"It is a ritual of renewal, old woman." He pushed back the hood of his robe. "Roselyn's purity shall renew us. She is a symbol of the mother earth, of fertility, of birth. Without her, we grow old. Without her, we die."
"But why can't you have someone else? Why a Bastyr?"
"Because she keeps us untainted, pure, a race apart from the rest of the world. The people of this world are a race of mongrels, old woman. They have lost their strengths through the breakdown of their bloodlines."
Taylor eased the knife out of his pocket. Straining with concentration, he held it between his fingers and wedged open the blade with his thumbnail. Then he curved his hand backward, struggling to saw the rope that imprisoned his arms.
"We Bastyrs have kept our bloodline pure for centuries, for millennia. That is the secret of our special powers and our supreme intellect."
"But what if Rose isn't a full-blooded Bastyr?"
"That is impossible." Seth unfastened a clasp near his neck. "Roselyn is the embodiment of the best of the Bastyr genes. She shall be a glorious bride. Glorious."
"She isn't your daughter, Seth Bastyr."
"Lies shall get you nowhere."
One strand free! Taylor felt the slight release of his bindings and centered his attention on the remaining rope. The muscles of his wrist burned in protest, but he continued to saw the rope, aware that if he failed, Roselyn would be lost to him.
"It isn't a lie. Rose's father was my son, Will Anderson."
"Impossible."
"Impossible?" Bea leaned forward, as if to break from her bonds. "All you could create with Deborah were monsters—pitiful twisted little creatures. My Will gave her a perfect child. Rose."
"No, Roselyn is a Bastyr through and through. I can tell just by looking at her."
The last strand free! Taylor caught the rope between his fingers, so it wouldn't drape to the ground and betray him. Then he forced himself to remain calm and think about his actions. Physically, he was no match for Seth. If he approached him again, Seth would probably kill him. He had to think, had to use his head, for time was running out. In his heart he knew what he needed—the emerald. But how could he get his hands on it? And where was it?
As if in answer, a thought struck him. Bea had an emerald on her finger. He could look at it with his special vision and find out what type of aura it emitted. Then, using the color as a guide, he could look at Seth to see if a similar aura existed somewhere on his body or in his clothing. If he could find the emerald and somehow get his hands on it, he might have a chance to save Rose after all.
Taylor shifted his vision and glanced at Bea's hand. The emerald glowed with a shimmering tan color outlined with green.
"If you take Rose, you will be tainting the Bastyr line," Bea warned. "I know she's Will's child. Deborah had herself tested."
"It is of no matter, even so. Roselyn is the last female of the line. She is Deborah's daughter, and she must carry on the tradition." Seth let his black robe fall to the ground and heaved in a great breath of air. His bare chest rose in the twilight, accentuating his narrow shoulders and thin arms and legs. He seemed unconcerned with his nakedness.
Taylor stared at him, loathing the thought that this man intended to take Rose as his bride. Taylor wanted to break his neck. Instead, he searched Seth for the telltale aura of tan and green, starting at his shoulders and traveling down his lean body. No sign of the aura glowed in the darkness.
Seth held out both arms. "Prudence, bring the robe."
One of the hooded figures lifted the scarf from the sundial and carried it to Seth, offering it up like a sacred object.
"This scarf shall bind you to me, Roselyn," Seth said, as the hooded figure draped it over his shoulders. "When I wrap you in it, you become one with me, never to be separated through all eternity."
"That's not true, Rose," Bea taunted. "Deborah broke away from him."
"Deborah did not weave the scarf as instructed. She was a headstrong fool!" Seth wrapped himself in the magical scarf, and the silver pigment glinted with every move he made.
Frantic to find the emerald, Taylor inspected the ground and Seth's discarded clothing. For a moment he saw nothing, and then he caught a faint tan shade glowing in Seth's cast-off robe. The emerald was there, probably in a pocket he hadn't had enough time to search.
"Deborah was too strong for you, Seth Bastyr," Bea continued, seemingly heedless of Seth's darkening expression. "Rose will break away, too!"
"Silence!" Seth whirled to face her, lowering his head as if he were a bull preparing to charge. But he didn't move. He stood his ground and balled his hands into fists. Taylor saw a black shaft shoot out of Seth's aura and whir straight for Bea's head. The spear pierced Bea's yellow aura, which out of fear had contracted into the barest shell of color. To Taylor's horror, he saw a black mark appear against the yellow, like an ink stain. Bea gasped, her knees buckled, and she slumped in her bindings, unconscious or dead.
Choking back a cry of rage, Taylor burst into action, flinging away the rope. He lunged from the tree and dashed across the flagstones to Seth's robe, hoping to grab the emerald in time.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Taylor knelt down to recover the discarded robe just as Seth kicked him in the side and sent him sprawling across the flagstones. Taylor was so intent on finding the emerald that he ignored the agony in his side. As Seth strode toward him, Taylor plunged his hand into the pocket of the robe and pulled out a velvet bag. His fingers could feel a slick, heavy object inside the bag. Without seeing it, Taylor knew he had found the emerald.
But before he could get the gem out of the pouch, he looked up to see Seth looming above him, his eyes wild with anger.
"Give me that emerald!" Seth demanded. "Or I will crush the very life from you."
"Like hell," Taylor retorted, struggling to his feet. Before he stood all the way up, Seth kicked him again, this time in his injured calf. A fire of agony shot up his leg, and Taylor felt white-hot pain pour over him. He nearly blacked out. Nauseated, he fell backward, and his hand struck the stone, which knocked the pouch out of his grip. The bag slid across the ground, out of reach. He lay on the ground, panting, his shin throbbing. He could feel the leg of his jeans wet with blood.
"Meddler," Seth growled. "I would have spared you, had you not interfered."
Taylor glowered at him, knowing it would be useless to try to get back up. He could see the velvet pouch out of the corner of his eye. He had held the emerald in his hand. How could he have managed to lose it so quickly?
"But now I grow impatient with your attempts at heroics."
Taylor saw Seth's hands tightening into fists and guessed he was about to become a victim of Seth's auric spear, just as Bea had been. He shifted his vision, waiting until the very last minute, until the spear emerged above Seth's head. Then Taylor rolled to the side, barely avoiding being struck. He heard a deep tone behind him on the flagstones as the spear hit the ground. Ignoring the fire in his shin, he scrambled to his feet as Seth swung around to try again. Unfortunately, Taylor had managed to roll even farther from the emerald and realized that he would have to run around the sundial in order to gain possession of the gem.
He lunged toward a figure in black, running into him with his shoulder lowered for a tackle. The figure toppled to the ground. Behind him, Taylor caught a glimpse of Seth moving to get a clearer path for his auric ray. Taylor ducked behind the granite sundial as the ebony spear shot toward him. The lilies at his feet shriveled, and the grass beyond bore a streak of brown, as if burned by the shaft of energy. A cold wave of dread washed over Taylor as he realized that he would have been killed by now, had he not been blessed with his auric vision. In that moment he knew that his special vision was not the curse he had considered it to be but a gift given to him by the lady in his dream. He had been sent back to earth to save Rose Quennel, to break the chain of ritual brides. He was her champion, the champion of the Bastyr women. Though crippled and weak, he was their only hope.
Perhaps Seth had never encountered a man who could see auras. Perhaps Taylor had the power to overcome the Bastyrs, after all. Taylor jumped to his feet, only to see Rose raise her head.
"Stay down!" he yelled.
But Rose didn't listen to him. She sat back on her heels, straining against the leather thong lashed around her wrists and tied to the gnomon of the sundial.
"Edgar!" she called. "Get the emerald!"
Just as Taylor saw the raven glide down from the fir tree, he was attacked from behind by a hooded figure. Then all hell broke loose. Seth shot another bolt of energy at him, while the remaining hooded figures transformed into Rottweilers. One of them jumped for Taylor's throat. With his last burst of energy, Taylor bent forward, flipped the robed figure over his shoulder and threw him onto the attacking dog. Then Taylor leapt onto the sundial, stuffing his hand in his pocket for his knife. The Rottweilers ran around the base of the sundial, snarling and snapping, jumping up with their huge paws on the edge of the slab. He was sure that any moment one of the dogs would make it onto the sundial.
"Taylor!" Rose cried. "Catch!"
Taylor looked up just in time to see Edgar fly overhead and release the velvet pouch. He caught the sack in his hand and dropped to his knees, keeping an eye on Seth, who balled his fists for another attack. With trembling hands Taylor shook out the emerald, which fell with a thud into his palm. The emerald was his! But how could he use it against the Bastyrs? He had no knowledge of the power of the gem.
He glanced at Seth and saw another auric shaft hurling through the darkness toward him. In the split second it took to see the shaft, Taylor knew his efforts were in vain. There was no time to roll away, no time to tell Rose to duck. In a purely instinctive reaction, he sprang forward, hand in the air as if to ward off the spear and keep it from hitting Rose. The bolt hit the emerald with such an impact that his hand whipped back and he nearly lost his grip on the stone. But he held on, though the emerald vibrated and burned with heat. Never once did he take his attention off Seth standing below him. To Taylor's amazement, he saw Seth turn to smoke and head straight for the emerald, as if being sucked toward the gem.
Rose watched Taylor holding out the emerald, as if signaling Seth to halt. She couldn't imagine what he thought he was doing. Surely he had lost his mind. She couldn't blame him. She had suffered a weird sort of mental apathy herself since being tied to the sundial. Yet during the time that Seth had been occupied with containing Taylor, the fog of her trance had gradually lifted. All she could conclude was that Taylor, in a last-ditch attempt, was offering himself as the ultimate sacrifice, hoping to save her.
"No!" she cried, just as Taylor froze, his hand outstretched.
Suddenly she heard the discordant sound, so loud that it shook the ground beneath the granite on which she crouched. Rose winced, squinting from the onslaught of noise. Beside her Taylor was literally glowing. She could see a red cloud wafting up his arm and surrounding the hand that held the emerald. A red cloud enveloped his head and shoulders, and soon it encompassed his entire body. He looked as if he were glowing with heat, as if at any moment he would burst into flame.
The hand that held the emerald shook as the cloud turned from red to black. The sound of the organ whirled into a cacophony of tones, as if hundreds of music boxes and circus calliopes were being played at the same time. Tears welled up in her eyes at the force of the sound, and she squeezed her lids together, unable to cover her ears with her bound hands. For what seemed like hours the sound whirred around her in painful, throbbing waves. Then, suddenly, the noise broke off.
Gasping, Rose looked up at Taylor. His upraised hand was glowing a pale red. For an instant he stood as if turned to stone, and then he crumpled to a heap beside her. She couldn't see his face, only the back of his tousled black head. His left hand hung over the edge of the sundial. What if the Rottweilers saw it? They would pull him off the slab and tear him to pieces.
Wildly, Rose glanced around, amazed to find herself alone. The dogs had vanished. Seth was nowhere in sight. All that remained of him were his discarded robe and the puddle of the silk scarf a few feet away. An oppressive quiet hung over the garden as she stared into the darkness, but she was too afraid after all she had been through to trust the silence.
"Taylor?" she called. He didn't respond. He lay still—too still.
"Bea!" she cried. She could just make out Bea's slumped figure hanging from the tree on the edge of the flagstones.
Edgar flapped to her side and landed ignominiously on Taylor's motionless shoulder.
"Edgar!" Rose exclaimed. "Oh, Edgar, you wonderful bird!"
He cocked his head and stared at something on the granite slab. Rose followed his glance. A red pocketknife shone in the moonlight. She strained to reach it with the tips of her fingers and slid it toward her. After a few moments of struggling to open it, she sliced through her bindings and pulled free. She dropped the knife and immediately leaned over to check Taylor's condition.
His eyes were closed, and his mouth was slightly parted. She glanced down at his hand, where his fingers were wrapped around emerald. The edges of his fingers still glowed red, as if he held a bright light in his fist. She touched his neck, searching for his pulse. His skin was unnaturally cold, just as Donald Jacoby's had been when she had found him in the herb garden. Frantically, she moved two fingers down his neck, trying to pick up the beat of his heart. Finally she found a pulse, a dangerously weak thrum.
"Oh, Taylor!" she cried softly. He was barely alive. She had to get him to a doctor immediately, before Seth returned to finish the job. Rose looked up. The garden had been plunged into darkness. She was virtually alone, and she was terrified. If she were to help Taylor, she must brave the darkness on her own—something she hadn't done since she was five years old. The thought of running through the night seized her with terror. But she had to do it. Every second counted. She had to face her fears to save Taylor.
Rose grabbed the knife, jumped off the sundial and ran to Bea to determine her condition. Bea was alive, but unconscious. Swiftly Rose cut her down and laid her on the grass at the foot of the tree. Then she retrieved the scarf, wrapped it around her naked body and fled to the house. There she pulled on some clothes and grabbed her purse, running down the stairs as the clock chimed midnight. Unnerved by the sonorous bongs, she stuffed the scarf in the side compartment of her bag while she flew out the back door, anxious to put the sound behind her. Through the dark she dashed to the carriage house, then drove the Jacoby’s sedan across the yard to the sundial, ignoring the flowerbeds she ruined and the shrubbery she demolished. Any minute she expected Seth to show up, laughing and mocking her.
But Rose pressed on. She had to get away as soon as possible and obtain medical attention for Taylor and Bea. She could feel perspiration beading on her forehead as she ran to Taylor.
Somehow she found the strength to lug him off the sundial and into the back seat of the car. Thai she strained with Bea's heavy shape, positioning her in the passenger seat. Glancing around at the dark garden to see if any shadowy shapes lingered, Rose ran around the car and slid into the driver's side. She slammed the door and locked it. Her hand shook as she turned the key and tore out of the yard.
Bea recovered soon after their arrival at the hospital, but Taylor's condition was much more serious. He lay near death, his nose and mouth sprouting tubes, his arm hooked to an intravenous drip, his condition closely monitored by a nurse down the hall at the nurses' station. His breathing came in shallow, uneven puffs, and his eyes rolled wildly beneath this lids, as if his dreams were as nightmarish as Rose's had been. The nearest the doctor could come to a diagnosis was that Taylor had suffered severe electrical trauma.
Rose kept a vigil at his side, half expecting Seth to show up at the hospital to kill Taylor and take her away.
Later that night, when the nurses changed shifts, a new nurse bustled into the room to check Taylor's vital signs and update his chart. She picked up his wris
t and looked down at his hand, which still held the emerald.
"What's this?" she asked, pointing in disdain at the gem.
Rose got to her feet. "It's an…a crystal."
"Oh, for goodness sakes." The nurse put her hands on her ample hips. "It should never have been left in his hand."
Rose stepped forward, afraid of what might happen should Taylor be separated from the gem. "Wait—"
Before she could finish her sentence, she saw the nurse yank the emerald from Taylor's fingers. Instantly an alarm blared, shattering the stillness and frightening the nurse so thoroughly that she dropped the gem. It clunked to the floor.
"Cardiac arrest!" she shouted and lunged for a button near Taylor's bed. Then she rushed out of the room before Rose could ask any questions.
"Taylor!" she cried, running to his side. His breathing had stopped, along with the movement beneath his eyelids.
"Taylor!" she shrieked, her voice cracking in disbelief.
Within seconds a cardiac team dashed into the room, pushing a cart of equipment up to the bed. The nurse demanded that Rose leave immediately. She had just enough time to scoop up the emerald before she was ushered out to the hall. The door slammed behind her.
For a moment she stared at the door, listening for the muffled sounds of the cardiac team as they tried to revive Taylor, but she was unable to make out any particulars. The tension was driving her crazy. To save her sanity, she turned her attention to the emerald in her hand. She held it up to the light, surprised to see that the clear green color had been replaced by a smoky haze that seemed to shift and change, as if something alive were trapped inside. It even felt warm to the touch. The sight and warmth of the emerald distressed her so much that she dropped it into the pocket of her dress, unable to think of an explanation for the transformation. She would leave it for another time, when she could think more clearly.
The Haunting of Brier Rose Page 24
