At Twilight

by Maggie Shayne

  Maybe that was exactly what had happened.

  The priceless antique furniture lay toppled.

  Some had been smashed.

  One of the needlepoint chairs had a leg missing.

  Vases lay in bits on the parquet floor.

  Heavy, marble-topped tables lay like fallen trees.

  She stumbled almost blindly onward, through the formal dining room,

  where a candelabra had been hurled through a window, into the kitchen

  where cupboard doors had been ripped from their hinges.

  The sounds of breaking glass reached her and she turned, glimpsing the

  door she hadn’t noticed.

  It hung open wide with a stairway that could only lead to the cellar.

  The sounds came from the darkness below, and a hand of ice choked

  her.

  She had no idea where Eric’s coffin was, but if she’d had to hazard a

  guess she would have guessed the cellar.

  She approached the door.

  A hand on her shoulder made her jump so suddenly she almost fell down

  the stairs.

  Jamey’s other hand steadied her.

  “I called the police,” he told her softly.

  “Good. Stay by the front door and wait for them, okay?”

  He looked up at her, but didn’t agree.

  He remained at the top, though, as she slowly descended the stairs.

  Her foot on a different surface told her when she’d reached the

  bottom.

  The air was thick with blackness and the strong aroma of spilled

  wine.

  Glass shattered and she forced herself to move toward the sounds.

  “Curtis!”

  She shouted his name and the noise abruptly stopped.

  She stood still.

  “Stop it, Curt. Just stop it—this is crazy.”

  She waited while her eyes adjusted to the dark.

  She finally made out his shape.

  It grew clearer.

  He stood near a demolished wine rack, and he held a double-bit ted

  ax.

  Broken bottles littered the floor around him.

  He stood in puddles of wine.

  The rack’s wood shelves hung in splinters.

  “Get the hell out of here. Tam my. This isn’t your business.

  It’s between me and Marquand!

  ” He lifted the ax again.

  Tamara threw herself at his back, latching onto his shoulders from

  behind to keep him from doing more damage.

  He dropped the ax to the floor and reached back, grabbing her by the

  hair and yanking her from him.

  She stumbled, hit the wine-soaked floor, but scrambled to her feet

  again.

  She faced him, panting less from exertion than fear.

  “The police are on their way, Curt. You’ll wind up in jail if you

  don’t get out of here, right now.”

  He reached for her so fast she didn’t have a chance to duck.

  He grabbed the front of her coat, bunching the material in his fists.

  He whirled her around, and slammed her back against what once had been

  the wine rack.

  The back of her head hit a broken shelf and red pain lanced her

  brain.

  “Where is he. Tam my?”

  She blinked, feeling her knees weaken.

  She pressed her hands to the wall behind her for support, then she

  froze.

  She felt a hinge beneath her palm.

  This was no wine rack.

  It was a door.

  What the hell would a vampire want with wine, anyway?

  Why hadn’t she guessed sooner?

  And when would it hit Curt?

  She sucked air through her teeth.

  “He’s not—here.”

  The back of his hand connected with her jaw, and his knuckles felt like

  rocks.

  “I said, where is he? You damn well know and you’re damn well going to

  tell me.”

  Involuntarily a sob escaped.

  Tears burned over her face.

  Curtis let go of her coat, but gripped her shoulders.

  “Christ, Tam my, I don’t want to hurt you. You’re under his control,

  dammit. You’ll never see him for what he is until he’s gone. If I

  don’t do it, he’ll kill us all.”

  She faced him squarely and shook her head.

  “You’re wrong!”

  “He’s not even human,” he told her.

  “He’s more human than you’ll ever be!”

  Curt’s hand rose again, but it was caught from behind.

  “Leave her alone,” Jamey shouted.

  “What the hell?”

  Curt looked back, shaking Jamey’s grip away effortlessly.

  Then he turned on him.

  “You little” — “Curtis, no!”

  But before he could hit the boy, Jamey lowered his head and plowed into

  Curt’s midsection like a battering ram.

  Both went down in a tangle of arms and legs and broken bottles.

  Tamara grabbed Curt’s arm and tried to pull him away.

  “Hold it right there!”

  A strong light shone down the stairs, and footsteps hurriedly

  descended.

  A police officer took Tamara’s arm and pulled her away, while another

  lifted Curt, none too gently, then bent over Jamey.

  “You all right, son?”

  “Fine. I’m the one who called you.”

  He pointed an accusing finger at Curtis.

  “He broke in… with that.”

  He angled his finger toward the ax on the floor.

  The cop whistled, helping Jamey to his feet, and turned back to

  Curt.

  “Izzat right?”

  He took Curt’s arm and urged him up the stairs, while the second

  officer herded Tamara and Jamey ahead of him.

  At the top, in the better light, her officer tugged her into the living

  room and told her his name was Sumner.

  “You the owner?”

  “No. I… he’s out of town and I was keeping an eye on the place for

  him,”

  she lied easily.

  Jamey stood aside, not saying a word.

  “I’ll need his name and a number to reach him.”

  He’d pulled a stereotypical dog-eared notepad from his pocket.

  “He’s en route,” she said.

  “But he should be back tonight.”

  He nodded, took down Tamara’s name, address and phone number, then bent

  his head and frowned, his eyes fixed to her jawline.

  “Did he do that?”

  Tamara’s fingers touched the bruised flesh.

  She nodded, and saw anger flash in the officer’s green eyes.

  “I need to take Jamey home, and… get myself together. I know you

  need a full statement, but do you think I could come in later and give

  it to you then?”

  He scanned her face, and nodded.

  “You want to press assault charges?”

  “Will it keep him jail overnight?”

  He winked.

  “I can guarantee that.”

  “Then I guess I do.”

  The officer nodded, took Eric’s name down and advised her to have

  herself looked at by a doctor.

  Then he went into the dining room and spoke to his partner.

  Moments later Curds was led toward the front door with his hands cuffed

  together behind his back.

  “You’ll regret this,” he repeated again and again.

  “I’m a federal officer.”

  “One without a warrant, which in our book makes you just another

  breaking and entering, vandalism and aggravated assault cas
e.”

  Sumner continued lecturing as they went out the door and along the

  driveway.

  Jamey looked to be in shock.

  Tamara went to him and ran one hand through his dark, curly hair.

  “You have guts like I’ve never seen, kiddo.”

  He looked up but didn’t smile.

  “I hate to admit it, Jamey, but I’m awfully glad you were here with

  me.”

  A smile began beneath hollow eyes.

  “What’s going on?

  Why did Curtis want to kill Eric?

  ” She looked at him, not blinking.

  “A lot of reasons.

  Jealousy might be one, and fear.

  Curt is definitely afraid of Eric.

  ” She wouldn’t lie to Jamey. She wasn’t certain why, but he was a part

  of all of this. ” Eric is different—not like everyone else.

  Some people fear what they don’t understand.

  Some would rather destroy anything different, than learn about it.

  ” He still looked puzzled. ” Do you know about the Salem witch

  trials?

  ” He nodded. ” Same principle is involved here.

  ” Jamey sighed and shook his head, then grew calmer, and got the adult

  expression on his face that told her he was thinking like one.

  “Fear what’s different, destroy what you fear.”

  She sighed, awed at the insight of the child.

  “Sometimes you amaze me.”

  She walked with him out the door, and pulled it closed.

  She propped the gate with a big rock, so it would at least look like a

  deterrent.

  “You think it’ll be all right until I get back?”

  Jamey frowned at her.

  “I don’t have any more weird feelings jumping in and out of my brain,

  if that’s what you mean.”

  He smiled fully for the first time.

  “You know, Jamey, you probably saved my life in there.

  If you hadn’ t called the cops.

  ” She shook her head.” “And you likely saved Eric’s, too, as well as

  his friend, Roland.”

  He looked back at the house, with one hand on the car door.

  “They’re in there, aren’t they?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer.

  “They would’ve helped us, but they couldn’t.

  If Curt had found them, he’d have killed them.

  ” He didn’t ask Tamara to confirm or deny any of it.

  He just slid into the car and rode home in silence.

  Tamara told Kathy the bare facts, while trying to gloss over the worst

  of it.

  Jamey envisioned a breakin at a friend’s house.

  He and Tamara arrived just in time to prevent it.

  The suspect was in custody and all was well with the world.

  Tamara kept the bruised side of her face averted, and made excuses to

  hurry off without coming inside for a visit.

  Kathy Bryant, while flustered, took it all in stride.

  Tamara arrived back at Eric’s front gate a little after 5:00 p.

  m.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN .

  Cric opened his eyes and slowly became aware of the smell of dirt

  surrounding him.

  He rested in an awkward position, not upon his bed of satin but on the

  rough wood floor of the secret room beneath it.

  He frowned, his head still cloudy, and squeezed the bridge of his nose

  between thumb and forefinger.

  He recalled the sudden sense of danger that had roused him from the

  depths of his deathlike slumber to a state hovering near wakefulness.

  He’d automatically flexed his forefinger on the hidden button, dumping

  himself into this place.

  He was safe and the feeling of mortal danger had passed.

  Eric stood on the small stool, placed here for just such a purpose, and

  reached above him to the handle on the underside of his mattress.

  He pulled downward, then reached higher to release the lock on the

  lid.

  A moment later he swung himself over, landing easily on the floor.

  He attuned his senses, felt no threat and moved across the room to the

  coffin Roland had set upon a bier.

  He tapped on the lid, not surprised when Roland emerged from a

  concealed door in the bier itself, rather than through the polished

  hardwood lid.

  He straightened, brushed at his wrinkled clothing.

  “What in God’s name has been happening?

  ” “I’m not certain.”

  Eric stood motionless.

  “Tamara is here.”

  Roland too, concentrated.

  “Others have been. Three-no, four others. Gone now.”

  Nodding, Eric unlocked the door.

  They moved quickly through the darkened passage, and Eric unlatched

  and pushed at the wine rack that served as its entrance.

  It gave a few inches, then jammed.

  He shoved harder, forcing it open.

  Both men took pause when they stepped into the cellar.

  The electric light bulb above glowed harshly.

  What had been a well-stocked wine rack was now a shambles, with only a

  bottle or two remaining intact.

  The aroma assaulted Eric, pulling his head around until he saw the

  plastic pails on the floor, filled to the brim with broken glass and

  bits of wood.

  An old push broom and a coal shovel were propped against one pail.

  The floor beneath his feet was damp with wine.

  Another scent reached Eric’s nostrils and he whirled, immediately

  spotting the slight stain on the wall near the hidden door, and knew it

  was blood.

  Tamara’s blood.

  He flew up the stairs then, and through the house, skidding to a halt

  when he entered the parlor.

  Tamara lowered the two far legs of a heavy table to the floor.

  She ran her fingers over the chipped edge, sighed deeply and bent to

  retrieve an old gilded clock.

  She brought the piece to her ear, then placed it gently on the marble

  table.

  Eric took in the scene around her, realizing she’d already righted much

  of it.

  She turned slightly, so he saw the dark purple skin along her jaw, and

  picked up a toppled chair, setting it in its rightful place.

  “Tamara.”

  He moved forward slowly.

  She looked up at the sound of his voice, and rushed into his arms.

  He felt her tears, and the trembling that seemed to come from the

  center of her body.

  No part of her was steady.

  He closed his arms as tightly as he dared around her small waist, and

  held her hard.

  Roland had stepped into the room and stood silently surveying the

  damage.

  “Who is responsible for this?

  ” Eric stepped back just enough to tilt her chin in gentle fingers,

  and examine her bruised face.

  “It was… it was Curtis, but Eric, I’m all right. It isn’t as bad as

  it looks.”

  Eric’s anger made the words stick in his throat.

  “He struck you?”

  She nodded.

  He reached around to touch the back of her head gently, and knew when

  she winced that he’d found the cut.

  “And what else?”

  “He…”

  She looked into his eyes and he knew she’d considered lying to him,

  then realized it would be useless.

  “He shoved me against the wall and I hit my head
, but I’m fine.”

  He sought the truth of that statement, probing her mind, wondering if

  she was truly all right.

  “Must have come through here like a raging bull,” roland remarked.

  “I’ve never seen him so angry,” Tamara said.

  “Nor will you ever see it again.”

  Eric let his arms fall away from her and took a single step toward the

  door.

  Roland blocked his path quickly and elegantly.

  Eric knew he had little chance of moving his powerful friend aside.

  “I believe we should hear the tale before any action is taken, Eric.”

  Eric met Roland’s gaze for a moment, and finally nodded.

  “Remember, though,” he said.

  “He was warned what would happen if he harmed her.

  ” Eric turned to Tamara, and noted that as she came to him her gait was

  wobbly. He slipped his arms around her and helped her to the set

  tee.

  Roland left the room, and returned in a moment with one of the

  remaining bottles.

  He took it to the bar, poured a glassful and brought it to Tamara.

  “Take your time,” he said softly.

  “Tell it from the start.”

  He sat in an undamaged chair, while Eric stood stiffly, waiting,

  wishing he could reach the bastard’s throat in the next few seconds.

  Tamara sipped the wine.

  “I guess the start isn’t all that bad. I convinced Daniel to drop the

  research. He agreed when I told him I’d leave forever if he didn’t.”

  Eric frowned.

  “He agreed?”

  “Yes, and that’s not all. I asked him to meet you, talk to you. I

  want him to see you the way I do, and know you would never hurt me. He

  agreed to that, too.”

  Eric sat down hard.

  “I’ll be damned ” “I’m not at all convinced this is a good idea,”

  Roland said.

  “But I’ll leave that for later. Go on with the story, my dear.”

  Eric saw Tamara sip again, and her hand on the glass still wasn’t

  steady.

  He sat closer to her.

  “When Daniel told Curtis he was dropping the research. Curt was

  furious, but defiant. He said he’d continue with or without Daniel’s

  help. Daniel told him to drop it, or lose his job at DPI. Curt left

  madder than ever … but I still never thought he’d come here.”

  Eric frowned and shook his head.

  “How did you know?”

  “It was Jamey, the boy I work with. He’s something of a clairvoyant,

  though it’s a weak power except where I’m concerned. He knew your

  name, Eric. He picked up on my nightmares, too. He called me,

  frantic, and when I picked him up he insisted we come here. He said