She ran. Above her she heard the clip-clop of the jackasslegged, gorilla-armed monster that chased her to the small window he was unable to fit through without doing some remodeling to the exterior wall. Brick gave way and he was on the terrace. He’d ripped down a stone wall to get at her—a wall!
She didn’t think things could get any worse, but then, to her horror, she heard a sound that she was certain would haunt her nightmares for years to come: the bitter rain was hitting the ghoul’s still-burning flesh and making it sizzle.
Apparently the rain hurt it as well, or perhaps it was just that it had finally caught sight of her, because the ghoul let out a tremendous yowl and then flung itself over the balcony railing, not bothering with the ivy ladder. The drop was a good twenty feet onto unforgiving flagstone. It landed hard but the beast sprang up immediately and jumped after her, its legs bunching and springing like a horse taking a low fence.
The flare still flamed, the phosphorus burning merrily.
Harmony screamed then too, half in fear and half in disbelief. What would it take to kill this thing?
Alex heard Harmony scream and glanced down from the roof long enough to see her run for the cemetery with a flaming ghoul not twenty feet behind her. He was relieved to see the Masai knife clutched in her right hand, but wished she had had time to grab one of the hunting rifles. The knife would certainly do the job, but she was more comfortable with guns—and a gun could keep her out of the monster’s grasp.
Harmony scrambled up the side of a strangely scorched mausoleum, hampered by her wet nightgown and by worry about what might come out of the crypt’s doorway and grab her. It had been blasted open by something, perhaps lightning or vicious wind. Perhaps something worse.
She glanced back once during her climb. The damaged ghoul was trying to climb up after her but unable to find immediate purchase with his blackened hooves and clawed fingers that were now burnt to stubs. He might also have been hampered by his burned-out eyes, though from the way he was sniffing the air, she wasn’t at all certain that he needed sight to find her.
The ghoul howled again and leapt upward, almost reaching the building’s eaves. Fearing that he might eventually succeed, or be joined by something that was better adapted for climbing, Harmony took the risk of leaping across the four-foot gap between her own slimy pitched roof and that of the next violated death-house, whose roof was flat but about a foot higher. After that, one leap of faith after another, she worked her way across the graveyard, rooftop to rooftop, trying to get around to the front of the house and the bridge. She had to get back inside and to a better weapon before the ghoul figured out where she was going. Then she had to find Alex and get them off the island. She prayed the bridge was still in place, that they weren’t cut off from their only route of escape.
She wasn’t allowing herself to think about it, but the underlying conviction remained that it wasn’t just a ghoul that had come calling on them, but that Saint Germain himself was close at hand. And beyond that was the worry of what had happened to Alex. She still couldn’t feel him. Was it possible that he was already dead and she was all alone?
“No.” That couldn’t have happened. She would have felt him…die. But he might be in terrible trouble. His mind could have been overwhelmed by Saint Germain, in which case Alex was in desperate trouble. She wanted to take down her own wall and try to find him, but she was too afraid of what might be on the other side of her mental barrier.
Coming to a decision, Harmony stopped fleeing and waited at the top of the cemetery gate. The stone arch was firm but slimy with wet moss, and she had to fight for balance against the wind.
The ghoul rushed on, heedless of the headstones he toppled like children’s blocks.
“Over here, asshole.” Panting with fear, she knelt on the stone arch. She raised her blade high. This would be all about timing. Wait…wait…Now! She jumped, bringing the blade down hard, and discovered that Alex was right. The blade could hack a skull in two with more ease than a cleaver halving a chicken. Her blow wasn’t neat. It entered the center of the skull but then veered left to lodge in the creature’s clavicle after slicing off a third of its head.
She let go of the knife when the creature’s forward momentum threatened to pull her into its still burning body. She clutched the gate and fought for balance on the uneven ground while she watched the ghoul stagger by, caged by the stone wall on either side of the path. It managed to run another ten feet but then finally fell to the ground. The creature kept twitching, but didn’t get up again. The flare had finally eaten enough of its heart.
“Die,” she commanded it, meaning it, willing the creature to do her bidding. “Just die.”
The ghoul didn’t cooperate.
Harmony really wanted her bone knife back, but couldn’t bring herself to touch the shuddering monster. Instead she slid carefully past the body, scraping her back on the stone wall.
“Ow.” Her feet hurt. She looked down and saw that her slippers were gone and she was standing on a stray raspberry cane that had wormed its way between the unmortared stones. She’d probably lost her slippers somewhere in the cemetery.
In spite of the pain, Harmony stood there for a moment, clinging to the limb of an old chestnut tree that overhung the wall, listening to the storm and night, straining her ears to hear any sound, because this time her life did actually depend on hearing if danger was near.
But there was no noise to be heard above the gurgling rain, and no scent to be smelled above the odor of the ghoul’s barbecued flesh. However, there was a new light above her—a strange, almost lightning-colored aura that strobed against the small windows of the attic. She knew that it wasn’t the flash of a camera, though that was the only comparison her mind could make.
“Alex!” Harmony breathed, again terrified as she squinted against the stinging rain that filled her eyes. Her hand was bleeding freely from the knife wound, and the blood felt warm on her chilled flesh.
She experienced horror because she knew—knew—Alex wasn’t alone. He was facing off with Saint Germain, and whatever was happening, it had caused a lightning storm inside the house. Someone was going to die. No one would back down from this fight.
“Alex!” Other lightning lashed out at her, hitting the ground only a few feet from the gate, and a gust of wind rocked her back against the tree, knocking the breath from her body. Gasping, she forced herself upright, and ignoring the part of her that was screaming for her to get off the island while she still could, she instead ran for the front door of the quaking cottage that shivered with every strobe of light that lit the top floor. She prayed that the door was unlocked, because she didn’t think she had the strength to climb back up the ivy to the gun room, and would rather not risk breaking any more windows when she was barefoot.
This time she was going for the Nitro. Surely an elephant gun would be enough to kill Saint Germain.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
We blame in others only the faults by which we do not profit.
—Alexandre Dumas
It is often woman who inspires us with the great things that she prevents us from accomplishing.
—Alexandre Dumas
One’s work may be finished someday, but one’s education never.
—Alexandre Dumas
FBI research facility
New Mexico desert
“Hey, is the hand really missing?” Peter Arden asked, peering into the empty tank of the gas chromatograph where the hand found in the Ruthven Towers had been kept. Peter was always chatty when working in the government’s most top secret lab. Talking helped distract him from the mild feelings of claustrophobia that always afflicted him when he was underground.
“Not your project,” a nervous Lyle answered. “Anyway, that’s classified information. You’re going to get in trouble with security. They’re all over the place today.”
“It sure looks bad—someone breaking in like that. Or do they think it’s an inside job? And why take it anyway?
It wasn’t moving around much anymore. In fact, it wasn’t moving at all. And it stunk. The thing was finally rotting.”
Lyle looked up at the security camera and then mumbled that he couldn’t talk about it.
“They got this out of Ruthven’s building, didn’t they?” Arden persisted, though he knew the answer.
“Arden, it’s none of your business. Go away. I’m busy.” Lyle leaned over his microscope and pretended to be hard at work. There wasn’t anything to see, though. The hand had been his only project. Now he was simply killing time until the next round of questioning by the director of security.
“Did you hear that there was an attempted break-in last week? You think maybe it was the hand’s owner looking for his missing parts?” Arden asked with an uneasy laugh.
Lyle tried not to shudder. That couldn’t be. Nothing had been caught on the security tape. It was just some damned rodent chewing on the wiring. They were always having electrical problems thanks to the invasive sand and the toothsome wildlife. No, terrible as it was to consider, this had to be an inside job—and security would find out who was responsible and then everything would go back to normal.
“Look, Arden—”
“I know. I know. That’s classified too.” Arden sighed and prepared to move on. He had originally thought he’d enjoy working in the lab, but the charm had worn off months ago. He hated being in a place with no windows and a long, long way from any kind of town. To add insult to deprivation, it seemed unfair that Lyle had been assigned to this cool project when they were both equally qualified for this kind of research.
Lyle was thinking the same thing too as Arden shuffled his feet—life was unfair—and he was counting the days until he could retire and leave this mess to someone else. He’d seen enough weird shit in the last six months to last this and maybe three other lifetimes and didn’t want to see any more. He already had a head full of nightmares and a new conviction that evil actually existed. All he wanted was to be cleared of all suspicion, get his pension, and then head for Florida and his dream of life on a fishing boat. In time he would forget that any of this freaky stuff existed and he would stop having dreams.
Both men stared at the empty tank for a moment more, remembering what had been in it. Patches of green had begun to appear on the hand, and the flesh had begun to wither. Yellow fluid had leaked from the severed wrist. That residue was all that remained.
Lyle thought: Arden’s right. I bet that thing stinks—and I’m glad you’re rotting, you unnatural son of a bitch. I hope it hurts too. You and the thief that took you deserve whatever happens.
“I killed Thomasina. I can kill her too. Anything you love, I can take away.” Saint Germain smiled as he said this.
Alex both felt and heard Harmony when she entered the smoldering room. He could see in his peripheral vision that her aura was spiking wildly, throwing out flares of bright green, but her own blessedly clean aura surrounded her. That meant he had succeeded in keeping Saint Germain away. Her mental defenses still held.
He also sensed that she was wounded, bleeding, but he didn’t dare look away from his nemesis to check on her. This was the end, but nothing would be completely over until this creature was a pile of ash. He couldn’t shake the feeling that—just like all those years ago—defeating Saint Germain had been too easy. Fate was bound to throw him another curve ball before this battle was done.
“Leave us,” he said to Harmony. “You don’t need to watch this.”
“But I want to,” she said, coming a step closer. He knew what she saw. Even bloodied, the wizard’s body was beautiful, the face exquisite. But she would also feel the raw power rolling off of him that was as cold as the wastelands of his sickened mind. He wasn’t able to contain all his poisonous thoughts, and the illusion of angelic beauty was cracking.
Alex raised his arm. He held his bloody and skinned fingers rigid, making them into a bone knife.
“It ends tonight,” he promised.
“I can give you what you want,” the king of lies whispered, his eyes blazing to new life. The voice was mesmerizing, and in spite of himself, Alex paused to listen. “I can give you back your son.”
“Alex—don’t listen!” Harmony stepped closer and sighted down the barrel of his Nitro. Her voice was as wintry as any he had ever heard. “Get back. Let me kill him.”
“How?” Alex damned himself even as he asked the question. What could this creature be offering? It would be something evil and tainted. He was going to raise Alexandre as a ghoul or zombie. Or…
“I could clone him. You could have him back—an infant. And this time you could be the father you have wanted to be. You could raise your son again—love him, nurture him.”
The words were cruel, seductive…and a trap. He felt Saint Germain move—saw a blade in his enemy’s hand coming at him, so strong, so fast. He didn’t even try to avoid it. He slammed his fingers down with all his might, shattering the man’s sternum. He wrapped his fist around Saint Germain’s heart—those giant hands he had inherited from his own father—and ripped the thing from his enemy’s beautiful body. He felt the knife go into him, puncture his lung, but Alex didn’t pause. He smashed Saint Germain’s heart into the ground, bearing down on it until it burst, spraying him with gore.
And with it, he smashed all chances of ever seeing his son. He felt in many ways that it was his own heart that had just been destroyed.
“Alex, move.”
Filled with pain and unable to tell what was physical and what was mental, he rolled away from his enemy’s corpse.
“Do it. Finish him,” he said, and watched as Harmony stepped up to the body and emptied her rifle into that beautiful head. In a few seconds, nothing was left of Saint Germain from the shoulders up. Harmony was white and looked on the verge of being ill, but she had never looked away from the wizard and had not hesitated to pull the trigger.
She turned and knelt beside Alex, reaching out to put a hand over the wound in his side that was already closing. She laid the gun aside with care. Her other hand was bleeding through the cleaning rag she had wrapped around it. It added more gore to the floor, but that didn’t matter; the floor was already ruined. The whole cottage was probably damaged to one degree or another.
“He wouldn’t have been Alexandre. It is not the body that makes the person. It’s the mind, the soul,” Harmony said softly, clearly knowing what Alex was thinking and feeling. Blood dripped from a small gash in her scalp, and Alex found himself wiping it away from her pale cheek as he would a child’s tear. He was also moved by the sight of naked, muddy feet, also shedding blood for him. A part of Alex noted that he could see every detail of her body through the thin cotton of her sopping gown, and that she was beautiful—not as Saint Germain had been, inhuman and perfect. She was alive, compassionate and loving. He wanted her so much. She was the only thing that could take his pain away.
“Alex?” she asked softly.
“I know.” He gathered himself. Breathing hurt, but he had to find the strength to finish this task. There would be no mistakes this time. “We have to burn the body—completely. We can’t leave anything that might be reanimated or that could be cloned. Then we throw the ashes into the sea.”
“Okay.” She didn’t argue, though she had to be hurting and at the limits of her strength. “We’ll have to burn the ghoul too, I guess. Though he’s mostly already a cinder.”
Neither of them moved.
“It’s been a long night,” he said. “And not the one I had planned. I’m so sorry, Harmony. I thought I could keep you safe.”
“It has been a long night—and it’s been a few French fries short of a Happy Meal. But it’s almost over. And we’re both alive, so don’t apologize.” And she managed to find a smile for him. It was wry, but beautiful in its human compassion. “And just think of all the material we’ll have for the next book. The Hitchhikers’ Guide to Paranormal Cornwall. It’ll be a best seller.”
“I love you,” he said, and meant
it. “I didn’t want to—for your sake mostly. But I do.”
She nodded. “I know. And I think I love you too. I know there’ll be some problems, but we’ll manage somehow. It’s a nice kind of problem to have, really.”
He nodded back. “Given the rest of it, being in love doesn’t look nearly so tough as it did before. And help will be here by morning. I found Byron earlier tonight and sent a message on the mental express, then phoned Millie so she could give them directions. He and Ninon and their partners are in France. They came looking for me.” He sighed. “We aren’t alone anymore.”
Harmony didn’t answer with words. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed him. Then she said, “You weren’t alone anyway. But I’m glad they’re coming.”
The largest fireplace was in the library, and there was already a fire in the grate, so that was where they decided to burn the bodies. It went surprisingly quickly. Harmony forced herself to watch as Alex pulled the bodies limb from limb and stacked them like logs in the grate. Both creatures went up like old kindling. The smell was dreadful, but much less horrible than anything else they had faced that evening.
The wing chairs by the fire begged to be sat in, so they did, though neither looked too closely at what was blazing in the grate. A silence, deep and slightly stunned, surrounded them. The storm was gone. The wind was gone, but Harmony wondered if it was only temporary. Would there be more? Had this been too easy?
Alex had feared there might be zombies wandering the island, pulled up from the graves by Saint Germain’s magic, but none had appeared. Apparently, all the corpses in the cemetery had been too far gone to answer the wizard’s summons, or else had gone back into their graves when he died. There would be a lot of restoration work to be done in the cemetery and in the house, but it didn’t matter to Alex. He was going to sell the island anyway. His only comment was to say that he’d have to pay Millie one hell of a Christmas bonus this year.
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