by Lani Lenore
And who was Baltus to tell him what he couldn’t do in his own house? His father was gone now, thus the chateau fell to him. No one could tell him what to do in his own house.
Yes, I have to see her.
Unable to sit still for any longer, Irving rose from the chair, leaving his desk unattended, and headed toward his uncle’s room for the second time on this day. He would not wait for approval; he would go where he pleased. He paced resolutely toward the third floor, not bothering to knock when he came to his uncle’s door. Irving barged into the room, aware that Baltus was sitting there on the settee, but he didn’t stop to announce his intentions.
“What are you—? Irving!” He heard his uncle’s protest but he did not heed it. Baltus would try to reason with him, but there was none to be done. Irving moved directly behind the tapestry and into the hidden stairwell.
“Irving, rethink this,” Baltus insisted as he followed down the steps. “The girl is very sensitive. She blames you for her lover’s death. I’m only just now beginning to get through to her myself!”
“Yes, yes. You’ve said all this before,” Irving replied dismissively.
“Her feelings are important—”
“She’s not human, Baltus!” Irving spat. “The only thing that matters is that she delivers the Hallowed. I don’t care about the rest anymore.”
He entered into the deepest part of the house with his uncle still trying to keep up with his pace. He ignored the smells of sweet and sour rot. Irving moved to search the alcoves which were separated from the room by pale curtains. He threw them back violently, scanning the area in search of the girl.
“Where are you keeping her?” he asked, but did not stop to wait for an answer.
“Please rethink this,” Baltus entreated calmly, but he merely stood away and watched. Perhaps he acknowledged that he could not hope to win a physical confrontation with his nephew, and Irving felt that was a good choice. Irving continued to storm into the forbidden places, shoving things loudly and carelessly, not caring if he startled the girl when he came upon her.
“Wait!”
Baltus’s sudden protest did not halt him, just as the ones before it had done no good. Irving threw back a curtain and revealed a small area where there was a chair in the middle of the room. The floor was littered with pieces of cut bindings, as if someone had recently been there, but the chair was empty.
Is this the same place we left him to die?
“This can’t be,” Baltus was saying with shock, stepping toward the chair, and Irving did not need an explanation. This was where Celia had been, and she had somehow gotten free. Irving felt rage boiling within him, and while he might have liked to yell and throw things, there was no time for that. She may have gotten free from her bonds, but she couldn’t have gone far.
“How long has it been since you’ve been down here to see her?” Irving asked, though he could not keep the heat from his voice.
“I was working with Eleanor for a while but I’ve been up in my room for an hour. She couldn’t have gotten past me.”
“Wake up anything you’ve got to help with the search,” Irving barked as he turned toward the stairs.
“There is nothing else to wake up that will be any good to us,” Baltus called, but Irving ignored him.
“Just look for her,” Irving shouted, feeling the weight of all his intentions pressing down on him. If they could not produce this feat, then—
“Irving,” Baltus called out in warning from below. “Irving, don’t hurt her.”
Irving kept his mouth closed as his fury simmered inside. He had to remain collected until he’d found the girl. Perhaps then his anger would get the better of him; he couldn’t say for certain. He would not do anything to damage the child, but he was sure that the disobedient mother would not perish from a bit of force. She was no delicate flower. She needed to learn her place.
Baltus had never believed in fate. He was a man of science, though he had stooped below his own standards to achieve his goal. Now that things had gotten out of hand, he wondered if this catastrophe had been destined from the day the religion had entered this house—but it was only a fleeting thought. Celia had escaped, and as Irving had said, things had to be done to contain this problem. He had only Eleanor and the groundskeeper—his first attempt at Adam—to send after her, perhaps Luci, but he would have to find them in order to give them instructions, and that was a search in itself.
He sighed, turning to prepare for what he should do next, unable to shake the feeling that this downfall had been coming. He moved toward the stairs, wondering if Eleanor would be close at hand, when he heard footsteps coming down to him. His first thought was that Irving had returned to bark more orders, but was surprised instead to see the slight figure that emerged.
“Father?” Celia asked lightly, head lowered and arms wrapped around herself, looking like a lost lamb.
Baltus marveled at the girl in silence. Her behavior was fascinating—greater than he had hoped for. After so many attempts at escape, when she had finally done so, she had found nothing to do with herself but to turn back. She stood there before him, looking ashamed and repentant, and he decided that confidence was the right approach.
Let her think that I wasn’t worried at all and expected her to come back.
“You return, I see.”
“Luci freed me. She let me out of the house, but I got as far as the place where Adam died and I—I turned back. You were right. I couldn’t possibly make it out in the world. I don’t know where to go or what to do.”
Baltus stood his ground, deciding that he should let her approach him instead of going to her. When she came to him, she would decide to stay.
“I tried to reason with you,” he reminded her. “I hope you will keep that in mind the next time you decide to doubt me.”
“Yes. Yes, I’m sorry, father.”
Baltus felt his heart soften at that. In a way, she had been merely an experiment like the others, but yet she had always been different. She had been something that he’d created, yet he had secretly hoped that she would develop on her own. He had never wanted to force her, but to feel like she had come to her own decisions. He had been waiting for her to come to this moment—when he could embrace her as a daughter.
“Irving is very upset with your attempt to escape,” he told her. “But I will talk to him. You are safe at home now and you did not go far. I’m sure he can be calmed by that.”
“I still hate him,” she said. Her words were firm, but he accepted her honesty.
“I believe I may be starting to as well,” he said with a short chuckle. “Now come, my dear. Let’s get you settled.”
“Do I have to be caged again?” she asked, her innocent eyes sparkling in the low light. In her eyes, he thought he could see just a hint of the dark stone she’d been fashioned from.
“My offer still stands that you can go back to a proper bedroom. Since you have come back on your own I think that you deserve a bit of trust.”
“I would like that.”
They looked at each other across the room, neither moving toward the other, because of his own resolve and her own reasons, her hands clasped at her chest and her eyes filled with water. Finally, she broke.
“I don’t want to end up like Adam!” she said with passion, rushing forward. She threw her arms around his neck and put her face to his chest.
He was surprised by the abruptness of the action, but understood her fear and her need for comfort, pleased that she had chosen to trust him. He patted her back consolingly, which was every bit as fleshly and warm as he’d made it.
“Don’t worry, Celia. You are too important. No one is going to do anything to you.”
She smiled up at him gratefully, looking into his eyes, and he looked favorably at her, his greatest creation. She was meek, innocent and beautiful, and she would be throughout her life, though he had no idea how long that would be. That was why it was so essential that he continued to study her
in all aspects, and—
As he looked at her, his smile fell as he noticed something about her appearance—too late.
She’s not wearing the locket, he realized—just as Celia put her hands along his jaw and swiftly broke his neck.
Irving opened the desk drawer, listening to the rumble of the wood as it slid open. When it halted, he took out the pistol. He didn’t waste time looking it over—didn’t squander precious seconds even to recall that this was his brother, Maynard’s, gun which he’d used to defend himself the night he’d died. Irving took it out calmly and began to load it, his mind set on other things.
When he found Celia, the gun would be enough intimidation to bring her back, but Irving had another theory about how this escape had transpired. He couldn’t believe that Celia had gotten away on her own. He didn’t think she was that smart or resourceful. Each other time she had gotten further than the front door, someone else had been leading her along. He felt he knew who he might find her with this time, and he would be prepared.
He’d had his suspicions about Luci since the beginning of this project. She had begun to slip and he had pegged her responsible for the last escape, even though he had no proof. A hunch was enough. It was time he did away with Luci—he had put it off too long. Irving had no use for disobedient help.
“Best load that thing well,” came a voice from behind him. “You might need it to hunt down such a weak girl.”
Moving solely on surprise, Irving turned back to the door. His eyes rounded as he recognized the man who stood there, but he managed to correct the gun with a firm grip before it slipped from his hand.
“You look surprised to see me,” Adam said. Irving tried at first to blink him away, considering that he might be an illusion. When Irving had last seen him, he was at the bottom of a ravine with a gaping flesh wound. Baltus had agreed that he was dead and that there would be more important things to worry about than dragging him back to the house, so he had agreed to let his pet go. They had covered him with rocks and left him there at the base of the road to rot. Irving had been able to rest easy. He’d never expected to see Adam again.
Though it was possible that this man at his door was a copy—he did not know how many versions of Adam that Baltus had made in the past—he knew this was the very same they had left for dead. He was still wearing the filthy, blood-stained clothes.
Irving didn’t waste another moment, pulling back the gun’s hammer.
“You won’t do much with a couple of bullets,” Adam assured him snidely, and while Irving’s hateful gaze didn’t waver, he began to wonder the truth of that. He’d only managed to put two bullets in the gun, and Adam had already seen an ordeal and emerged unscathed.
“What if I put it right between your eyes?”
“You’re welcome to try,” Adam responded, not feeling as threatened as Irving had hoped. “I’ve already been stabbed and thrown off a cliff, endured the weight of rocks crushing me. I think a wolf chewed on my arm. And yet I’m standing here.”
“Baltus assured me you were dead.”
“He was wrong,” Adam said smugly. “Though I suppose he thought his calculations were correct. We are supposed to be like human after all, but that is only if we are kept within range of those black rocks. He will learn a hard lesson today. One can’t force human behavior—empathy, mercy—where there is none.”
Adam’s stare bored into him, but Irving was not going to let that threatening gaze keep him from being rational. Perhaps he only had two bullets, but maybe they could be used to slow Adam down in order for him to get away or otherwise do some real damage. He would like to see this creature recover without a head.
“You’re thinking too much,” Adam said abruptly. “I have to say, I’m disappointed in you, Irving. I always thought you’d be a more obedient son. You just never lived up to the man I was. But you got me in the end, didn’t you?”
It took Irving a moment to register the words, but once he had, he felt his face flush with anger.
“You are not my father,” he told Adam sternly, though it came out with a mild quiver. Adam thought he could speak as a LaCroix and be taken seriously? This was complete blasphemy.
“You think I don’t have his memories? Isn’t that what you intended?”
That had never been Irving’s intention. The intent had been to make Adam in the family likeness so that the Hallowed would possess some of their traits. Old Hugh had merely been a convenient memory donor when he’d tried to stand in their way, and there was no love lost there. Still, Irving had to tell himself that this conversation didn’t trouble him. He had to forget that this mockery before him might even remember the process of Hugh’s death through starvation and neglect.
“I remember every inch of this house and I know all the disappointment he felt in you.” Adam laughed. “You thought killing him would get rid of his disapproving gaze but you’ve only preserved it through me.”
Adam was smiling. Irving wanted to put a bullet through his teeth but didn’t have much faith in his shot. He wasn’t sure how long he should wait, but he had to make the shots count for something—he had to time it.
“Get out of my house,” Irving threatened. “It was a mistake not to dispose of you properly the first time, but we won’t make another. We ‘ll take you apart just as we put you together.”
Adam shook his head, his eyes sinister, and Irving could hardly say that he was looking at the same face that had first come to his table so many nights ago. This was a mockery of the human visage, a mix of his father and his own ambition. It was the face of judgment.
“It’s not your house anymore.”
Adam lowered his shoulder and charged. Irving fired the two shots that were in his gun, and while he was sure that they hit, they did not slow Adam down. Irving felt the force as Adam collided with him, latching on and pressing him roughly across the room. It was a strong impact that shattered the window behind them, but Irving could not manage to think that his back was sliced and bleeding, focusing only on how hard he could hit his opponent with the spent pistol. Even with all his strength, he could not persuade Adam to let go, and they continued to propel backward through the broken glass and across the balcony. When the night air touched his skin, Irving began to feel fear. This thing that they had planned so arduously had finally spun out of their control.
As Adam pushed him over the edge of the balcony and their bodies began to fall, the weight of reality came crashing down on Irving.
Everything that had happened had been building to this moment, and he had not stopped it early on, when he’d had the opportunity. He’d been too obsessed with his goal. If only he’d seen things through like he’d originally wanted—forcing the two of them together—instead of listening to his uncle and giving them free will. They could have kept it all controlled as it should have been. Instead, it had led all of them to their doom.
Irving accepted the brisk euphoria of the fall—just seconds before their bodies collided with the hard stone of the balcony below. Adam fell on top of him, still clutching him as if determined to drag him into oblivion. Irving was alive, but could not move, every inch of himself wracked with pain. He tasted blood, felt it rolling down his cheek, and couldn’t catch his breath. He knew that death was upon him, and in his last moment he wondered if the Child would look enough like him that he would be preserved forever.
He stared up at the sky as the clouds blurred out of focus. As Irving struggled for his last breaths, he saw Adam pull himself off the ground and walk away, unharmed. Inhuman.
Chapter Twenty-Five
To the Brethren:
We look forward to your arrival. The house has been prepared for your stay. The female vessel, Celia, is coming along well in her pregnancy, and we are anxious for you to see her and to observe this miracle for yourselves. We are willing to address any further questions at that time. We wish you a safe journey.
In the name of the Hallowed, amen.
Irving LaCroix
Nearly nine months had passed before a small group of revered Brethren arrived at the LaCroix manor. Winter had passed and summer was on the brink. The roads were safer to travel in the mountains, though it wasn’t entirely because of the weather that the men had postponed their journey. Still, they could not ignore the claims concerning the Hallowed. Irving LaCroix had invited them before, but what they had seen on their first visit could hardly be considered anything more than black magic. They had never expected that anything would come of it, but the letters had continued to assault them. It was because of this that they kept their promise to make the trip, but no matter what the LaCroixs had accomplished, that gave no excuse to why only one servant was there to greet them.
The black–haired maid met them on the steps with a blank and unchanging expression. She took their coats and instructed the silent, hooded-man who had driven the carriage to unload their belongings.
“I will take you to the master,” she said, her voice as flat as her demeanor. “Follow me, please.”
She led them through the house, which the Brethren found to be quite impressive, and piano music from somewhere within drifted to their ears.
The four gentlemen—doctors and surgeons by trade—were all skeptical of what Irving LaCroix had promised them. Among them, he was a young member with no family ties to the Brethren. The more prominent families had been working on the project for years, passing down research through decades, and yet none had succeeded. Still, Irving’s letters continued to reassure them that what he had claimed was true, and he had not backed down from his invitation. He had promised them proof, and they would have to judge for themselves.
The servant led them further into the house, closing in on the origin of the music, until she led them into a spacious room where a young man sat at a piano. He looked up when they entered, his fingers halting over the keys, and he stood.
