The Haunting of Brier Rose

by Simpson, Patricia

  "But how can you hunt him down when he's in my aura?"

  "He's not in your aura. I checked."

  While Taylor cleaned the gun, Rose and Bea sorted through the jumbled mess in Bea's apartment, searching for the box that had held the emerald and list of instructions. Bea found it shoved beneath her bed, the lid ripped off its hinges, as if Seth had been in a hurry or a maniacal rage.

  Bea held up the bottom of the box and shook her head as Rose joined her by the bed.

  "What about the list of instructions?" Rose asked, taking the empty box in her hands.

  "They're gone, too."

  "I never really read them thoroughly," Rose put in. "I should have, when I had the chance."

  "I've gone over them again and again, dear, worrying about the day you would turn twenty-one. I think I can remember most of the words."

  "But what good will that do us without the my mother's emerald?"

  "Maybe if you wore my emerald ring—"

  Bea started to twist the band off her finger, but Rose put out a hand to stop her.

  "No, Bea. You keep it. If you take that off, there's no telling what Seth will do to you. At least we know he wants me alive for tonight."

  "But there must be something I can do to help."

  "You can't help me if Seth gets to you," Rose reasoned. "Keep it on for now."

  Reluctantly Bea nodded in agreement and looked about her disorderly apartment. Rose glanced at her, aware of the lines of tiredness around Bea's mouth, the smudges under her eyes and the telltale way she stroked her temple to alleviate the onset of a headache. She shouldn't even be up and about after having narrowly escaped death earlier that morning. There was nothing she could do, either, to prepare for the night to come, other than be fully rested in case a chance to save herself arose.

  Rose put the box on the bed and slipped her arm around Bea's shoulders. "Bea, why don't you go back to my room and take a nap?"

  "But there's so much to do—"

  "This mess can wait. And there's nothing we can really do until tonight, anyway, other than try to find Seth and the emerald."

  "So we just sit here and wait?"

  Rose squeezed her shoulders. "What else can we do?"

  "I feel so helpless. Like a sitting duck." Bea clutched Rose's hands. "And I'm frightened, Rose."

  "So am I." Rose straightened and looked down at her grandmother. "I only hope you will forgive me."

  "Whatever for?"

  "For not believing. For not leaving when you asked."

  Bea gave her a tremulous smile. "Dear Rose. Don't worry about me. I'll be all right. It's you—"

  "We should have left days ago, Bea. I'm so sorry I refused to go."

  "You couldn't have known the consequences, child." Tenderly, Bea patted her cheek. "And none of us could have predicted the dogs and the phone."

  Rose gazed down at her. "I love you, Bea. I just wanted you to know."

  Bea's eyes glistened. "And I love you, dear. You've been the best grandchild a grandmother could have." She reached up, and Rose bent to embrace her. Before her emotions could get the best of her again, however, she drew away, just as Taylor appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.

  "I'm ready when you are," he said, tucking the pistol in the waistband of his jeans. "Let's go find that sonofabitch."

  "I'm going with you," Bea put in, shuffling toward Taylor.

  Rose put out a restraining hand. "Bea, you're exhausted."

  "I'm not staying behind," she countered. "Seth Bastyr killed my son and my husband. And now he wants you. Do you think I can take a nap when I know Seth's somewhere at Brierwood? Not a chance. I'm going with you. And that's final."

  "Come on, then." Taylor looked at his watch. "It's four o'clock. We have about six hours until dark."

  As they left Bea's room, Rose realized just how monstrous a job lay before them. And that was assuming Seth lay sleeping somewhere in the house and not out in the extensive grounds, where they were prevented from going by the Rottweilers. Brierwood was a huge, rambling house with three full floors of nooks and crannies, topped by a shadowy attic and built over a dark labyrinth of cellars that Rose had always made a point of avoiding. If they could have split up and conducted individual searches their task would have been considerably easier. But Taylor insisted that they stay together for safety's sake, and she had to agree with his decision. If Seth showed up unexpectedly, or if the dogs managed to break into the house, she would feel much safer with Taylor by her side.

  Rose suggested searching the house from attic to basement, going methodically from one wing of the house to the other, so they wouldn't miss a single room. She and Bea carried flashlights. Taylor kept the gun as well as a light.

  Taylor led the way to the attic by ascending a short flight of wooden stairs and opening a small door onto a long, narrow room lit by a pair of dormers and two high windows at either end. The windows were dusty and festooned with thick cobwebs, which blocked most of the light. Rose didn't relish the idea of searching through the contents of the attic, but she knew she couldn't turn back. Her glance darted around the attic, which was crowded with trunks and boxes that cast strange, distorted shadows on the floor. What if Seth was somewhere in this creaking, musty place, pressed against the wall like an earwig in the crack of a fence, waiting until nightfall, when he could surge to life? If she came upon him like that, she would absolutely faint.

  With her heart pounding in her ears, Rose eased farther into the room, too proud to admit how scared she felt. The rhythmic tapping of Taylor's cane on the wooden floor as he searched the room only served to remind her that time was quickly ticking away.

  "What will we do if we find him?" Rose asked, gingerly lifting the clasp on a large, dusty chest. What if Seth were curled inside the box waiting to leap to life? With fingers that were frozen and stiff, she lifted the lid slightly, wishing she had a stick in her hand so she could perform the task and still keep her distance from the box. She peered into the murky depths of the chest and let out a relieved breath. The chest was filled with old linens.

  "We kill him!" Bea replied vehemently.

  "How, though? With a gun?"

  Taylor moved a drapery aside with the tip of his cane. "I don't think vampires can be killed by a gun—at least, not the vampires I've ever read about." He let the drapery fall back into position and turned to look at Rose. "Vampires are killed with wooden stakes and wolfs bane, aren't they?"

  "What about auric vampires?" Rose asked, trying to keep her voice from cracking with fear. "What did the book say about getting rid of than?"

  "Nothing. That's the problem. The book only mentioned how a person could avoid auric vampires or heal auric wounds. Perhaps the author of the book never encountered an auric vampire as powerful as Seth."

  "And without the emerald, we're helpless," Bea put in, pushing up her glasses. "Your mother's instructions depended on the emerald."

  "If we find him while he's resting, we might be able to get the emerald back." Taylor knelt on one knee and aimed a flashlight into the crawl space under the eaves of the roof. Then he stood up and switched off the light. "I'm hoping he'll be in a weakened state during the daylight, and that he'll have hidden the emerald somewhere on his person."

  Rose sneezed from the dust particles that wafted into the air with every step she took and every trunk and carton she dislodged. She rubbed the tip of her nose. "So we'll body-search him?"

  "That's right."

  Rose hated the thought—dreaded the prospect, as a matter of fact—and from the look on Taylor's face, she knew he felt the same way.

  The afternoon flew by, as if fate guessed they were pressed for time and was playing a cruel joke on them by hurrying the sun toward the horizon. After they completed their search of the second and third floors, they trudged down the stairs to the main floor just as the grandfather clock near the stairs struck the half hour, chiming its mournful tune through the house. Seven-thirty. Rose shuddered involuntarily. They had onl
y two hours until dusk. After a search of the main floor, they returned to the stair hall.

  Bea took the opportunity to sink to the bottom step and lean her head against a lathed baluster. She sighed and closed her eyes in exhaustion. Rose let her rest for a moment and looked out the window, dismayed to see the sun melting behind the trees. She sensed every tick of the clock in her own rapid pulse. If they didn't find Seth soon, within the next hour or so, all hope would be lost for saving themselves.

  She looked down at Bea, who sat on the stair in mute exhaustion, her hands curved together in her lap, and then at Taylor, who stood leaning on his cane and staring out the window, his sharp features outlined by the golden glow of sunset. Dust motes danced in the rays that streamed through the window by the door, lending a vibrant note to an otherwise weary stillness. Even Edgar was uncharacteristically quiet, content to sit on the newel post near Taylor's elbow. Rose surveyed all three of them, her heart heavy with dread and despair.

  Soon, however, Taylor sensed her gaze and slowly turned to look at her. She didn't avert her eyes, and for a long time they simply stared at each other, aware that this could be their last quiet moment together. Rose could feel her love for him streaming through the air, as real and warm as the light rays that beamed around him. She did nothing to disguise her feelings for him and hoped he could read her mind as easily as Seth picked up her thoughts.

  I love you, Taylor. I love you. I love you.

  He gazed back with an inscrutable expression on his face, his mouth an unbending line, his eyes a glittering black. Yet across his cheekbones crept the rosy patches she had seen once before, and she wondered if he had guessed what she so desperately wished to tell him. And did he love her in return? She didn't know. He wasn't the kind of person to let down his guard, not even with his eyes. Perhaps he had stayed to help her as a way of seeking atonement for his past, as he had said, and not because he cared about her. She couldn't bear the thought that he might be helping her for reasons of duty instead of love.

  As if to validate her doubts, he suddenly broke eye contact and in his brusque fashion issued a command. "Time to hit the basement."

  Bea pushed herself to her feet with a sigh. Rose watched her, worried about the tired way Bea straightened her spine and looked up at the ceiling.

  "Bea, perhaps you should stay up here. Taylor and I can look downstairs."

  Bea straightened her shoulders. "You're not leaving me here." She picked up her flashlight and smoothed back her hair. "I'm ready."

  "How about you, Rose?" Taylor asked, crossing the floor to her. She longed to reach for him, to kiss him and tell him everything in her heart. But he barely glanced at her as he went by. Perhaps he couldn't accept the way she felt about him. Perhaps all he had wanted was to explore her body and nothing more.

  "Yes, I'm ready," she replied, turning the flashlight in her hand. She hoped the batteries were still good, for she knew the basement was full of shadows and dark corners.

  "I'll go first," she said, hurrying toward the door near the servants' stairwell. She hated the idea of leading the way into the gloomy, dank cellar, but she wouldn't allow Bea to guide them, and Taylor wouldn't be aware of the myriad twists and turns in the basement. "I know where the lights are."

  "All right." Taylor held the door open for her, and Rose stepped across the threshold.

  The cellar beneath Brierwood mansion was like the room in a house where everything was tossed and visitors were never allowed to wander. The rest of the house, though old and outdated, was a showpiece of craftsmanship and expensive materials. Not so the cellar. It was the abandoned project, the poor relative, a raw ugly cavern hacked out of dirt and stone.

  Rose flipped on the light switch, which illuminated a bare bulb hanging from a twist of wire at the bottom of the wooden stairs. Beyond the stairs was a curtain of darkness, hiding a series of other bare bulbs that had to be turned on one by one.

  Taylor and Bea creaked down the stairs behind her. The gloom below was almost too opaque to be penetrated by her flashlight.

  "Paradise lost," Taylor murmured sarcastically.

  "Really lost," Rose replied. She gained the cellar floor and waited for Taylor and Bea to reach the bottom. She rubbed her nose again, hating to take a single breath of the close, musty air.

  Taylor scanned the perimeter of the room with his flashlight. "What's down here, anyway?"

  "Everything," Rose replied. "Canning supplies. Jars of preserves that no one ever eats. Newspapers your aunt saved since the time she first came here—the twenties, I believe."

  "Good God."

  "Then there's the furnace room. And a place that was walled-in after being used as a garage. Only no one bothered to take out the car."

  "What's the dripping noise?"

  "The wall leaks under the west wing," Bea explained, rubbing the backs of her arms. "There's a sump pump that takes care of most of the groundwater. But some of the cellar just stays wet all year round."

  Rose remained at Taylor's elbow, longing to wrap her hands around his arm and seek the protection of his body. Instead, she took a resolute step toward the next light.

  "Come on," she said. "Let's get this over with."

  They turned on the next light and did a systematic search of the area, poking into dark alcoves and inspecting shelves and cupboards. All Rose wanted to do was tum tail and run up the stairs, but she forced herself to continue, knowing they had to exhaust every possible hiding place.

  One by one she turned on the lights, and little by little they crept through the cellar, a pitiful reluctant parade, sinking their feeble beams of light into the blackness. Once she took time to glance at her watch and saw that it was already nine o'clock. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but in the next heartbeat she felt a burning twist of anxiety sear through the emptiness. Only by concentrating could she keep her flashlight from shaking and betraying her terror.

  Somewhere beneath the closed-off east wing, Taylor aimed his light at the wall.

  "What's that? "he asked.

  Rose turned and followed the light beam. "A boulder."

  "What's a boulder doing in the cellar?"

  Bea walked up to stand at Taylor's elbow and added her flashlight beam to his. "The builders came across the rock during construction. When they couldn't move it, they simply built the foundation around it."

  "Incredible." Taylor walked closer. The rock was chest-high and protruded into the chamber a good three feet. "Looks like the foundation is cracked."

  "Old houses shift," Bea put in, trailing after him. "Plus, we've had some fairly strong earthquakes over the years."

  "There's a sizable crack above the boulder."

  Reluctantly, Rose followed them. She had no desire to get any closer. Once, when she was younger, she had approached the stone, only to feel a blast of fetid wind blow out of the crack. The thought of a hidden cavity behind the moldering wall, not to mention what might lie beyond it, had been enough to fuel her adolescent nightmares for years.

  "I wouldn't think the foundation is stable, with a crack like that," Taylor continued, walking to the boulder. "It must be two feet wide."

  "Taylor," Rose implored. "Let's go. I don't like it here."

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. "I've got to check this first, Rose. Eliminate all possibilities."

  She held her breath and shivered as he angled his flashlight for a better look.

  For a moment Taylor froze, holding the light above his head as he stared into the gash above the rock. Rose knew something was wrong by the way his body stiffened, but she couldn't see his face to read his expression. Then he motioned for them to stand back.

  "He's here," Taylor gasped.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  To Rose's horror, Taylor dropped his cane, pulled himself on top of the rock and wedged his body through the crack in the wall. She dashed forward, ignoring his command to stay away, and saw the bottoms of his feet disappear into the gloom.

  "Taylor!" she cried. H
er heart thundered in her ears as she craned her neck to see where he had gone. With a shaking hand she trained her light into the abyss and spied Taylor crouching over a figure wrapped in a shroud. She moved the light over the figure and saw the scarf on which she had slaved so many hours serving as a barrier between Seth and the damp earth. Beyond the two men was a chamber that wormed far back into the earth, too far for her light to penetrate.

  "Be careful!" she whispered as she watched Taylor slowly pull away the scarf from Seth's torso. Seth lay near the opening, hands crossed over his chest, his profile in full view of her light. His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open, his cheeks gaunt and pale in the darkness. His body lay motionless, as if he weren't breathing.

  "Has Taylor found the emerald yet?" Bea asked behind her. She was too short to see anything through the crack above the rock.

  "No." Stale air wafted from the chamber, and Rose held her hand over her nose. "Hurry, Taylor! Please hurry!"

  He gave no indication that he'd heard her. With calm, deliberate movements he slipped his hand into the strange black robe Seth wore, searching for the emerald, but without success. Rose marveled that he could retain his composure under such stressful conditions. Next he tried the sides of the robe, looking for a pocket or pouch. Taylor let out a frustrated sigh and leaned over to pull the scarf down, enough to allow him to check the other side of Seth's body.

  Suddenly, outside in the garden, a dog howled mournfully, sending a wave of shivers across Rose's scalp. As if cued by the sound, Seth's eyes blinked open.

  In that moment Rose knew pure, heart-shriveling terror.

  "Taylor!" Rose cried, knowing he was intent on unveiling Seth and wasn't looking at the vampire's face. "Taylor! He's awake!"

  Before Taylor had a chance to scramble backward, Seth sat up and flung off the scarf. He looked right at her, his odd sunken eyes locking with hers.

  Rose thought her heart would stop, thought her knees would buckle and she would drop into a dead faint. But her worry for Taylor kept her on her feet. She forced her mind to go blank, knowing that Seth could delve into her thoughts and find out what they were after. She concentrated on the silver swirls of the scarf and thought of galaxies, of the Milky Way and the end of the universe, all the while hoping Taylor might get away.