or wholly hearsay?”

  Milli answered him with what she hoped was a worldly smile.

  “Whatever their origins,” said Emma, “they are ancient and therefore beautiful.”

  “Yes,” said Nicholas, his gaze becoming serious, “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Where do those doors lead?” asked Emma, monopolizing his attention yet again. It appeared she was referring to a pair of pitted double doors.

  He gave a shrug. “The castle’s underbelly.”

  “The dungeons!” Milli said. “How exciting!”

  Nicholas chuckled as they all turned to leave the armory. “Nothing so diverting, I’m afraid.”

  Milli’s shoulders sagged.

  “But you shall find out soon enough what lies beneath—”

  “Oh!” Emma’s hand flew to her breast, and she suddenly halted in the doorway looking startled. Nicholas was at her side in an instant.

  Milli peered around her sister’s shoulder to see Boudicca glaring from the empty corridor like some ginger sphinx.

  Had not the cat hissed at Nicholas just then, Milli would have scooped the animal up and lavished it with petting. As it was, however, Boudicca yowled and spat and then shot off in high dudgeon, leaving Milli to rue the cat’s rudeness with awkward laughter. Thus was the tour terminated; it was time to dine with the others.

  Thankfully, Boudicca’s behavior had not seemed to offend Nicholas in the least. In fact, the only time his attentions had been diverted tonight was when Lord Winterly had inveigled Emma (Emma’s word not Milli’s) into playing a duet in the drawing room after dinner, she at the harp and he at the pianoforte. As a pair, they’d been masterful, captivating, and even the sullen Mr. Grimm had appeared stirred by the performance. Her sister had played her instrument beautifully…despite her naked eyes. Yet here they were, in Emma’s room, hunting for those infernal spectacles.

  Milli turned her face into Emma’s pillow, lest her sister see the devious smile that had crept over her lips. Her sister could not account for the loss of them, but Milli knew full well where the wretched things were biding their time—beneath some ruined stockings at the very bottom of Emma’s trunk. And there they would lie until the sisters returned home to Little Snoring.

  Emma would thank her one day, when she was Lady of Winterthurse. Ha! How perfect that sounded. There was little doubt in Milli’s mind of her sister’s some day holding that esteemed title, for Markus Winterly made no secret of his interest—his eyes devoured Emma nightly from across the dinner table—and it was plain to all and sundry, except Emma herself, what those penetrative looks denoted. But Emma was ostensibly as blind now as before the tragic misplacement of her spectacles.

  When darkness had fallen, everyone had seemed to take it as a signal to find employment elsewhere in the castle, so Milli had followed Emma up to her room, for it was too early to retire, little knowing she’d be beguiling her precious time watching Emma search for her ‘eyes’. Perhaps Milli would wander back downstairs to the drawing room a little later and see if Victoria or Nicholas had reconvened for a nightcap.

  “No howling tonight,” said Emma, parting the drapes.

  “That’s because there’s no wind.” Milli left the bed and joined her sister at the window. There was no moonlight to hide the stars tonight, and an inky hush had fallen over the moors. “It’s so dark I can’t see a blasted thing.”

  “Nor I,” said Emma, favoring Milli with a pointed look. “Are you sure you haven’t seen my spectacles anywhere?”

  “You needn’t squint at me so! I can assure you, sister, the last I saw of them they were in this very room.”

  Emma searched Milli’s face and finally nodded, apparently satisfied that her sister was telling the truth. Which, of coarse, Milli was.

  Milli drew back suddenly and made a show of sniffing Emma’s clothes. “By Jupiter, Emma, what on earth is that smell? At first I thought it was
the castle…” She sniffed again. “Why, it’s you!”

  “Nonsense, it isn’t at all offensive,” said Emma, lifting the chain up to show Milli the perfume bottle. “Remember this? Ana gave it to me, to keep nightmares and nasties away—have you considered the etymology of the word ‘nightmare’, hmm? Evil spirits. This apotropaic, you see, keeps evil spirits away too.”

  Milli rolled her eyes. “As well as eligible bachelors, I shouldn’t wonder. I hadn’t taken you for a superstitious sort.”

  “Here”—Emma lifted the stopper out and moved towards her sister—“you ought to wear it too if you’re to continue playing the coquette with Winterly and his…cousins, or whatever they are.”

  “Not on your life, it smells like toad’s breath.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “That is exactly what it is—nonsense!”

  “Perhaps I shall sneak into your room one night and dab it on all your gowns.”

  Milli gasped. “Then I shall be sure to lock my doors henceforth.”

  “You ought to do that anyway.” Emma gave an unexpected flick of the wand so that Milli’s chest was instantly defiled by little drops of Toad’s Breath.

  “Emma, you wretched nag!” Milli stamped her foot in outrage and endeavored to wipe every last drop from her flesh. “Do that again and there’ll be the devil to pay.”

  A grave look clouded Emma’s eyes as she bestowed the little vial back in her bodice. “Go on, get along to your own apartments, I have reading to do.”

  “Without your lenses?”

  “I shall manage, I still have Aunt Sophie’s quizzing glass.”

  “Oh, all right.” Milli marched to the door in high dudgeon, leaving Emma to her candlelight reading and superstition. After she’d closed the door none too gently, she headed down the corridor to the grand staircase.

  From the stairhead, she surveyed the silent foyer, listening for voices or any sign of life. All was as still as it was dark outside. She could not credit the family’s retiring early for the evening as they had proved themselves thus far to be inveterate night owls. Perhaps Nicholas and Victoria were in the billiards room?

  Milli raced down the stairs, certain she would find them there. When she discovered the billiards room empty and unlit, however, she became much deflated. There was no sign of them in the library or the drawing room either, and there was not even a sign of Mr Black or his associate, Mr. Morris.

  As for that Grimm fellow—Milli shuddered to think of him—she hoped she would not come across the likes of him on this moonless night. He was the handsomest man she’d ever beheld but the effect of those exotic violet eyes were irreparably despoiled by his fearsome manners and the cruel turn of mouth. And as for his hair! So unfashionably unkempt, and if he owned a comb at all it was not doing its office. Nor was his valet come to that. Mr. Black and Mr. Morris were, regrettably, already leg-shackled by all reports, mores the pity, for they were exceedingly handsome too. And Winterly already belonged to Emma whether her sister owned that fact or not.

  But that was neither here nor there, for it was upon Nicholas’s broad shoulders that all her hopes and dreams were espoused. If only he would come and find her, she couldn’t very well lurk about the corridors in this silly manner and flirt with herself.

  Oh Lord, she was so bored. Milli paused in the corridor, thinking that if she reached the foyer without hearing anyone, she would just have to march herself off to bed after all. Accordingly, she slowed her pace to a crawl and strained her ears.

  It was a very good thing she had taken her time, for just as she was turning about to retrace her steps, resigned, she perceived footfalls in the foyer just up ahead. Her spirits were instantly revived by the prospect of company. Unless, of course, that company came in the form of Mr. Grimm’s imposing figure—the gait did sound most terse. Nicholas, she was sure, possessed a relaxed stride. And lo and behold, who should appear in her line of sight but that devil himself, Grimm.

  Milli silently pressed herself into a recess, peering around the stone wall as he flung the doors wide and stormed outside. The man seemed unable to go anywhere or do anything without storming, his hair wild and his eyes shooting thunderstones wherever he bent his course. He had paused only to sniff the air unexpectedly, as though confused by something. Finally, thankfully, he moved on almost immediately.

  She was still hiding when Mr. Valko suddenly appeared for an instant (his tread had been almost indiscernible or she might have forestalled him) before he too was lost to the night, trailing the storm cloud that had preceded him through the front doors.

  “Blast!” If she hadn’t been so cowed by the first man, she’d have had the foresight to hail the second. Milli emerged from the corridor and hesitated beside the doors, curious as to what had summoned the two gentlemen out on a night like this.

  The serpentine voice of Mrs. Skinner suddenly stopped her in her tracks as she was moving towards the doors. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

  Milli clutched her heart and spun around. “I wasn’t…I had no notion of going outside.”

  “Very good, miss. It’s a black moon tonight.” The housekeeper moved to shut the door. “Nothing worse than a black moon on these moors.”

  “Yes, I was informed of the bog’s danger, thank you, Mrs. Skinner.” How she resented the old woman’s intrusive stare. “I noticed Mr. Valko going for a walk, that’s all.”

  “Yes,” said the housekeeper, chuckling. The creature had not so much as smiled till now.

  Milli decided she preferred the woman’s usual dour expression to this arachnoid sneer. She hid her abhorrence behind a tight smile.

  Mrs. Skinner inclined her head and then repaired back to wherever it was that she mixed her poisons and ate stolen babies. Nosey old crone.

  It was not as though Milli had planned to go traipsing in the mire in the dark, she’d only meant to peek outside, perhaps take a turn about the courtyard. If Nicholas happened upon her, so much the better. Surely she needn’t fear the graveled courtyard, for heaven’s sake, what could possibly betide her there?

  Milli lingered at the door for what seemed a prudent enough length of time and then, certain the housekeeper had by now moved out of earshot, undertook the great effort of opening one of the doors. She had a devil of a time moving it ajar, it was that heavy, and that without alerting the whole household to her clandestine endeavors. The blasted thing raised the alarm with an almighty roar of its old hinges and swollen heft—but at length, after panting and cursing, Milli had it wide enough to slip through. How on earth had the old woman moved it with such easy celerity? It was she, Milli, who ought to be the stronger, for she was young and hale and the housekeeper was nothing but old bones and sour flesh.

  Once outside, Milli was stopped short by how terribly dark it truly was. Black moon indeed. There were torches burning either side of the door, but beyond their meager daub of light, all was thrown into a stygian blur. Only the glistering starscape served to act as some indication of where there might be trees and hills.

  Well, she would only go as far as the light touched, or perhaps to the edge of the rose hedge, she promised herself. If there was no sign of Nicholas, she would admit defeat and return to her room with no one the wiser. With that resolve firmly in place, she skipped down the stairs, leaving the torchlight shuddering behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Vampyris

  My Dear Mary,—How did I become so superstitious? I was sensible once, was I not? Now my dreams are incensed with asphodel and my nights imbued by haunting strangeness. The gargoyles stir at dusk and the moors howl and gnaw against the ancient battlements. But my every wakeful thought is for the master who reigns o’er this exquisite darkness. Irrationally yours,

  Emma.

  Emma had slept like the dead. Vampyris lay beside her on the bed, but she could not remember reading more than the first paragraph before her eyes had betrayed her and shut themselves. Too many sleepless nights had taken their toll and now that the
toll was paid she was feeling more herself.

  She reached for the thick volume and ran her fingers hesitantly over the gilt lettering and the panel-stamped binding before she folded her legs under her and opened Vampyris up over her lap. The endpaper, like the rest of the book, was stained with age, almost three hundred years worth of oxidation.

  It was here that someone had long ago scrawled a name, some De Grigori ancestor—or watcher, as they called themselves. The letters were bold and prominent and faithfully noted the year that the book had been translated and transcribed from Latin into German. The illustrations too had been meticulously copied by a masterful hand, the details exquisite and the colors vivid.

  The grimoire, for that was what it looked like, seemed to be a collection of legends represented in such a rational and official way that Emma felt it more a summary of reports than an anthology of myths. Whoever had scribed these reports was not a storyteller, but indeed a watcher—a sort of journalist of the occult.

  Finding herself captivated by the words, she was only vaguely aware that the book was imbued with incense, the fragrance steeped with exotic mysticism. As she turned each yellowed leaf, the sweet smell of it became all the stronger, drawing her in all the more so that she felt herself moving through time.

  Her eyes scrolled hungrily over each brittle page and then halted abruptly over one particular image that was labeled with a single name: Lilith.

  The woman, presumably Lilith, looked to be in a maddened fury, her red hair in wild billows about her face as she tore her way through bodies, women and children. In one hand she clutched a severed limb and in the other she held a fistful of hair still attached to a decapitated head.

  As Emma read on, thoroughly intrigued and disturbed by the image, it was to find that Lilith had eaten her own mother, or part of her mother—the heart. She had lived for hundreds of years thereafter and had ultimately descended into madness. It had been her brother, Marbod the Black, that had finally dispatched her and put an end to Lilith’s reign of terror. That day, the very last in April, had evermore become known as Hexennacht. The Night Of Witches.