The Haunting of Brier Rose

by Simpson, Patricia

  Taylor whipped the gun out of his jeans. "Hold it right there, Seth," he warned, aiming the weapon at Seth's chest.

  Seth began to snicker. Then he tipped back his head and laughed, filling the chamber with the unholy sound of his amusement. It echoed off the stone walls of the cellar, traveling through the labyrinth like a maelstrom. Rose clamped her palms over her ears, trying to block out the noise, but she could still hear his laughter through her flesh and in her blood.

  Taylor held firm, refusing to give in to Seth's ridicule. Never once did his hand waver. Rose wondered if the discordant blast no longer affected Taylor of if he had learned to overcome the effect of the noise.

  "Go ahead," Seth growled, abruptly biting off his laughter. "Shoot me."

  He stood up, taking the scarf with him.

  Taylor clenched his jaw as he considered his options.

  "Shoot me, Mr. Wolfe. Go ahead." As if to test Taylor, Seth lunged at him.

  In reflex, Taylor squeezed the trigger. The bullet passed through Seth's chest without spilling a drop of blood. Seth didn't even flinch.

  "Again?" he taunted, smiling his small, mirthless smirk.

  Taylor squeezed off two more shots, hitting his mark, but without consequence.

  "Finished, Mr. Wolfe?" Seth purred.

  Rose gaped at him, shocked by Seth's invulnerability and distrustful of his ominous civility, for she knew how quickly he could burst into a rage.

  Taylor let his arm swing down to his side, still holding the useless gun. He waited in grim silence as Seth folded the silk scarf and tucked it into his robe.

  Seth brushed off his clothing, taking all the time he needed, and then straightened. "You could have saved yourself the trouble," he commented, stepping toward the rock as if he weren't in the least concerned that Taylor might attack from the rear. "The emerald can't save you."

  Rose heard Bea's intake of breath as she caught sight of Seth in the fissure above the boulder.

  "And now, dear Roselyn. The time draws nigh for our wedding ceremony."

  "No!" Taylor yelled. He burst through the opening, toppling Seth to the floor of the cellar. For a moment they struggled on the ground, but Taylor was no match for the other man's superhuman strength. Seth stood up, yanked Taylor to his feet and threw him across the room. Taylor hit a shelf lined with cans of who knew what and crumpled to the dirt, while nails and screws rained down upon him. An old coffee can rolled in circles at Rose's feet. She was barely conscious of the spiraling tin, so great was her fear for Taylor.

  "You told me you'd spare him!" she blurted.

  Seth turned his glowing eyes upon her. "Did I?"

  "Yes. You wouldn't go back on your word, would you? That isn't the Bastyr way.''

  His upper lip curled into a sneer. "Precious, precious Roselyn. How quick to learn, how flawless a memory. You are the ultimate of the Bastyr offspring."

  "So you won't hurt him?"

  "Of course not." Seth fussed with his gloves. "If he promises to leave Brierwood."

  "No way, you bastard!" Taylor retorted. He stood up and wiped the blood from his mouth. "I'll see you in hell first!"

  "Such language," Seth remarked. "I can't see what Roselyn finds so attractive about you."

  Rose was too upset to blush. She darted forward to give her support to Taylor, but Seth reached out and arrested her by grasping her braid. Pain seared her scalp, and she lurched to a stop, tilting her head backward.

  "Not so fast, my dear," he murmured, pulling her against his chest. His robe reeked of nightshade and the pungent aroma of moist earth. She thought she would retch if she took a deep breath.

  "Please, Taylor," Rose implored. "Go while you have the chance."

  "No!"

  "There's nothing you can do now."

  "Listen to the bride," Seth put in. "She's being sensible."

  "I'm not leaving you alone with him, Rose."

  Bea skittered to Taylor's side, all the while keeping a fearful eye on Seth. She held out her hand to display her emerald ring. "Don't you dare try to hurt Mr. Wolfe," she warned in a quivering voice. "I've still got my ring, and I'm not afraid to use it."

  Seth only chuckled at Bea's trembling display of courage. "And how will you use it, old woman? Do you know the secret of the emeralds?"

  Proudly, Bea raised her chin, but Rose guessed that she was ignorant of the power of the gem. Rose gazed at her through a sheen of tears. She had never loved Bea more than at that moment, as she stood up to the vampire in the only way she knew how.

  "Well, if you do know the secret, then work your magic." Seth laughed and pulled Rose toward the main hallway. "Try to stop me, old woman."

  Bea stood helpless as Seth moved to the door. Rose dragged her feet as much as possible, until his grip on her hair forced her to keep up with him.

  "I don't mean to be cruel, Roselyn, but you must cooperate."

  "Never."

  "Let go of her," Taylor demanded, striding after them.

  Seth only laughed.

  Taylor grabbed his shoulder and pulled Seth around to face him. Seth released his hold on Rose's hair. She backed toward the wall, worrying what Seth would do to Taylor.

  "You bastard! I said, let go of her!" Taylor drove his fist into Seth's face, knocking him against the wall. Seth shook his head, dispelling the impact of the blow, and smiled. Taylor lunged for him, intending to pummel him senseless. Instead, Seth lifted his leg and kicked Taylor in the stomach, hurling him across the room again. This time Taylor's head struck the boulder, and he collapsed to the floor in an unconscious heap.

  "Taylor!" Rose cried.

  "Silence!" Seth roared. "He's no concern of yours." He grabbed her arm and yanked her to the passageway.

  "Taylor!" Rose cried again, peering over her shoulder as she was hauled away. She saw Bea run to his side and kneel down. Then Seth pulled her around a corner, and she lost sight of them. She quit fighting him, knowing she would never escape Seth now. And if Bea and Taylor stayed away long enough, perhaps Seth would remain true to his word and spare their lives. She brushed the hair out of her eyes and let herself be dragged out of the cellar.

  "That's better, my dear," Seth murmured, opening the back door. "And don't worry so much. It will all be worth it. Just you wait and see."

  Rose hung in his grip, half-numb with trauma and fright, as she stared dully at the garden, so soft and peaceful in the twilight. She hoped the dogs would come and deliver her from Seth. Yet she knew in her heart that the Rottweilers were somehow connected to Seth and probably did his bidding. If that were the case, the dogs would not appear, or if they did, Seth would bring them to heel. Either way, she would not escape her fate. Tonight she would become the ritual bride of Seth Bastyr and forget everything and everyone she had ever known. To lose her memory and her self-will would be like dying. Rose faltered, terrified at the thought, and Seth turned to glare at her.

  "You'll never have me," she declared vehemently. "Not all the way. I'll fight you, just as my mother did."

  "Your mother was a fool." He tightened his grip on her upper arm, watching to see if she would show any sign of pain. Rose kept her chin up and her shoulders straight, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her wince. "She took her life when she had everything she could possibly want," Seth continued. "I gave her everything."

  "You took two children from her."

  "They were unworthy of carrying the Bastyr name."

  "You took her life, her identity, her soul."

  "To make her over, Roselyn, to make her better." He stroked her cheek. "Women are frail, my dear, in need of direction. And a strong hand such as mine molds a strong character."

  "You had no right to try to change her." She twisted out of his grip. "And as God is my witness, you won't change me!"

  "Oh?" He pushed her against the edge of the sundial. "We shall see about that, Roselyn." He drew the scarf from his jacket and placed it on the flattened stone. "We shall soon see the stuff of which you are made."r />
  Taylor opened his eyes, blinded by Bea's flashlight and a halo of sparkles in the periphery of his vision, caused by the blow to his head. He moaned and tried to sit up. His stomach protested the movement, reminding him of Seth's excruciating kick to his diaphragm. He was exhausted, not only from fighting Seth, but also from his efforts to block the overwhelming sound he heard in Seth's presence. He had succeeded admirably in repelling the discordant noise but had failed in the hand-to-hand-combat department.

  He rolled onto his side and let a wave of nausea pass over him.

  "Mr. Wolfe, are you going to be all right?"

  "Yeah, Bea. Hold on a minute."

  "We don't have much time. He's taken Rose."

  "Bastard." Taylor coughed and managed to prop himself up on one elbow. "God, my head is ringing like St. Mark's."

  "You hit it on the rock. You're lucky to be alive."

  "I don't feel lucky. I feel like hell." He took another breath and sat all the way up. Another wave of nausea swept over him, and he closed his eyes, forcing it to subside. Then, using all his willpower, he rose to his feet. He swayed.

  "Mr. Wolfe!" Bea clutched his arm while she held out his cane.

  "I'll be all right in a minute. I'm dizzy, that's all."

  Dizzy, hell. His leg was on fire, his abdomen felt as if a logging truck had run over him, and his head throbbed and pulsed with each beat of his heart. Any minute now he expected his skull to explode from the pressure. Yet he couldn't fall apart. He had to find Rose and get her away from Seth.

  Taylor took the cane and leaned on it. One more beating from Seth and he would be in no condition to save anyone.

  With his cane on one side and Bea on the other, Taylor managed to stumble through the cellar passageways until they reached the stairs. For a moment he had to rest and catch his breath before ascending. He couldn't believe he had lost so much physical strength that he had to lean on a seventy-year-old woman for support. Some heroic savior he was. Taylor frowned and slowly made his way up the steps.

  Once in the hallway on the main floor, Taylor paused, unsure where to look for Rose.

  "Where would Seth have taken her?" he asked, glancing down at Bea.

  She fingered the edge of her collar. "I haven't the faintest idea, Mr. Wolfe."

  The sounds of their voices must have alerted Edgar, for he hopped out of the kitchen and cawed.

  "He's shown me where Rose was before," Taylor mused. "Maybe he can help us." Taylor held out his wrist in the position he had observed Rose take when she wanted the raven to perch on her arm. Edgar obliged by flapping up to him.

  "Where's Rose?" Taylor asked, staring the bird in the eye.

  Edgar cocked his head. Then he took off toward the rear of the house.

  "Come on," Taylor said, hobbling in pursuit. Bea followed him to the back door.

  "There they are!" she exclaimed, pointing to Seth's tall, dark figure and Rose's slender form standing by the sundial. She reached for the handle of the door.

  "Wait. The dogs might be out there."

  Bea pressed close to the window and looked out.

  Taylor let his eyes go out focus, searching the grounds with his special vision. Just as before, he caught sight of four black wraiths slowly circling the huge sundial. Were the wraiths the spirit form of the four Rottweilers? He had a hunch they were. Yet why didn't they dissipate at the appearance of Bea's emerald? Were they stronger now that Seth stood with them? And what would they do if Taylor and Bea stepped out of the house?

  They had no choice but to continue toward the garden.

  Taylor led the way out the back door onto the flagstones, half expecting the black wraiths to transform into vicious dogs and attack them again. But the dark shapes continued their slow circling around the sundial, as if unaware of the two strangers approaching.

  Though Seth's back was turned to him, Taylor caught snatches of his voice as he spoke to Rose. She seemed to be in a trance, standing in the fading light as he loosened the braid of her hair and spread her fiery tresses around her shoulders. He had removed his gloves, obviously to relish the texture of her hair, a fact that caused a hot flare of jealousy to flash through Taylor. He didn't want Seth to touch Rose—not her hair, not her body, not any part of her.

  "Let her go, Seth," Taylor demanded, brandishing his cane.

  "Ah, Mr. Wolfe." Seth turned, not in the least concerned about the cane. "We have been waiting for you."

  He motioned toward the wraiths, which shimmered and roiled, gradually taking the shapes of figures dressed in black robes.

  Taylor stared at them, hardly believing his eyes. What kind of magic was this? What kind of creatures were they? Humans? Spirits? Seth seemed to possess a fairly normal human body, except for the fact that he was impervious to bullets and could turn into a smoky haze and enter Rose's aura. But these wraiths were part dog, part shadow, and part human. Were they members of the Bastyr family, too? And if so, what other powers did they possess?

  He glanced at Rose, who was watching the robed figures, her expression white with shock. The wind blew tendrils of her hair across her face, but she did nothing except stand motionless beside the sundial. What had Seth done to silence her? Had he hypnotized her? Threatened her into submission?

  He had to keep her from the Bastyrs. Taylor held the cane in both hands, ready to strike, while two robed figures stepped away from the sundial and flowed over the flagstones toward him. He knew only one way to defend Rose— with brute force. But would it be enough?

  "Take Mr. Wolfe to that tree and tie him," Seth instructed.

  "You'll have to fight me first!" Taylor tapped the wooden cane on his palm and planted his feet.

  "You are tiresome, Mr. Wolfe." With amazing speed and strength, Seth whipped out his arm, grabbed the cane and flung it to the far side of the garden. Taylor fell in a clump of poppies from the force and speed of Seth's attack and for an instant sat there dazed. He hadn't even seen Seth turn for the attack. He hadn't struck even a single blow in return. And before he could scramble to his feet, he was grabbed by his arms and hauled to a fir tree by the robed figures. They tied him to the trunk with a length of rope, pinning his upper arms to his sides. Taylor pulled at the bindings until they gouged into the flesh at his elbows, but he couldn't break free.

  "The old woman, too," Seth commanded, pointing at Bea.

  She turned to run, but the robed figures quickly outdistanced her and tied her to the tree next to Taylor. Edgar flapped to a branch near her head.

  "You'll pay for this in hell, Seth Bastyr!" Bea shouted.

  "Hell holds no threat for me, old woman." Seth smiled at her and then returned his attention to Rose. "Now then," he announced. "Let the ceremony begin."

  Without another word he reached out and tore Rose's dress, popping the buttons down the front. Taylor caught glimpses of her slip and bra straps as Seth pulled off the blue cotton fabric. Taylor yanked his arms, jerking like a wild animal to free himself, but he remained lashed to the fir tree, helpless, watching as Seth continued to disrobe Rose.

  In moments she stood completely naked in the deepening twilight, her ivory skin glowing in the darkness, her hair an undulating diaphanous cloak. Even in the dusk he could see the rosy tips of her breasts, the creamy curves of her slender hips and the hidden womanly place he had thought would be his alone.

  "No!" Taylor bellowed. How could Seth humiliate her like this? How could he let them see her like that, exposed to everyone's eyes? And what did the ritual entail that she had to be naked? Wasn't this supposed to be a wedding ceremony?

  Slowly Seth turned around to face him, his hand draped across Rose's right shoulder.

  "Look upon her, Mr. Wolfe. Does she not arouse you?"

  "Let her go, you bastard!"

  "Is she not beautiful?"

  "You're insane!"

  "You love her, don't you, Mr. Wolfe? Admit it." He drew back Rose's hair to provide Taylor with a clear view of her breasts. "You'd cut off your arm to save her
, wouldn't you?"

  "Is that what you want—my arm?" Taylor retorted, pulling at his bonds.

  "Oh, no, Mr. Wolfe. I want something much more precious, much more rare and so much more subtle than self-mutilation." He stroked Rose's cheek. "I want to feel how much you love this young woman."

  "Bastard!" Taylor strained with every fiber of his being in an effort to break free of the rope. The sight of Seth stroking Rose's skin sent him into a paroxysm of rage so great, he thought he would burst. He could feel his heart thundering in his ears, his neck and his chest, as if huge clots of anger pulsed in his veins. "Sonofabitch!"

  "Excellent, Mr. Wolfe. Simply excellent!" Seth turned back to the remaining robed figures, which had climbed up on the giant sundial. "Lift her up," he instructed.

  The figures pulled Rose up to the surface of the rock.

  "Kneel," Seth barked. Rose sank to her knees and hung her head in despair.

  Taylor leaned his head against the tree and panted in frustration, gritting his teeth with the effort it took not to scream. What could he do? Somehow he had to get hold of his emotions and try to think logically. His blind rage was doing nothing but fueling Seth's passion, which wasn't helping Rose at all. Desperate, Taylor pulled at his bonds again. This time, when his hand brushed the pocket of his jeans, he felt the outline of his Swiss army knife.

  His anger shrank to cool calculation.

  "Distract him, Bea," he said out of the corner of his mouth.

  Bea tilted her head. "How?"

  "Ask him questions."

  "All right." Bea paused to marshal her thoughts and then cleared her throat. "Mr. Bastyr, I just want to know one thing, before you go on."

  Seth hesitated in the process of removing his robe. "And what is that?"

  "I want to know why. Why the ritual?"

  Taylor half listened as he strained to push the bump of the knife upward, moving in such a way as not to draw attention to himself. He forced his expression to remain blank and his eyes focused on Seth, as if hanging on his every word.