Wasn’t it enough to see what was going on? Did she have to hear, taste, and smell it, too?
Kate gagged again and raced up the stairs to the hall bath, collapsing on the floor, and hung her head over the toilet to vomit.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Kate
Kate steadied herself and stood slowly, not trusting her stomach. Once things seemed to settle, she made her way to the sink and washed her face with cold water and then brushed her teeth twice, doing her best to ignore her pale reflection in the mirror.
She could hope all she wanted that this would just go away, but she knew the truth. The gargoyles would never stop. Not unless she did something about them. They’d keep on killing. She didn’t have a few days to think this over.
Until now, Shadow Wood had been exciting, enticing.
Why had Declan and the gargoyles chosen her?
“I don’t know what you want from me, but this stops. Now! Do you hear me, Declan?”
Her words sounded braver than she felt. But who wouldn’t be scared? This wasn’t a psychotic break. This wasn’t a Hollywood script. She’d seen what happened in that alley firsthand. The visions were getting closer together. More vivid.
More violent.
She could no longer deny that she had something to do with all of this. Some connection. No one else would believe her, and even if they did, no one could help. This was on her. How long before the next vision? Before the next killing? She let herself slide down the bathroom wall until she was sitting on the cold tile. Closing her eyes, Kate thought about the castle—imagined it right before her, trying to recall the way it felt, the smells and sounds. She’d transported herself there easily before; she could do it again. She no longer needed dreams to connect with the gargoyles. She no longer needed to dream to visit Shadow Wood.
She pushed aside any thought about what she’d say once she found Declan, or if she would still show up as a ghost now that she was wide awake. The important thing was to find Ian and warn him. Then she’d talk to Declan and get answers. Once she understood what she was up against, she might be able to come up with a solid plan. This ended now. No more killings.
Shadow Wood. Just keep thinking about it, she told herself. Keep seeing it in your head.
Water. The sound of dripping water broke her concentration. She must not have fully shut off the faucet after brushing her teeth. The sound was too loud. This wasn’t working. She’d have to do it in her sleep.
Plink!
Why hadn’t she turned off the faucet? “Damn it!”
Kate opened her eyes to find she was still in a bathroom. Just not hers. She blinked a few times, getting her bearings. She was in the castle; she was sure of it. But where in the castle?
The walls were adorned with pictures of ferns and exotic plants. A few crackle glass jars filled with potpourri, cotton balls, and various creamy substances lined the wide granite counter and adjoining vanity. Two area rugs covered part of the marble floor leading up to a whirlpool tub. Scented candles flickered along the sides, and a stack of plush towels rested on the ledge.
Kate listened for any sound that might indicate the room’s resident was nearby. She shut off the faucet and quietly left the bathroom. In the bedroom, a canopy bed stood angled in the corner, piled high with pillows of different shapes and sizes. Flowing fabric draped around the top of the bed and swirled down the spindles. A few books lay on the nightstand. She picked up one of them—To Kill a Mockingbird, a favorite of hers. She set it down, careful to leave it as she’d found it.
The flames from the fireplace flickered and swayed. The hearth opened into the room on the other side of the wall. If the fireplace was lit, the guest couldn’t be far. The only way to get to the hallway was by walking through the next room. Then what? She had no idea what floor she was on.
Carefully, quietly, Kate pressed onward. The living area was as spacious and welcoming as the previous room, with high ceilings and overstuffed sofas and plump pillows in blue and gold. The far wall had a built-in bookshelf from floor to ceiling, complete with a library ladder. The forest-green carpeting gave the room a gardenlike feel. An intricately carved desk sat in front of French doors.
She was staying entirely too long. Yet she couldn’t help herself—the room was so inviting and tranquil. She opened the doors leading onto a deep, curved stone balcony. Having never seen the castle during the afternoon, she felt drawn to the balcony’s edge and the view extending over a vast green field with gently rolling slopes. The balcony offered a clear view of the grounds below. She stood there for a while, taking in the fresh air and basking in the fading autumn sunshine, letting it clear her senses, wash away the earlier vision. The air was crisp and cool, the scent clean and pure.
She’d been intent on finding Ian and Declan, and she still would, but it wouldn’t hurt to look around first. Besides, while she could do without the gargoyles, she still loved the castle itself. This could be her last visit.
As she leaned against the railing, it occurred to her that the line of sight might also work in reverse. What if someone saw her? She looked at her hands, which were no longer transparent. This time she was fully here, no longer spectral.
Kate retreated into the privacy of the living room. She closed the French doors and turned to leave. She had to fix this. She had to find Declan.
Instead, she found a raven-haired man with a thin, long face sitting on the sofa, watching her with dark, almost black eyes. Kate froze. She’d waited too long. Now she’d have to explain why she was in this guy’s room.
Kate fumbled for an explanation, but couldn’t think of one.
He was just a guest, she told herself. Like Ian.
Only not.
This guy seemed far from pleasant. His eyes were flat, his expression tight. Kate took note of the distance to the nearest exit.
“Even if you could make it to the door before I did, and I doubt that, by the way,” the man said and sighed as though her ignorance annoyed him, “where would you go?”
He was right. Unless she just vanished into thin air. Let him be faster than that.
“Kate, is it?” He patted a cushion on the sofa. “Let’s sit and talk, you and I.”
How did he know who she was? Did the entire castle know?
“Roland,” the man said.
Before Kate could respond or even take a breath, he stood before her. She hadn’t even seen him move. She began to have second thoughts about her ability to vanish faster than this guy could restrain her. She might be in way over her head here.
“The name. It’s Roland,” he repeated as he took her by the arm. His skin was cold, like death.
Now. Disappear right now, Kate told herself. This guy . . . he’s not like Ian. He’s not like Declan.
Kate was too afraid to try. If she closed her eyes now . . .
“You don’t know what you’re up against, you and the other mortal.” He released her arm and snapped his fingers a few times. “Isaac. Ivan . . .”
Roland’s breath was as icy as his skin. “Ian,” Kate said.
His thin lips curled. “Oh, yes. Of course. Ian. You’ve met. Tell me, don’t you think it’s strange that in a castle as large as Shadow Wood, you just happened upon the only other mortal present? Don’t you find it—convenient?”
Mortal? What was he talking about? What did that make him? What did it make Declan?
Satisfied that he’d piqued her curiosity, Roland motioned to the sofa. “I’ll tell you things. Things about Declan and Shadow Wood. Sit. I’ll keep my distance if it makes you feel better. You want to know what is going on, and I fear they haven’t told you the whole sordid story.”
“They?”
Roland cocked his head and raised his eyebrows, indicating that she was stupid for having to ask. But it had been a fair question. She’d met Declan, then Ian, and now Roland. A castle this size must have plenty of other people.
“They,” Roland said, clenching his hands. “Declan and Von Hiller.”
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“Who is Von Hiller?” Kate took a seat at the far end of the sofa. She turned to face him, ready to hear what this strange man had to say. Except he wasn’t there. Kate spun around, looking for him.
The sensation that he was still there, watching her, made her reassess her sanity and her decision to stay and hear him out. Kate followed her instincts to look up. Roland was hunkered down in a squatting position on the ceiling.
Kate gasped.
“I told you I would keep my distance,” he said.
Kate could only stare. He was on the ceiling! She gripped a nearby throw pillow.
“Type O.”
Kate blinked. “What?”
“Your blood. It’s type O.” He absently picked at his nails as though she were starting to bore him. “My apologies. Back to why you’re able to come here. Oh, and”—he snapped his fingers a few more times—“Ian. And then there’s the last sentinel. You’ll want to know about him, too.”
“Sentinel? Is that who this Von Hiller is?” She hadn’t been told about anything called a sentinel. But then, she hadn’t been told about Ian, either. Or much of anything. She struggled for something to say.
“Oh, my! You honestly don’t know why the gargoyles have chosen you, do you? You really are in the dark, little darling one.” Roland’s black eyes gleamed. “You mean to tell me you haven’t been told that you’re the next sentinel?” He brought a contemplative hand to his chiseled chin. “Fascinating.”
Kate had the impression he didn’t find it fascinating at all. He was just being condescending.
Roland skittered across the ceiling toward her. If the ceiling had been a few feet lower, his face would be inches from hers. Upside down, of course. Running was futile. Her best offensive was to remain calm and unafraid, which was easier said than done.
“Of course, Von Hiller thought Ian was the next sentinel, but everyone knows there can be only one. Not two. Everyone also knows what happened to the last sentinel that the gargoyles and Declan picked. That is, everyone except you and Ian. They’re keeping secrets from both of you. Very dark secrets.”
Her head was spinning. This was impossible. But if it was so impossible, how was it that she was here? How was it that she’d seen the gargoyles in action? How was it that she was talking to a man sitting on the ceiling?
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“How do you know I’m not? You’re here because you’ve started to see through their eyes. The gargoyles have already bonded with you, Kate, and unless you want to spend a lifetime as their guardian, that’s not a good thing. Of course, there’s also not a lot you can do about it now.” The sly, tight smile reappeared on his lips.
“Once you’ve bonded, well . . . that’s it. Unless you resist. The good news is that if you do resist, they’ll most likely choose the other mortal instead. Of course, I’m not sure what that means for you. Either way, I wouldn’t get too attached to Ivan.”
“Ian,” she corrected. “His name is Ian. And I’m not attached to him or this castle.”
Not true.
“Your insistence on correcting me proves you are attached, whether you know it or not. Even if it’s nothing more pesky than human conscience. And why do you keep returning if you don’t like it here? I’m only offering you advice. Call it a friendly warning.”
“You’re . . . you’re crazy,” Kate replied weakly. “Nothing is going to happen to me or Ian. Declan wouldn’t allow that.”
“You doubt me. Come now! You seem smart enough to figure it out from here.” With catlike grace, Roland tucked and rolled, landing upright on the floor before her.
Sentinels? Why her? Why Ian? Her mind reeled with questions, but she didn’t want to talk to Roland anymore.
“Good luck,” he said as he walked toward the door. He opened it, then paused, turning back toward her. “Ask me. You know you want to. Ask me about him, the one who came before you.”
Kate swallowed hard, knowing that nothing Roland had to say would be good. But if she didn’t ask, Declan might not be forthcoming. Ian might not know. “What happened to him? What happened to the last sentinel?”
Roland hung his head low for a moment. The sound of his laughter, almost inaudible at first, sent a fresh chill down her spine.
As he stepped over the threshold, leaving her with her fears, he answered, “Why, they ate him, of course.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kate
Kate stood alone in the room, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her face felt hot, and her heart raced as she fought to stay in control of the situation. Ate him? They ate him?
Would they eat her? Ian? It would be easy for her just to get out of here. But what about Ian? He wouldn’t be here if he suspected he was on the menu.
While she’d managed to remain strong in front of Roland, an avalanche of questions and worry engulfed her. She resumed pacing.
Think, Kate! Think!
First things first. She had to find Ian. He’d come here to write, or get rid of writer’s block. Something like that. But she doubted that he was here because he wanted to be a sentinel.
Everyone knows there can be only one.
Roland. He hadn’t harmed her, but he was dangerous. And clearly he didn’t like Ian. Dangerous? The guy was on the ceiling! What was he? For that matter, what the hell was this place? She stopped pacing. If her character, Peyton Harris, had taught her anything about situations like this, it was to trust only movement—actions. Standing still might get her nowhere but dead. Ian, too. Her hand rested on the doorknob, just as Roland’s had moments ago.
Just do it, she told herself. Stop thinking about it and just do it. Find Ian.
Bravery in the movies was one thing. This was something else. With a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped over the threshold, leaving the room with its comforting colors and textures behind.
She half expected to find Roland, but the long hallway was empty. Kate took a right. She hurried past closed doors, not daring to wonder if Roland or someone like him might be behind one of them. The hallway dipped, leading her down a short set of steps, then curved around another, shorter hallway with more closed doors, all except for an open archway. Ahead was a tall window displaying a breathtaking blue horizon with a single roofline of one of the castle’s wings below. Kate either had to turn around or go through the archway. Choosing the archway, she found it led to a spiraling wrought iron staircase of dizzying depth. It looked as though this staircase went far beneath the castle. Somewhere below echoed the sound of footfalls, and Kate retreated back into the hallway with its row of closed doors.
The metallic reverberations from the staircase grew louder. Kate walked briskly down the hall and stopped at a door that was open just a crack. White sheets covered most of the furniture inside the room. It didn’t appear as if anyone was inside. Kate ducked into the room and pushed the door back to its original position so she could peek out and see who was coming. Declan or Ian would be a welcome sight. Roland would not.
There were two chairs inside the room, placed neatly next to a small end table, which remained uncovered. One piece of furniture sat off to the side by itself—it was about three feet in width and around eight feet in height. Curious as to why it had been separated from everything else, Kate lifted a corner of the sheet. Underneath was a mirror—a very old one from what she could tell. The stain had worn off the outer edges of the intricately carved roses and florets in the wood. The glass was pitted. In the upper left corner, a large dark spot.
For a moment she thought she saw movement in the mirror—a shadow—someone dressed in a black cloak. It was impossible to tell whether the shrouded figure was male or female, as darkness obscured the face.
Still holding the sheet, Kate looked behind her.
No one was there.
She looked at the mirror again. The mysterious image watched her. Again she searched for a face, but found nothing but a disconcerting blackness.
“Who are—”
“Don’t engage it,” a voice said behind her, making Kate jump.
A man wearing a gray suit stood just inside the doorway. She’d been sure no one had seen her enter the room. “You might not like the answers it gives. He should never have brought it here.”
Kate glanced back at the mirror only to find the dark figure had gone. She shuddered and dropped the sheet, leaving a corner of the beveled glass in view. She turned to face the newcomer. “I . . .”
The man offered a warm smile that reached his bright, emerald eyes. “It’s fine, Kate. No blood, no foul, as they say. But if you don’t mind, I’d feel better . . .” He walked toward her, then reached around and unhooked the bit of sheet from the mirror’s ornate frame, letting it cover the glass entirely.
“There. That should do it. Bloody things are like vultures if you ask me.” He took a step back and offered a thick hand. “I’m Emmerich Von Hiller, caretaker and warlock. Most people simply call me Von Hiller. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kate.”
Kate’s breath caught, and not just because this had been the second time today that someone here knew who she was on sight. It wasn’t even because this was the Von Hiller that Roland had mentioned. “Excuse me. Did you say you were a wizard?”
The man lowered his hand and laughed. “No, warlock. Most people don’t know it, but there is a slight difference, and not at all in the derogatory sense. The difference is power and longevity.” He added lightly, “You look surprised. After what you’ve already seen, surely you can’t be that astonished!”
Kate supposed not. If gargoyles could come to life and she could transport herself to a faraway castle, and if there were strange men who could have a discussion from the comfort of the ceiling, she supposed that meeting a warlock was minor in comparison. At least he seemed friendly. “What is this place?” she asked.
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