The first lash landed right on Broyles's spinal column. He convulsed backward, straining against his bonds. Howling. She whipped him three more times in quick succession. By the last of those Broyles had given up screaming. Now he hung limp in his rope prison. His body quivered, but he kept his mouth shut.
The woman pulled the whip back, prepared to deliver another blow, and turned to Rebecca and Maurice instead. “Now. While his will is gone.”
Rebecca shut her eyes and held out her hands. She looked like she was pulling on some celestial strings Malcolm couldn't see. She chanted and prayed, though her lover and her servants hardly paid her any attention.
Their eyes were on the sheriff turned hamburger meat.
For a moment his body was still. Then it began to jerk and seize, unsure of itself. Broyles closed his eyes. When he opened them again they were gone, replaced by a pair of bloody, burning suns. Rebecca's eyes. The same ones that had come after Malcolm in that underworld chamber and his nightmares ever since. He shivered. Her body was still next to Maurice, an empty vessel he'd laid gently on the grass. But her mind—her soul—was elsewhere. Reaching. Infecting. Possessing.
Broyles's body jerked harder.
Ropes and tree limbs snapped. Then her pet was free. Rebecca steered him towards the servants. He staggered through the yard like an arthritis victim, blood dripping from his back onto the grass. Maurice watched it all with a smile on his face and that strange woman by his side.
“That's it,” she said. “Sometimes you just need a little help from your friends.”
Maurice nodded. He stepped in front of his newest plaything. It froze when he reached for its face. Then Maurice traced a finger along its cheek. When he pulled his hand away, a spade mark remained. Its edges pulsed white, just like the marks throbbing on his master and mistress's faces.
Maurice looked at Rebecca lying on the grass. “What's mine is yours…”
Broyles's burning red eyes spun around the backyard. Then the demon inside him pried open his jaw and spoke. “And what's mine, thine. Let this be a lesson to you all. Faithful servants have nothing to fear.”
“Faithful servants have nothing to fear,” they repeated in unison.
“Let's welcome the newest member of the family.” Then the red eyes were gone, rolled back inside his head so only the whites remained. Broyles began to twitch again. Rebecca was still in there somewhere, burrowed deep inside. He raised one of his hands to his cheek and began to trace a design. When he pulled his arm away a white spade mark remained. It glowed and pulsed on his face, a healthy newborn with a heartbeat of its own.
He looked right at Malcolm and his companions, smiled…
And fell face first onto the grass.
His body went still, and no one moved to help him. Broyles lay there shirtless, bleeding while the lash marks festered. A few feet away Rebecca stirred, groaned when Maurice helped her sit up. She dusted herself off and shook her head. But she smiled when she saw Broyles's unconscious body across the grass.
“There's great evil in that man. Good thing he's one of ours now. Our loyal servant.”
“We live to serve,” came a single, unified voice.
Charlotte whispered, “I don't—how do they share the same mark?”
Malcolm didn't have any answers for her.
Then Rebecca looked right at him. “Who's next?”
The woman who'd taken the whip from Maurice shook her head. “Neither. Not if you know what's good for you.” She went over to Broyles and produced a small glass bottle from her purse. Kneeling, she dumped it onto his back. His eyes flew open, and then his mouth flew open too. He screamed. The woman muffled it by shoving his head into the grass. “Quiet.” Out came something else from her purse—a tube. She squeezed its cream onto her hands, rubbed them together, then applied it on Broyles's back.
“Oh,” he murmured. “Thank God.”
The woman laughed. “You'll stop thanking deities once you spend enough time with these two.” She nodded at Maurice and Rebecca. “They can be a bit demanding if you know what I mean.”
Broyles sat up, opened his mouth to say something, and trailed off when his eyes met the captivating woman to his side. She was beautiful—stunning, really. To Malcolm she looked like a perfect translation of the abstract idea made flesh. The woman was living, breathing art devoid of human imperfection. Far too beautiful to trust.
“What about those two?” Rebecca said. She picked up the whip and pointed it at Malcolm and Paul.
Richard, Malcolm called with his thoughts. Richard the Unwanted.
No one answered.
The woman next to Broyles sighed. “You're a pretty little thing, Rebecca. But—forgive me for saying this—you aren't exactly the sharpest tool.”
Rebecca frowned, all the pleasure from her fresh conquest erased from her face. “I'm not a tool at all. Those days are over.”
The stranger waved her off. “Don't you have enough servants?” She stood up and looked around the yard. “How much help can two people need?”
“It won't be just us for long,” Rebecca said. “Maurice and I are going to have children.”
The woman turned to the master of the house. “We've already discussed this. I said if you want to do this and make it stick you have to keep a low profile. You can't afford to add more people to the equation.”
Maurice held out his hands, but they just drove the wedge between the women deeper.
“Maurice never said anything about that,” Rebecca said.
“He should have.”
“We'll talk about this later. But now we need to whip one more.” She pointed at Paul, and before he could say anything two pairs of strong arms shoved him towards the whipping tree.
“Wait,” the strange woman said. “You can't whip him. You'll only draw more attention to yourselves. You've already made plenty of powerful enemies. Why do you insist on rolling out the red carpet for them?”
“He attacked us already,” Maurice said, “Through that one over there.”
“What? How?”
Then it was Malcolm's turn to get shoved forward. Owen and Trig escorted him over to the woman and backed away as quickly as they could.
“Well,” she said, brown eyes glinting in the morning sun. “What do we have here?”
Her eyes peeled him open. She stripped him down slowly, almost seductively, removing one layer at a time until she stepped forward and grabbed him by the wrists. Malcolm tried to look at her—that beauty was intoxicating, but terrible in its power—and ended up studying the blades of grass beneath her feet instead. He stood still while her fingernails crept up his arms, each movement sending a shock wave through him.
She rolled up his sleeve.
“Ah. That explains it.” She touched the mark of the lips and jerked her finger away a moment later. “You can't whip him, Rebecca. He's claimed by another.”
“We have to turn him,” Rebecca said. “If that doesn't get rid of the demon we need to kill him. Before he tries to kill us again.”
The woman gave her a withering look. “You can't. Not while he's claimed by another. Demons are a lot of things, but I've never met one who wasn't… possessive of their playthings. This one is strong—one of the most powerful I've ever encountered, judging by its mark. There's no point in whipping this poor young man.” She motioned to Paul and Charlotte. “Not them either. You already know you can't whip other revenants, and breaking him could undermine the role they've yet to play. Heed my words if you want to live your lives up here in peace—”
“We do,” Maurice said.
“Then you won't harm them. At least not now.”
“What if the demon comes back?” Rebecca said. “To attack us.”
The woman snorted. “It's a temporary problem, my dear. I'll figure it out. Until then, that's what you have soul nets and an entourage of servants for. But you'll leave these people unharmed until I discover their place in the prophecy. Got it?”
Rebecca and Maur
ice nodded.
“Good,” she said. “Now can we call it quits with the bloodshed for today? We have a lot to talk about.”
* * * *
The servants split up after the morning's whipping. Some headed into the kitchen to wash dishes and prepare the next meal while others went upstairs to continue unpacking. A few unlucky souls had to set up a table and some chairs and linger at Maurice and Rebecca's side while they talked with the woman under a willow tree.
It was the strange woman herself who cemented Malcolm, Paul, and Charlotte's places in that unlucky company. “Keep them around,” she said. “They're interesting.”
She grabbed Broyles by the shoulder after he'd finished setting up the chairs. “You've had enough hard labor for today. Go inside and make yourself useful. I'm sure something needs tidying in that massive house.”
He looked at his master and mistress, and when they nodded, snapped to attention despite his recent beating. His shirt was on again. Whatever salve or ointment the woman put on his back had swallowed up the lash marks and the pain.
They watched him set off across the yard in silence. Then the strange woman smiled. “Another one for your company, Maurice. I hope you know what you're doing.”
He motioned for them to have a seat. “I didn't have a choice. He was a lawman. A free lawman means problems. A dead one's even worse.”
“It still isn't right,” said Rebecca, crossing her legs as she sat. “Not until we take care of all these… threats in our home.” Her eyes went right to Malcolm and his companions and settled there.
“Interesting,” the strange woman said. “I never expected being back up here would make you so skittish.”
“I'm not—can we just get down to business? Why are you here, Liliana?” She clapped her hands. “Coffee. Breakfast.”
Her servants started to back away from the table.
“Wait,” Liliana said. “I come bearing gifts.” She pointed at Charlotte. “A special gift for a special lady.”
Charlotte froze as everyone's eyes settled on her. Finally the waif beside her got impatient and dragged her forward under the net. They stopped at the stranger's side. When Liliana leaned forward, Charlotte couldn't help but squirm. The net crackled. Its green filaments sparked, firing electric charges through her body. She writhed and screamed until the waif loosened the net and allowed her to collapse into the yard.
“What are you worried about, my dear? We aren't going to whip you.”
Charlotte murmured in the grass, perfectly still.
“Take it off,” Maurice said. “But stay close.”
The waif pulled off the net, and Liliana helped Charlotte to her feet. “Sit.” She guided her into an empty chair. Then she started to rummage through the jewelry collection on her arms. She wore dozens of bracelets and bangles. They jingled when she lifted them into the sunlight. Her fingers flew through them—copper and silver, ivory and onyx—until they landed on a jade bangle.
“Here.” Liliana took it off, pressed it to her lips, and kissed it. “This should do.” She grabbed Charlotte's arm and slid the bangle over her wrist. It clicked when she closed it. There was a finality in that sound—a lock, and the discarding of an unseen key.
Liliana looked at Rebecca. “See? Now she doesn't need that clumsy soul net. There's no getting it off without me.” She turned back to Charlotte. “And much less painful for you.”
Rebecca cheeks flushed. “Are you sure—”
Maurice grabbed her arm. “Liliana's always sure. Thank you.” He looked at the waif. “Go on inside. Ask Trig how you can help.”
“Yes, master.” She curtsied and headed inside with the pole dangled over her shoulder.
“Good,” Liliana said. “I don't like the sight of those twins you keep. You want to talk business? Fine. But we'll need some coffee and breakfast.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
They spent the rest of the morning shuttling coffee and biscuits to master and mistress and their special guest. And they shuttled information too. In the kitchen, Malcolm quickly told Charlotte about his dream.
“That wasn't a dream,” she said. “He came to me too. I've seen him around ever since we got here. He loves Rebecca, you know?”
Malcolm opened his mouth to reply just as a few of the serving women walked in. He shook his head and went back outside after picking up a tray of fresh coffee cups. Once those were dropped off, Malcolm pocketed a few leftover biscuits on his way back in. Nora would be starving. It was past time for her to eat again... if he could only get to her.
But his master and mistress kept him busy. From the looks of their body language, Liliana was the one giving the orders to the man and lady of the house. They spoke in low voices with their heads pressed close together. Maurice sat between the women, a much-needed buffer when tempers flared. Once, when Malcolm was clearing their breakfast plates, he heard Rebecca yelling at her lover and their guest.
“What was that about?” Paul said as they walked back inside.
“I think she's jealous.”
Paul shrugged. “Who wouldn't be?”
“Yeah, yeah. She's beautiful. I get it. But where'd she come from? Why'd she save us?”
They stepped inside the house, where Paul bumped into Charlotte behind the kitchen counter. “Sorry,” he said, loud enough for the serving women scrubbing the breakfast table to hear him. He slipped a handful of biscuits into her jean pocket before pulling away. “You okay?”
She fiddled with the bangle on her wrist. “Something's up with this thing. I'm just… exhausted, is all. I don't think I could lift off the ground or get through walls if I wanted to.” She sighed. “We'll talk later.” Then she found a glass of water to go with the food they'd swiped and disappeared upstairs.
Out onto the balcony they went, this time carrying small plates piled high with coconut cream pie. Though it wasn't even midday yet, Liliana had demanded something sweet to wash down her breakfast.
Malcolm felt her eyes on them as they walked through the backyard.
“I don't know where she came from,” said Paul, “but she's watching us close.”
“Damn right she is.”
They smiled when they approached the table and started to serve the pie. Liliana attacked hers the moment Malcolm set down her plate. She didn't even bother using a fork. The others watched in silence until her dessert disappeared a few seconds later. “I'll have another piece,” she said, turning to Malcolm.
“You heard the lady,” Maurice said. “Get to it.”
“Yes, sir.” They hurried back through the grass, a visible path where their feet had trampled before. Then, to Paul, “We'll talk more later. There are eyes and ears everywhere. Any ideas?”
Paul bit the corner of his lip, held open the patio door for them to head back inside the house. “Not yet. I'll think of something.”
“Yeah,” Malcolm said. “Sure.” He loaded another slice of pie—this one almost twice as large as the last—onto a plate and refilled his tray. There was something sensual in the way the woman devoured her dessert and sucked the cream off her fingers. She'd watched him while she did it, too. Seducing him like Talia… or just distracting him from more important matters?
Malcolm brought out the second pie piece alone. Liliana smiled when he set it on the table in front of her. She sucked it down in a frenzy, ran her finger along the porcelain, and licked it clean. Then she handed the empty plate back to him with a smile.
“Whipping works up quite the appetite.”
Malcolm nodded. “Yes, ma'am.”
“I'm serious.”
“I believe you.”
She fired her brown eyes at him, unblinking. “The truth's abandoned you. You smell of deceit.”
Malcolm lowered his eyes.
“You're lucky you're claimed by another.” Her fingers encircled his wrist, warm and sticky from the pie filling. “I'll come back to retrieve you in a few days. I might be able to fix your little possession problem.”
“Really?”
Malcolm trembled when Liliana looked up at him. Her face was full of such beauty. Cold beauty without the slightest trace of tenderness or mercy.
“I do many things,” she said. “But one thing I don't do is lie.”
His eyes fell to the table, unable to focus on her without darting away. “Thank you.”
Liliana laughed. “Don't thank me. Lose one master and gain another. That's how the world works. Once we get rid of the demon claiming you, I'll find a way to put you to use.”
“That's what you get for destroying our chamber,” Rebecca said. “For taking our girls.” Her face soured. She dabbed her mouth with a napkin and reached for the bottle of golden liquid in Maurice's hands.
“It's strange, really,” said the beautiful stranger. “To have such an important role in the fate of Lemhaven. You seem like such an unassuming man.”
Malcolm nodded. His eyes couldn't handle her beauty. They took comfort elsewhere, settling on the bottle in Maurice's hands. He sipped it, passed it to Rebecca for her to do the same. Then they watched it refill itself and marveled. Malcolm could smell that liquid from across the table. Its scent overpowered the grass, the morning dew, the pollen in the air.
That scent overpowered everything. It drove him to madness. For a moment he resolved to lunge across the table. Death beat eternal servitude. And if it was going to happen, he might as well go out with that sweet taste in his mouth.
Liliana laughed when he gripped the edge of the table. She grabbed his arm, seemed to read his insanity before snapping him out of it. “What's wrong? Not feeling well?”
All of their eyes settled on him.
“Not too great. I think it's from the drinks last night. It's been a while.”
Maurice laughed. “You think it's been a while? Before last night, some of our servants hadn't had a drink in decades.”
Malcolm offered him a weak smile. “Just not used to it, I guess.”
Liliana put her hand on his before she spoke. “I'd better be going. Maurice. Rebecca. Mind if your loyal servant here shows me the way out?”
“He's all yours,” Maurice said.
Heretic (Demon Marked Book 2) (Demon Marked Saga) Page 14
