Belmary House Book One

by Cassidy Cayman

  Tilly shivered, wondering whose blood and whose bones? She couldn’t believe she found herself wishing they were back on the ship, well away from here. The unfriendly rolling sea seemed far more inviting than this village.

  Hugging her arms to her body, she stiffened her spine, trying to come up with a suggestion of what to do next. She didn’t want to be out in the streets when full night came, but she didn’t want to go back to the hostile inn, either.

  “So, you think one of Kostya’s relatives lured Camilla here because it’s easier to do spells?”

  “Clever you,” Ashford said, his tension easing for a moment and his face showing a hint of pride in her deduction. “That’s exactly what I think. The energy here would make it far easier to maintain a difficult spell. And one would imagine something like what we discussed would be quite difficult.”

  She was forcefully reminded of what they might be up against and her nerves faltered. Yes, bringing someone back from the dead, or making someone believe you had, definitely seemed to be advanced level magic.

  A tinkle of breaking glass made Ashford grab her hand again, hurrying her toward the sound.

  “Stay close,” he hissed.

  He stopped at the mouth of an alley, and she saw someone scuttling away, clumsily knocking over a pile of crates as he ran. Ashford scowled and followed, motioning for her to stay put. Once alone, the full creepiness of the empty street hit her, and she took off after him. At the end of the alley, Ashford held a terrified teenager by the scruff of his neck. The poor boy put up a violent fight to get free, tears streaming down his dirty cheeks.

  “Ashford, let him go, you’re scaring him half to death.” Tilly turned to the boy and held up her hands, using her best calming voice. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  “He doesn’t understand you,” Ashford said, speaking sharply to him in French.

  “Aye, I do understand her,” the kid said, decidedly not French. “Please don’t take me. There’s still the folks at the inn, and a man. There’s a man who’s hiding in the lane past the coal shed. I saw him just yesterday, so please don’t take me.”

  “We’re not going to take you anywhere,” Ashford said, shaking him. “Calm yourself.”

  The boy’s panic was contagious and all of Tilly’s instincts wanted her to bolt from the alley, but she knew if he didn’t calm down they’d never get answers.

  “Are you English?” she asked gently, giving Ashford a dirty look. “We just arrived and don’t know what happened here, but we promise we aren’t going to hurt you or take you anywhere you don’t want to go.”

  He stopped crying and looked at them suspiciously before answering. “I got kicked off a ship last week and been stranded in this Godforsaken hell since. They wouldn’t let me on the last one, I’m surprised they stopped here at all. Let you off, did they? God help you.”

  Ashford turned to her and the look on his face sent a chill through her. His eyes were wide and blank like dull coins and he grimaced as if in pain.

  “Where are you so afraid to be taken,” he barked. “Tell us now and you can be on your way.”

  “Julian, he might know where everyone’s gone.”

  The boy started to cry again. “I do know where everyone’s gone. Now the ship’s sailed, I’m—” He dropped his head to his scrawny chest, which rose and fell laboriously with his sobs.

  “Where did they go?” Tilly was frozen to the spot, afraid to look left or right, certain something was watching her from behind.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off the traumatized boy in front of her. She prayed he wouldn’t answer, but thought she might scream if he didn’t.

  He shook his head, sending tears flying in every direction, and groaned. “No, no, I best not.”

  Ashford dug in his pockets and brought out some money and a small silver knife.

  “Settle down, and look at what I’m offering you. There’s another village not far south of here. Take this and walk until you find someone to sell you a horse. But you must tell me what you know.”

  He rocked back and forth, and looked up at the sky. “It’s almost night,” he moaned.

  “If you hurry, you can be far from here by that time. Stay to the road and you’ll be quite safe. I’ve traveled here many times, lad. Even if you don’t find a horse, you’ll be to the next town this time tomorrow.”

  The boy mulled his options, finally holding out his hands. “The church,” he mumbled, not looking up.

  Ashford dropped the coins and knife into his open palms. Tilly quickly unscrewed her small, freshwater pearl earbobs and put them in the pile, overcome with pity for him.

  “Be careful,” she said to his back, as he turned and fled.

  They slowly made their way back to the street and turned to look up the hill. From where they stood, they could see the church spire poking above the village center buildings. The last bit of daylight struggling to make itself known through the remaining storm clouds made a brooding and eerily beautiful backdrop. They hadn’t thought to look inside the church when they walked around earlier that day, and a troubled look settled on Ashford’s face.

  “They must have hexed it somehow to keep us from thinking of it. Did you even give it a glance when we passed it this afternoon?”

  She wanted to say she did, wanted to be able to describe what it looked like, but she only knew what she saw from this distance. She felt a little offended that someone was able to affect her thought processes, make her do or not do something. He sensed her distress and stroked her arm.

  “I did warn you what sort of people they are,” he said. “Little spells like that are the least of our worries.”

  Nothing about what he said comforted her, already dreading what the worst of their worries would end up being. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, but when she opened them, she was still standing in the middle of a deserted street, in a foreign land, hundreds of years from her proper time. She concentrated on Ashford, who looked at her with concern. He closed what little space was between them and wrapped his arms around her.

  “Are you all right, my dear?”

  His tender tone and sweet, old fashioned endearment restored her and she slid her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest for a moment.

  “Let’s go to church,” she sighed, resigned.

  ***

  The church was a sizable stone building with large, sturdy wooden front doors and some small, old stained glass interspersed with regular windows. They walked completely around it, and stood in front of the entrance. Ashford touched the stone, and then the doors, nodding to himself.

  “Yes, there’s definitely something here.”

  “Something?” Tilly asked.

  She touched where Ashford had, but didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary.

  “A hex,” he said calmly, but his eyes told another story. He led her a few steps toward the cemetery and they faced away from the church. “Can you describe it?” he asked. “What kind of wood are the doors, or how many windows?”

  She tried describing the building they’d just walked completely around, but found she couldn’t picture anything except a very generic, blank space. It might have had dark wood doors, but then again, they might have been oak, or even painted. She wasn’t sure enough to take a guess.

  “Oh, that’s so frustrating,” she said, turning around to see.

  “Agreed. I can’t stand this kind of petty nonsense.”

  “Julian, that kid was probably too scared to tell us the truth. I don’t think this is it.”

  It wasn’t as if she was afraid to go into the church. Amazingly, she didn’t feel scared at all while standing on the steps, but she had a strong feeling that there was nothing going on inside and they’d be wasting their time.

  He grinned. “I feel the same way.” The smile was replaced with a steely anger. “Which is exactly how they want us to feel. You can never underestimate these tricky bastards. I wonder how strong it is?”

 
; He jogged several yards away and motioned for her to follow. After a pause, he moved further, then nodded.

  “A bit more normal?”

  Indeed, all the nervous tension, all the anxiety about what they might find in the church was back. She closed her eyes and could recreate what she’d seen in her memory. They were outside the radius of the spell. The unease in Ashford’s eyes compounded hers tenfold.

  “I can’t do what they do,” he said. “I only have this.” He pulled back his jacket to reveal the gun. “I don’t want you to be in danger, Matilda, but I don’t think I can do this without you.”

  “You’re absolutely not doing it without me,” she said, indignation overriding her fear.

  He breathed out hard, eyes full of gratitude. “Growing up the way I did, it was difficult to be completely logical.” He waved at the church. “There was always the suspicion that things might not be what they seem. I had to learn to shut off my feelings and use only what I knew, no matter how muddy things got.”

  “Yes, okay.” She nodded and tried to prepare herself for how the hex would affect her when they got near again.

  He smiled and pulled her close, running his hands down her back. “One of the things I like so very much about you is it’s not a muddle at all. My heart and mind tell me the exact same thing.” He paused as if wrestling with whether or not to continue, but soldiered on. “And that’s that I love you, Matilda. I’ve given up trying not to. I love you.”

  She gasped, not expecting such a pronouncement. Every brick in the wall she’d been building to keep her emotions in check crumbled at his words and the unshakable look in his eyes. At what cost to his heart did he admit such a thing to her? She knew whether or not she returned home, there was no denying how she felt and she understood why he’d finally given in. She knew she wanted to give in as well, she had to. There couldn’t be any worse pain than reigning it in.

  Praying her voice wouldn’t fail her, she let it all go. “I love you, too.”

  She stood on her toes so he would kiss her, and he leaned down, pressing his lips gently to hers. The kiss soon grew deeper and she would have lost herself in it, but he pulled away.

  “Ah, I wish things were different,” he said regretfully.

  “Let’s make them different,” she said, on fire from his words.

  She would be damned if some evil witch clan took this moment from her. She was ready to charge into that church and shut them all down.

  “Tell me what to do.”

  His smile grew at her tenacity and she felt braver and stronger than she ever had before.

  “You’ll feel it won’t matter much until we get inside, but then I think it’s going to change,” he began.

  “How?”

  “I think it’s going to get rough somehow. We’ll get overly anxious or terribly afraid, or just have an overwhelming desire to leave. We may forget why we’re in there and think we need to be somewhere else.”

  She felt her perseverance withering. “Is there a way to fight it?”

  He patted his waistcoat pockets and came up with a small magnifying glass and his pocket watch. He handed her the tiny pearl handled glass and gripped the watch in his palm.

  “It helps me to concentrate on something substantial. Hold it tight enough to make it hurt if you have to. Keep repeating to yourself why we’re there. Oh, and get angry if you can.”

  She found that wasn’t difficult at all and squeezed her fingers around the cool beveled glass edges.

  “I’m plenty angry,” she said. “What else.”

  He went from looking amused at her to deadly serious in the space of a blink. “You need to listen to me, especially if I tell you to run. Don’t hesitate at all, do you hear me?”

  “I won’t leave you alone in there,” she argued, and he reached out and shook her.

  “If I tell you to leave, you have to,” he said desperately. “They won’t be quick to harm me because I can be used as another bargaining tool to control Camilla. But they won’t hesitate where you’re concerned. The Povests are ruthless and have no respect for human life.” He paused, looking sick. “Do you understand what I’m saying? They think there’s a difference between them and us.”

  “They don’t consider themselves human,” she said raggedly, wanting to curl in a ball.

  He gripped her shoulder bracingly. “If we can put down the creature right away, it’s over. Perhaps that alone will free Camilla.”

  She nodded slowly, unable to imagine what they were about to come up against, completely blank. “You’ll have to shoot him— it.”

  He patted his side where the gun rested under his coat. “Matilda, I may have to shoot someone other than the creature. I’ll do it if I think you’re in danger and running isn’t an option. Can you handle that?”

  Could she handle that? Old memories threatened at the back of her mind, struggling to get out of the tightly sealed boxes she shut them up in. Could she watch the man she loved kill a person? The question made her dizzy.

  “Do what you have to,” she said. “We’ll sort it out later.”

  Back at the steps of the church she felt the same mild apathy as before and for a second didn’t understand why Ashford looked so upset. He took her hand that loosely held the magnifying glass and closed her fingers tightly around it. She nodded, regaining her focus, trying hard to concentrate on what the monstrous Povests had done. She recalled the sad, bitter old man in the cemetery, only wanting to mourn his only child and his anger became her own.

  “I’m ready,” she told him firmly, feeling the glass edge biting into her palm and bracing herself for what might assail them when they went in.

  The door opened easily at Ashford’s slight push, not even a sinister creaking noise, and she breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped across the threshold. There was a chill to the stuffy air and it was almost completely dark. At the altar a faint light glowed and Ashford made his way down the center aisle toward it, holding out his free hand for her to take.

  “I don’t feel anything weird in here,” she said quietly. “I mean, just normal scared.”

  “I think you’re right,” he said, stopping dead a few steps later and groaning.

  An overripe, sickening smell hit her the moment she was about to ask why he stopped and she clapped her hand over her nose and mouth, looking around wildly for what it might be. It was worse than any spell, and she only wanted to get away from it. Ashford grabbed her around the waist and hustled her ahead of him, telling her not to look down.

  Her eyes perversely ducked down as soon as the words were out of his mouth and she would have done anything in the world to have listened to him instead. As he shuffled her hurriedly past the last rows of pews, she saw flashes of pale flesh, a hand, a clump of stringy, tangled hair.

  The rank odor grew stronger the closer they got to the altar, and the knowledge of what it was nearly overwhelmed her. The boy had been terrified to be taken here for good reason it seemed.

  She held her breath the second she saw the bloated hand sticking into the aisle, not wanting to breathe in the decay, and she finally had to gasp in air or risk passing out. She clutched at Ashford’s coat to try to get some equilibrium and he steadied her with a strong arm around her shoulders.

  “This isn’t real, right?” she asked hopefully. “None of this is real. It’s just a spell, right?”

  “Look where the light is coming from,” he said in his bossy Ashford voice.

  Even though he didn’t answer her question, she was grateful to have something to do, because she was about to splinter into pieces from terror. The light filtered through a wooden trap door that was partially visible from under a rug, behind the altar.

  Underground. Surely he didn’t want them to go underground. Concentrate, she told herself. Keep it together.

  He pulled away the rug and lifted the trapdoor, swearing softly when it creaked, echoing in the still nave. Rickety looking spiral stairs led down, punctuated by candle sconces hanging al
ong the walls. It was surprisingly well lit and when she leaned over, didn’t seem to have been infected by the malodorous rot.

  She covered her face and half-laughed, half-cried. “We’re going down there?”

  “I don’t see another choice. Shall I go alone?”

  She gaped at him, seeing he was completely serious. He would never stop frustrating her.

  “No, idiot, I don’t want either of us to go.”

  He chuckled. “Nor I, but like I said, I see no other option. Someone’s clearly down there. Waiting, it seems.”

  She crouched down, unable to support her weight anymore. “I’m so scared I can’t feel my hands,” she admitted.

  He took the magnifying glass from her and put it and his watch back in his waistcoat pocket, then took both her hands in his.

  “Tell me when you’re ready,” he said.

  Piano music drifted up the stairs, a charmingly flowing tune, and it was the last straw for her. “Are they kidding?” she asked incredulously. “What in the hell is that?”

  “Sounds like Beethoven,” he said.

  “Let’s go kick their asses.” She stood up, shaking out her limbs and getting her trembling under control.

  Ashford led the way down the spiral staircase, Tilly keeping as close to him as she dared without risking knocking him headlong into the abyss. Halfway down, the piano playing stopped and while it had filled her with dread, the silence proved to be worse.

  At the bottom they found themselves in a large, open room that was well-lit and beautifully furnished. Pretty upholstered armchairs were clustered together to form a cozy seating area, in the middle there was a small, delicate round table with several dining chairs around it, the walls were lined with bookshelves and rich paintings, and at the far end stood a canopied bed and the piano, half hidden by an elaborately painted screen that reached all the way to the high ceiling.

  She looked to Ashford and he looked as stunned and confused as she felt. He nodded to the only door that she could see in the vast room. That must be where whomever had taunted them with the piano concert had gone. However, when Ashford boldly strode forward and threw it open, there was only another stairway leading up. He quickly returned to her side.