Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls)

by R. C. Matthews

  “How is this even possible?” she asked.

  Devlin shrugged. “Josephine died before she reversed her magic. It’s the only explanation I can imagine.”

  The walls suddenly groaned and belched. Panicked screams rent the air anew.

  Grace’s eyes widened. “Oh, goodness, the ceiling. It’s not going to hold.” She swallowed and grasped his arm, twisting this way and that, scanning the room. “Where’s Brother Anselm? He can’t swim. Where is he?” she cried, each word higher in pitch, fueled by panic. She had to find him before the ceiling crumbled, or he would surely die. A sob wrenched through her. “Brother Anselm!”

  “Here!” the monk called, striding toward them.

  • • •

  When Brother Anselm reached them, Devlin grabbed Grace’s shoulders, forcing her to look at him. He glanced at the monk. “Listen to me, both of you. If this ceiling blows, the water will rush in. Probably knock you on your arse, kick you around a bit. It’ll be dark. You won’t know up from down. Don’t panic. Sink to the floor and then push with all your strength upward. Follow the bubbles of your breath. The lake isn’t very deep.” He bit his bottom lip, a pained expression appearing as he shrugged out of his jacket. “Forgive me, love.”

  She cocked her head sideways and stared at him questioningly. “For what?”

  “This,” he said, ripping off the overskirt of her dress. “It’ll weigh you down.” He ordered the monk to kick off his shoes just as another ominous crackling noise sounded all around. But it was too late. “Deep breath, everyone! Brother, I’ve got you. Don’t struggle.”

  The glass panels finally burst under the pressure of the lake. Devlin grabbed hold of Brother Anselm’s belt, praying he’d tied the rope securely. The roar of water pounded in his ears, and he dragged in a lungful of air moments before the frigid lake water crashed over them, knocking him back and flipping them over. The darkness was overwhelming, and he could not get his bearings. Brother Anselm flailed about, and Devlin squeezed his shoulder, signaling him to relax. He let the weight of his clothes and shoes drag him down to the marble floor, and then with one strong thrust of his legs, he pushed off, seeking fresh air. The monk kicked feebly, and Devlin powered toward the top, using his free arm to slice through the water. His lungs burned as he burst through the surface. Shouts of panic surrounded them.

  “I’ve got you, Brother,” he said, thrashing around in a circle, the water still turbulent and wavy. “Grace, where are you? Grace!”

  Hands clawed at his arms and back as another man fought his way to the surface. Devlin shoved him away, screaming for Grace. His shoes were dead weights, dragging him down, and he kicked them off.

  “Grace!” he shouted again, panic rearing in his breast.

  “I’m here,” she panted.

  He caught sight of her head, dipping below the surface, and she gurgled. Swimming toward her in two long strokes of his right arm, he kicked furiously to stay afloat and pulled her to the surface with his free hand. Fear clawed at his gut. She’d said Brother Anselm couldn’t swim, but what about the level of her own ability?

  “Can you make it?” Devlin asked, his breathing labored.

  “Yes, go, go,” she cried.

  Every instinct in him screamed to release Brother Anselm and save his fiancée, but in his heart he knew she would never forgive him if her mentor died.

  “Don’t be a fool,” the monk cried, prying Devlin’s hand off the rope belt. “She’ll not make it. Let me die.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Grace screamed. “Go, now. Go.”

  Devlin growled and turned onto his back, holding Brother Anselm up as best he could while he used his free arm to stroke closer and closer to the edge of the lake. Every muscle in his body burned with the effort. When they reached the bank, he pushed the monk onto the grassy surface. Brother Anselm coughed and spit water before falling onto his back in surrender. He would live. Devlin turned back in search of Grace.

  The lawn around the lake was soon littered with bodies. More and more people surfaced, swimming desperately to safety, but none of them were Grace. He shouted her name again and launched himself back into the water, ignoring the chattering of his teeth and the bone-deep chill permeating his body.

  “Devlin.” Her head popped up for an instant and then was lost again, no more than twenty feet away. But if he didn’t make it to her side before she lost the fight, he may not find her in the inky depths of the lake until morning.

  His heart constricted as he plowed through the water. “Grace!”

  She should be there. Diving beneath the surface, he swam about in a circle. She should be there. He broke through the surface again and heaved a deep breath, preparing to dive further, until Victor’s voice halted him.

  “I have her!” Victor shouted.

  A choked sob escaped Devlin’s lips, and he silently praised God for watching over her as he sliced through the water with clean, smooth strokes. They reached land together, and he pulled himself out of the water then dragged her into his embrace.

  He found her lips, kissing her with tender passion. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close. Her teeth began to chatter violently, and she smiled against his lips.

  “I’ve never been so happy to be freezing in all my life,” she whispered.

  “Nor I.”

  He raised himself up on his elbow and surveyed the lake. Several people still treaded water, but the majority had already gained land, or had perished trying. With any luck, his staff had evacuated most of the guests before the dome shattered. There had seemed to be an impossibly large number of guests still in the ballroom, but in the chaos, he might have misjudged.

  “Get Brother Anselm and as many others as you can into the mansion,” he said, caressing Grace’s face. “Change into dry clothes. The servants will know where to find blankets. Stoke the fires in every room. Lord knows we have enough of them. Victor and I will help the last of the survivors to shore and then meet you inside.”

  She clasped her hand over his forearm, trembling. “Where is Emma? Hatchet? Have you seen either of them? She’s a poor swimmer. You must find Emma and Hatchet. Oh, please!”

  He sucked in a breath, her words pummeling him in the gut. Their friends were not accounted for, and he couldn’t recall hearing either of them while thrashing in the lake.

  “I’ll find them,” Devlin said, desperate to reassure her, though in truth the odds were against it.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Grace buttered a slice of toast, scraping the knife over the surface repeatedly until all traces of the golden cream disappeared. Her mind felt numb, her heart even more so. She locked her tattered emotions in a dank cell buried deep within her soul to be visited later, after she nursed her mentor back to full health. She could not wallow in her pain while Brother Anselm teetered precariously on the edge of life.

  A blazing fire in the hearth raised the room temperature to an almost unbearable level. But after the bone-chilling experience of the evening before, she wouldn’t complain, even if the heat did make her feel dreadfully tired. Her mouth stretched wide in an unladylike yawn, and she buried it against her shoulder.

  “Pardon me, Brother,” she said, handing him the toast. “It’s been a long night, and I’m afraid I haven’t much coal left in the oven.”

  He patted her hand and broke into a coughing fit. Phlegm crackled in his lungs with a deafening roar, sending another spark of fear through Grace’s gut. Her mentor wasn’t equipped for withstanding the brutal cold of a lake in late fall.

  “Go to bed, my dear,” he wheezed after his cough abated. “Pardon me, but you look absolutely dreadful, as though you’ve been crying for hours. You mustn’t fuss over me this way. After a spot of hot tea and a solid day’s rest, I’ll be good as new.”

  “Nonsense.” She rubbed his arm and settled back in the bedside chair. “The tables are turned for once, and I plan to take care of you. I’ve completed my rounds with the others; they’re getting al
ong fine.”

  The quiet hum of Brother Anselm’s chewing filled the space between them, and Grace clung to the familiar sound, staring into space. He’d given her quite a fright in the freezing water. For more than a couple of minutes, she believed they would both meet their Maker. She could not recall life without Brother Anselm and shuddered just thinking on it.

  “What are you staring at?” he suddenly asked.

  Nothing at all. But she wouldn’t burden him with her melancholy mood, so she said instead, “Your bald head. I’ve always wondered what it looked like, and now I know.”

  “A miracle, that,” her mentor said with a glimmer of awe twinkling in his eyes. “Josephine may have restored your sight out of spite, but I choose to believe the grace of God allowed you to keep it. You’ve been an ever-faithful servant.”

  She held her tongue rather than hurt his feelings with a thoughtless response, as she was unable at the moment to share in Brother Anselm’s unwavering faith in God.

  Victor had claimed it a miracle, too, and vowed to visit the chapel with more regularity. Grace ought to be filled with joy, but too much had happened within the last twelve hours to dampen her spirits. She clasped her hands and looked away.

  “Any news of Emma?” he asked softly, always attuned to her moods.

  A sob wrenched out of her chest, and she shook her head, unable to find her voice for several minutes. She had spent the entire morning crying after Devlin broke the news to her at dawn. Hatchet had surfaced shortly after Grace assisted Brother Anselm into the mansion, but there was still no sign of Emma. The pain written on Hatchet’s face tore Grace’s heart to shreds, for as surely as she loved Devlin, Hatchet had loved Emma, and he hadn’t been able to save her. Grace prayed that the force of the water had rendered her friend unconscious, because the thought of Emma drowning was more than she could bear.

  After much debate, Grace concluded her best friend hadn’t delivered the flutes of poisoned champagne out of spite; rather a master deceiver had played her. Josephine … Satan’s daughter … lady about town … and medicine woman. It had taken all morning for Grace to piece the clues together, but she’d finally done it. Josephine had healed Emma’s father with her ‘special tonic,’ and Emma nearly betrayed Grace by poisoning Devlin. A single sip of the champagne and the price of the black magic would’ve been paid. What if she hadn’t been blessed with a vision? She shuddered at the thought and wanted to scream at the mindless wreckage of Josephine’s wrath. Her best friend was too young to die and had possessed a truly kind heart.

  Brother Anselm handed her a handkerchief, and she mopped her face dry.

  “What is the final tally, my dear?”

  “Twelve perished, and seventeen sustained injuries in the mayhem while fleeing. Devlin shares my anguish over their deaths.”

  “The burden of their deaths is not yours or Devlin’s to bear,” Brother Anselm said. “That lies squarely on Josephine’s shoulders. Mere humans cannot anticipate such treachery or unbridled evil. And if I recall, Devlin took extra precautions to train his staff on evacuation in the event of a disaster. Imagine what might’ve happened had he not cared for his guests’ safety.”

  Grace sighed and rubbed her forehead, careful to avoid the cuts and bruises she bore as evidence of Josephine’s destruction. It would be months, perhaps years, before she would be able to block out the memory of the carnage.

  “I’m thankful more than half of the guests made it to safety before the dome shattered. Unbelievable, really, as it could’ve been much worse. To think you might’ve been among them, Brother.” She clasped his hand and leaned forward to kiss it. “God forgive me, but I’m so grateful it wasn’t you. You are more of a father to me than Charles Mitchell ever was, and I love you dearly.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Don’t think on it further. Devlin saved my life. I’m here, and you will not get rid of me anytime soon.” His thumb brushed against her hand rhythmically, and he cleared his throat. “Emma wouldn’t want you mired in guilt. The best thing you both can do is honor her memory by moving forward with love in your hearts.”

  Grace nodded and dabbed at her wet cheeks.

  “I hope you’ll allow me to do the honors of blessing your union with Devlin. Although I confess I had my doubts about the man in the beginning, he has proven himself worthy over the past month. I’m happy for you, my dear. It’s a great comfort knowing I leave you in good hands.”

  “Of course you’ll marry us,” she said. “After we’ve had a chance to process our grief.”

  They sat in peaceful silence for a moment, until the door flew open and a welcome gush of cool air rolled into the room.

  “Grace, Brother,” Maribeth cried, throwing her arms around Grace’s neck for a hug before sitting on her lap.

  Grace held her close, rubbing her silken hair and inhaling her sweet scent. The child always smelled of lemons. She was impossibly small, probably from lack of proper nutrients while growing up, defying her age of eleven. So young to be exposed to so much tragedy. Thank God Maribeth had already retired to her bedroom when the events of the prior evening had unfolded. But when the girl gazed into Grace’s eyes with a tentative grin, she knew everything would be fine.

  “You’re both well,” Maribeth said. “I’ve been longing to see you, but Abigail wouldn’t hear of it until you’d finished your breakfast. Even Devlin wouldn’t budge on the matter.”

  “No, I would not,” Devlin said from behind Grace’s chair. His hands wrapped over her shoulders, and he squeezed. “You both look as though you could sleep for days. Are you well?”

  Brother Anselm’s cough renewed with vigor in that moment, and Grace worried her bottom lip as phlegm rumbled forcefully in his chest. His chest cold seemed to be worsening. She scooted Maribeth off of her lap and stood to place her hand against the brother’s forehead. He was warm but not burning with high fever.

  “It’s time for you to get more sleep,” she said, ensuring the covers reached all the way to his chin. “Ring for me if you need anything. I’ll try to rest as well.”

  She ushered Maribeth out of the bedroom and sent her off with instructions for Cook to bake Brother Anselm’s favorite lemon bars and to send up fresh tea in a few hours. They exited the bedroom, and she closed the door behind them. Devlin wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning his chin on her shoulder.

  “He’s stronger than you think,” he said. “Don’t worry too much. I’m confident he’ll recover in a few days.”

  Resting her head back on his muscular chest, she clung to his words and took solace in his embrace. “Thank you for saving him.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Don’t thank me. I know how much he means to you. It pains me that I couldn’t save them all. Come, let’s get you to bed before you faint from exhaustion.”

  Grace threaded her arm through his. She was bone weary, and even the effort to walk the length of the main corridor felt beyond her capabilities. Sensing her exhaustion, Devlin wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her gently, cradling her to his chest. He kissed her forehead, and she burrowed her face in the crook of his neck.

  His measured steps soothed her tattered nerves, but she fought the urge to succumb to sleep. While she’d seen to Brother Anselm’s care, Devlin had been holed up in the parlor with Constable Daniels, who had arrived at the crack of dawn.

  “You can’t protect me from the truth forever,” she said, tapping her finger on his chest. “What did the constable want?”

  Devlin snorted and kissed her head. “Believe it or not, he wasn’t here to inquire about last night’s events.”

  She lifted her head and gazed at him, searching his eyes. “Why was he here?”

  “My mother suffered an accident on her way home, though she’ll likely live,” he said with little emotion. He paused at her bedchamber door, and then a satisfied grin curved up the corners of his lips. “Karma’s a real bitch.”

  “Devlin—” she scolded, but only half-heartedly. The woman had dug her
own grave, deep and wide, with a black spade.

  Devlin chuckled and pushed through the entrance to her bedroom, kicking the door closed with his foot. “Allow me one day to gloat, at the very least. I believe I’ve earned it.”

  She sighed and traced her finger along the scar on his jawline, reminded of all he’d endured. “You certainly have. Gloat all you wish.”

  He set her on her feet next to the bed and turned her away from him. She glanced over her shoulder, drinking in the sight of his determined jaw and set lips as he worked the buttons on her dress free. He did, in fact, love her. Why else would he put all of her needs before his own?

  She pulled the front of her gown down and shimmied out of it. “But once the constable was here, surely he inquired about last night’s events?”

  “Yes, of course, but you needn’t be alarmed.” Devlin strode to her armoire and selected a simple cotton nightgown. “He interviewed several guests to verify the events of last evening. They all provided strikingly similar accounts. I believe he’s recovered from the initial shock of the tales, including both the gatekeeper and your restored sight.”

  A moment later, she divested the rest of her undergarments and accepted her nightgown from Devlin’s outstretched hand. “Is that all? Shouldn’t there be more? Twelve people died.”

  He pulled the garment down her body, and her head poked through the top.

  “It was a freak accident,” Devlin countered. He cocked his head to one side. “However, he did say we’re not to leave England while he completes his investigation.”

  “That’s logical,” she agreed.

  “Quite so,” he murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck and lifting her once again in his arms. “Let’s get you to bed, my sweet. Tomorrow will be soon enough for me to interrogate you about the disturbing matter of ancient dark magic and Rosalie’s soul. Don’t think I’ve forgotten. You should’ve confided in me,” he whispered, nuzzling his cheek against her hair. “No more secrets between us.”